The Motivational Adda

William Blake is known for its  Romantic  and  visionary Poetries . Many of their contemporary considered him mad because of his peculiar views. It was their misfortunate that his work did not get fame in his lifetime. In his poems, Willliam Blake used to write about nature, supernatural things, picture women and children in the poems, express emotions, and visualize their imagination. William Blake was somewhat different from other poets of the  Romantic Era . He thought of nature as a world of imagination. In his famous collection of poems ,  "Songs of Innocence and Experience" , he creates a panorama of human behaviour and the natural world. Also, In his famous poem  "The School Boy" , he looks into the natural effect on the young boy. Besides these two poems, William Blake has written many poems in which he depicted the effect, influence, beauty and harmony of nature. While many poets used to worship nature in their poems, Blake did not believe in the worship of

I have no name  I am but two days old.—  What shall I call thee? I happy am  Joy is my name,—  Sweet joy befall thee! Pretty joy! Sweet joy but two days old, Sweet joy I call thee;  Thou dost smile.  I sing the while  Sweet joy befall thee.                             - William Blake William Blake Poetries : https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/William%20Blake

Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean  The children walking two & two in red & blue & green  Grey-headed beadles walkd before with wands as white as snow,  Till into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow  O what a multitude they seemd these flowers of London town  Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own  The hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambs  Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands  Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song  Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among  Beneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poor  Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door .                                                     - William Blake More Links: Robert Frost: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Robert%20Frost William Shakespeare: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/l

When my mother died I was very young,  And my father sold me while yet my tongue  Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"  So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.  There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head  That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said,  "Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,  You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."  And so he was quiet, & that very night,  As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight!  That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack,  Were all of them locked up in coffins of black;  And by came an Angel who had a bright key,  And he opened the coffins & set them all free;  Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run,  And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.  Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,  They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.  And the Angel told

THE SCHOOL BOY I love to rise in a summer morn,  When the birds sing on every tree;  The distant huntsman winds his horn,  And the skylark sings with me.  O! what sweet company.  But to go to school in a summer morn,  O! it drives all joy away;  Under a cruel eye outworn,  The little ones spend the day,  In sighing and dismay.  Ah! then at times I drooping sit,  And spend many an anxious hour.  Nor in my book can I take delight,  Nor sit in learning’s bower,  Worn thro’ with the dreary shower.  How can the bird that is born for joy,  Sit in a cage and sing.  How can a child when fears annoy,  But droop his tender wing,  And forget his youthful spring.  O! Father and Mother, if buds are nip’d,  And blossoms blown away,  And if the tender plants are strip’d Of their joy in the springing day,  By sorrow and cares dismay,  How shall the summer arise in joy,  Or the summer fruits appear?  - William Blake Theme: In the poem 'The School Boy' the Schoolboy is not happy. In

O Rose thou art sick.  The invisible worm,  That flies in the night  In the howling storm:  Has found out thy bed  Of crimson joy:  And his dark secret love  Does thy life destroy.    - William Blake Theme : The theme poem "The Sick Rose" is about love and joy. Poet Says That Rose Is Sick, caused by the invisible worm which is flying in roar storm. Here poet depicts the rose as a natural beauty while he depicts the worm to false and uncooperative love. Birches , Robert Frost : https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/2019/05/birches-robert-frost.html The School Boy , William Blake: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/2019/05/the-school-boy-full-poem-by-william-blake.html Walt Whitman Poetries: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Walt%20Whitman

Little Lamb who made thee           Dost thou know who made thee  Gave thee life & bid thee feed.  By the stream & o'er the mead;  Gave thee clothing of delight,  Softest clothing wooly bright;  Gave thee such a tender voice,  Making all the vales rejoice!           Little Lamb who made thee           Dost thou know who made thee           Little Lamb I'll tell thee,           Little Lamb I'll tell thee! He is called by thy name,  For he calls himself a Lamb:  He is meek & he is mild,  He became a little child:  I a child & thou a lamb,  We are called by his name.           Little Lamb God bless thee.           Little Lamb God bless thee.                      - William Blake

This poem describes the narrator's repressed feelings of anger towards an individual, emotions which eventually lead to murder. I was angry with my friend;  I told my wrath, my wrath did end.  I was angry with my foe:  I told it not, my wrath did grow.  And I waterd it in fears,  Night & morning with my tears:  And I sunned it with smiles,  And with soft deceitful wiles.  And it grew both day and night.  Till it bore an apple bright.  And my foe beheld it shine,  And he knew that it was mine.  And into my garden stole,  When the night had veild the pole;  In the morning glad I see;  My foe outstretched beneath the tree.                                  - William Blake