What is the price of experience? Do men buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought
with the price
Of all that a man hath, his house his wife, his children.
Wisdom is solid in the desolate market where none come
to buy.
And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for
bread in vain.
It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun
And in the vintage & to sing in the waggon loaded with
with the corn.
It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted,
To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer,
to listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season
When the red blood is filled with the marrow of lambs.
It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements,
To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the
slaughter house moan;
To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast;
To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our
enemies' house;
To rejoice in the blight that covers is field, & the sickness that cuts
off his children,
While our olive&vine sing & laugh round our door, &
our children bring fruits and flowers.
Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten, the slave grinding at the mill.
And the captive in chains, & the poor in prison, & the soldier in the field
When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among
the happier dead.
It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of propserity;
Thus could I sing, & thus rejoice: but it is not so with me.
William Blake 1797
credit to William Blake Archive...link is to the right...for some incredible Blake!
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