WILLIAM BLAKE

As thy softest limbs I feel Smiles as of the morning steal O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep ! When thy little heart doth wake, Then the dreadful night shall break.

49 1. Night

'"THE sun descending in the west, - The evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest. And I must seek for mine. The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy grove,

Where flocks have took delight : Where lambs have nibbled, silent move The feet of angels bright; Unseen they pour blessing And joy without ceasing On each bud and blossom, On each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest Where birds are cover'd warm ;

They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm :

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