O Lapwing, thou fliest around the heath
* * *
O Lapwing, thou fliest around the heath
Nor seest the net that is spread beneath.
Why dost thou not fly among the corn fields?
They cannot spread nets where a harvest yields.
More poems by William Blake
-
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 …