William Blake

Night

THE sun descending in the west,
    The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest.
    And I must seek for mine.
        The moon, like a flower
        In heaven's high bower,
        With silent delight
        Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
    Where flocks have took delight:
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
    The feet of angels bright;
        Unseen they pour blessing
        And joy without ceasing
        On each bud and blossom,
        And each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest
    Where birds are cover'd warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
    To keep them all from harm:
        If they see any weeping
        That should have been sleeping,
        They pour sleep on their head,
        And sit down by their bed.

When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
    They pitying stand and weep,
Seeking to drive their thirst away
    And keep them from the sheep.
        But, if they rush dreadful,
        The angels, most heedful,
        Receive each mild spirit,
        New worlds to inherit.

And there the lion's ruddy eyes
    Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,
    And walking round the fold:
        Saying, 'Wrath, by His meekness,
        And, by His health, sickness,
        Are driven away
        From our immortal day.

'And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
    I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
    Graze after thee, and weep.
        For, wash'd in life's river,
        My bright mane for ever
        Shall shine like the gold
        As I guard o'er the fold.'