Fierce Tygers Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

I lean my ladder against a pale mint sky
And know that William Blake somehow
Is standing by
Still in a visionary stance
Among his angels
His bright glance
Alights on meadows Ive not seen
And charts the river thames for me
The legacy of misery the spent tears gold
Among the ghosts of what had been
And watercolours melt the sun
Jerusalem my heart is free
To seek your visage constantly
And find in Christ the lamb
Fierce tygers.
Though all our battles won't be one
I praise the Rose that in him bloomed
I praise the pastoral, sober tune
I praise the angels in the trees
I praise his sorrow I praise his glee
And what the End shall ever be
William Blake with a simple reed
William Blake, in the vanishing point
Of the world still singing.
mary angela douglas 17 april 2024