WILLIAM BLAKE
Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments, let us taste Thy morn and evening breath, scatter thy pearls Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour Thy soft kisses on her bosom, and put Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head, Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee.
��499 Jerusalem (from 'Milton')
did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem budded here Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire' Bring me my spear' O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
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