Angels hovering above the Earth, showering it with their benevolent light. There were some crude and disappointingly prosaic paintings on the wall around the fire of them floating in the air, their wings outstretched, lit up with a golden glow that Underhill remembered like the tattered fragments of an ancient dream. She closed her eyes and smiled an entirely benign smile at the very notion of her personal angels.
She glanced up, beyond where Sorrowmouth’s face hung like a stiff mask in the cloud of cigarette smoke, and saw something else entirely. “I think, no, I know that if I didn’t have my beliefs, you know my absolute belief in, well, in angels, guardian angels, all around us, around me, I wouldn’t have gotten through these last few weeks.” Mary continued, her words beginning to slur. Underhill nodded and he dipped his head under the doorframe and into the room, towering over both Underhill and Mary.
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“Underhill saw Sorrowmouth stooped in the doorway with his bowl and thorn, mottled skin burnished gold in the lamp glow, beady eyes beseeching him. The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice.Ĭome forth, worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive queen.” Lives not alone, nor for itself fear not, and I will call How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Every thing that lives "Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies, The Cloud reclind upon his airy throne and answer'd thus: Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?'" "Dost thou O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee įor I walk through the vales of Har and smell the sweetest flowers,īut I feed not the little flowers I hear the warbling birds,īut I feed not the warbling birds they fly and seek their food īut Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away,Īnd all shall say, 'Without a use this shining woman liv'd, Till we arise link'd in a golden band, and never part,īut walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers." The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the risen sun, Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,Īnd court the fair eyed dew, to take me to her shining tent:
It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace, and raptures holy: Nothing remains? O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away, Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,Īnd fearest thou because I vanish and am seen no more, "O virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
The Cloud then shew'd his golden head & his bright form emerg'd, I pass away, yet I complain, and no one hears my voice." Then we shall seek thee but not find ah, Thel is like to Thee. Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away: His paintings and poetry have been characterised as part of the Romantic movement and as "Pre-Romantic"."O little Cloud," the virgin said, "I charge thee tell to me, While he lived in London his entire life, except for three years spent in Felpham, he produced a diverse and symbolically rich œuvre, which embraced the imagination as "the body of God" or "human existence itself".Īlthough Blake was considered mad by contemporaries for his idiosyncratic views, he is held in high regard by later critics for his expressiveness and creativity, and for the philosophical and mystical undercurrents within his work. In 2002, Blake was placed at number 38 in the BBC's poll of the 100 Greatest Britons. His visual artistry led 21st-century critic Jonathan Jones to proclaim him "far and away the greatest artist Britain has ever produced". What he called his prophetic works were said by 20th-century critic Northrop Frye to form "what is in proportion to its merits the least read body of poetry in the English language". Largely unrecognised during his life, Blake is now considered a seminal figure in the history of the poetry and visual art of the Romantic Age.
William Blake was an English poet, painter, and printmaker.
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