Holy Thursday
Apr. 5th, 2007 08:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xifengOn account of it is Holy Thursday and teh m0mmy is appallingly late getting home probably due to church, I thought I would share some Blake with y'all, because I like Blake and I am not sure if the long, ranty post I'm preparing is in its final form yet or not. So here you go.
Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean
The children walking two & two in red & blue & green
Grey headed beadles walk'd before with wands as white as snow
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow
O what a multitude they seem'd 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, Songs of Innocence
Tomorrow is Good Friday; tomorrow the courthouses are closed; tomorrow we will have hot cross buns in the morning and shrimp-and-scallop arrabbiata at dinner; tomorrow I will have all day to do nothing in particular; tomorrow I can breathe.
Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean
The children walking two & two in red & blue & green
Grey headed beadles walk'd before with wands as white as snow
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow
O what a multitude they seem'd 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, Songs of Innocence
Tomorrow is Good Friday; tomorrow the courthouses are closed; tomorrow we will have hot cross buns in the morning and shrimp-and-scallop arrabbiata at dinner; tomorrow I will have all day to do nothing in particular; tomorrow I can breathe.
