If you trap the moment before its ripe
* * *
If you trap the moment before its ripe
The tears of repentance youll certainly wipe
But if once you let the ripe moment go
You can never wipe off the tears of woe[3]
More poems by William Blake
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The Tiger
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye … -
The Tyger
Tyger Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye. … -
The Little Black Boy
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O, my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child, … -
The Garden of Love
I laid me down upon a bank,
Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank …