Cradle Song

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.

William Blake

Helping Hand

Thursday, 23 February 2012

4 comments:

Þorgerður Says:
23 February 2012 at 18:00

mmm ...like that little hand :)

Marsupial Mama Says:
25 February 2012 at 07:34

Thank you! As long as she's not grabbing fistfuls of the dog or throwing stuff around, yes that hand can be pretty sweet... **lol**

jass Says:
5 March 2012 at 06:21

Such a Nice post! I like it.

Helping Hands

Marsupial Mama Says:
5 March 2012 at 07:13

Thank you! :)

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The Clod and the Pebble

"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair."

So sung a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

"Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite."

William Blake
 
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