Happy Birthday To William Blake!

The Garden Of Love
I laid me down upon a bank,

Where Love lay sleeping;

I heard among the rushes dank

Weeping, weeping.
Then I went to the heath and the wild,

To the thistles and thorns of the waste;

And they told me how they were beguiled,

Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.
I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen;

A Chapel was built in the midst,

Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut

And “Thou shalt not,” writ over the door;

So I turned to the Garden of Love

That so many sweet flowers bore.
And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tombstones where flowers should be;

And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars my joys and desires.

Today is the 250th Birthday of William Blake…(Thank You Morgan!) We are celebrating it with William’s Art & Poetry, and a bit of music from Jocelyn Pook.
It is cold here in Portland, it could snow in the next couple of days. We have had the oddest weather for this time of year….
Talking about Birthdays’ … Morgan is turning 50!… If you know him, contact me, I have an invite for a gathering this Friday over here on the S.E. side of Portland.
Radio Free EarthRites will be missing from your speakers for a month. The Server in the UK broke down, and our friend Doug is off to Australia for several weeks so it will be absent….
I might load up Pod-Cast here on Turfing, if I get positive feedback to do so…
With all the changes going on you might check out the new Poster Page on Gwyllm-Arts!



On The Menu:

The Links

Jocelyn Pook – Bridal Ballade

The Poetry Of William Blake

Jocelyn Pook – Migrations / Paintings Gil Bruvel

Art – William Blake


The Links:

The Anti Crusader…

Extraterrestrials on Ice

The Flying Spaghetti Monster has appeared to us in a pumpkin pie!

The Bowen Manuscrpt…

Death-cheating cat dubbed bionic

Jocelyn Pook – Bridal Ballade (Donne musicanti)



The Poetry Of William Blake

Never seek to tell thy love,

Love that never told can be;

For the gentle wind doth move

Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,

I told her all my heart,

Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.

Ah! she did depart!

Soon after she was gone from me,

A traveller came by,

Silently, invisibly:

He took her with a sigh.

Piping down the valleys wild,

Piping songs of peasant glee,

On a cloud I saw a child,

And he, laughing, said to me:

‘Pipe a song about a lamb!’

So I piped with merry cheer.

‘Piper, pipe that song again;’

So I piped: he wept to hear.

‘Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;

Sing thy songs of happy cheer!’

So I sang the same again,

While he wept with joy to hear.

‘Piper, sit thee down and write

In a book, that all may read.’

So he vanished from my sight;

And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,

And I stain’d the water clear,

And I wrote my happy songs

Every child may joy to hear.


by: William Blake (1757-1827)
Whether on Ida’s shady brow

Or in the chambers of the East,

The chambers of the Sun, that now

From ancient melody have ceased;

Whether in heaven ye wander fair,

Or the green corners of the earth,

Or the blue regions of the air

Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,

Beneath the bosom of the sea,

Wandering in many a coral grove;

Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry;

How have you left the ancient love

That bards of old enjoy’d in you!

The languid strings do scarcely move,

The sound is forced, the notes are few.


Thou fair-hair’d angel of the evening,

Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light

Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown

Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!

Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the

Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew

On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes

In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on

The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,

And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,

Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,

And then the lion glares through the dun forest:

The fleeces of our flocks are cover’d with

Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine influence!

Poem lyrics of A Divine Image by William Blake.

Cruelty has a human heart,

And Jealousy a human face;

Terror the human form divine,

And secrecy the human dress.
The human dress is forged iron,

The human form a fiery forge,

The human face a furnace seal’d,

The human heart its hungry gorge.


Jocelyn Pook – Migrations / Paintings Gil Bruvel



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