poet William Blake

William Blake

#8 on top 500 poets

Mad Song

The wild winds weep
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs infold:
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling birds of dawn
The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault
Of paved heaven,
With sorrow fraught
My notes are driven:
They strike the ear of night,
Make weep the eyes of day;
They make mad the roaring winds,
And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud,
With howling woe,
After night I do crowd,
And with night will go;
I turn my back to the east,
From whence comforts have increas'd;
For light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain.

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 9, 2001
Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 9, 2001

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Comments about Mad Song by William Blake

  • Kayla nicole (5/21/2018 3:13:00 PM)

    Beautiful

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  • * Sunprincess * (1/1/2016 7:11:00 PM)

    ............a wonderful write and penned very nicely ★

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  • Brian JaniBrian Jani (5/5/2014 4:06:00 AM)

    Nice poem William

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    Bob Dylan(1/24/2018 12:26:00 PM)

    Hes dead idiot

    2 person liked.
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Read poems about / on: sorrow, sleep, night, heaven, pain, light, song, wind, howl