| C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917. | | | | William Blake |
| | | | Ah, sunflower, weary of time, |
| Who countest the steps of the sun, |
| Seeking after that sweet golden clime |
| Where the traveller’s journey is done. |
| 1 |
| | I have mental joys and mental health, |
| Mental friends and mental wealth, |
| I’ve a wife that I love and that loves me; |
| I’ve all but riches bodily. |
| 2 |
| | I was angry with my friend: |
| I told my wrath, my wrath did end. |
| I was angry with my foe; |
| I told it not, my wrath did grow. |
| 3 |
| | O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained |
| With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit |
| Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayst rest |
| And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe, |
| And all the daughters of the year shall dance! |
| Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers. |
| 4 |
| | O thou who passest through our valleys in |
| Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat |
| That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O Summer, |
| Oft pitchest here thy golden tent, and oft |
| Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld |
| With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair. |
| 5 |
| | O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: |
| The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark, |
| Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, |
| Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car. |
| 6 |
| | Since all the riches of this world |
| May be gifts from the devil and earthly kings, |
| I should suspect that I worshipped the devil |
| If I thanked my God for worldly things. |
| 7 |
| | Sweet babe, in thy face |
| Soft desires I can trace, |
| Secret joys and secret smiles, |
| Little pretty infant wiles. |
| 8 |
| | Sweet sleep, with soft down |
| Weave thy brows an infant crown! |
| Sweet sleep, angel mild, |
| Hover o’er my happy child. |
| 9 |
| | The grave is heaven’s golden gate, |
| And rich and poor around it wait; |
| O Shepherdess of England’s fold, |
| Behold this gate of pearl and gold! |
| 10 | | |
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