by William Blake (1757 - 1827)

The innumerable dance
Language: English 
Thou perceivest the Flowers put forth their precious Odours,
And none can tell how from so small a centre come such sweet,
Forgetting that within that centre Eternity expands
Its ever-during doors, that Og and Anak fiercely guard.
First, ere the morning breaks, joy opens in the flowery bosoms, 
Joy even to tears, which the sun rising dries : first the Wild Thyme 
And Meadowsweet, downy and soft, waving among the reeds, 
Light springing on the air, lead the sweet dance ; they wake 
The Honeysuckle sleeping on the oak, the flaunting beauty 
Revels along upon the wind ; the White-thorn, lovely May,
Opens her many lovely eyes ; listening, the Rose still sleeps --
None dare to wake her ; soon she bursts her crimson-curtained bed
And comes forth in the majesty of beauty. Every Flower, 
The Pink, the Jessamine, the Wall-flower, the Carnation, 
The Jonquil, the mild Lily opes her heavens ; every Tree 
And Flower and Herb soon fill the air with an innumerable dance, 
Yet all in order sweet and lovely. Men are sick with love!


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2009-11-01
Line count: 17
Word count: 179