The Portable William Blake (2010) - Plot & Excerpts
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole? Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod? Or Love in a golden bowl? I The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks, All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air, To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day: Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard, And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:  “O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water, Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile & fall? Ah! Thel is like a wat’ry bow, and like a parting cloud; Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water; Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant’s face; Like the dove’s voice; like transient day; like music in the air. Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head, And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.”  The Lilly of the valley, breathing in the humble grass, Answer’d the lovely maid and said: “I am a wat’ry weed, And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales; So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
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