I was drawn to this book for the simplistic presentation and the transcendentalism of William Blake.
The introduction is quite informative and well-written. Definitions of old-style words throughout the books was distracting, taking away from individual interpretation.
Apparently this is part of series of children's picture books featuring different poets. I think many children would find these poems hard to understand, but I guess it's a nice attempt to introduce children to classic poetry. Not sure if I'll look for other books in the series or not.
Favorite Passages from the Introduction:
In developing his myths Blake had help that was truly exceptional. All his life he believed he could make direct contact with creatures of another world. This was not science fiction but his special experience of religion.
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An acquaintance said he was "a man without a mask; his aim single, his path straight-forwards, and his wants few; so he was free, noble, and happy." . . . He was said to be patient as a lamb, able to roar like a lion, but with non of the serpent's sneakiness.
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When he read a book, he often talked back to the author, agreeing or sometimes strongly disagreeing with him or her by vigorous comments in the margins.
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These long poems have a dreamlike quality even as they suggest great battles of giants and upheavals of the earth. Thy are Blake's visions, and like human feelings, they are very fluid, characters changing and melting into other states of their selves or other characters. All together, they are only parts of the total, man. Blake has been called a great poet of metamorphosis, of change in form, as people where changed into animals or bushes or rivers in Greek and Roman myths.
Favorite Passages from Blake's Poetry:
The sun descending in the west
The evening star does shine.
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
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wash'd in life's river
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When the voices of children are heard on the green
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast
And every thing else is still.
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And their sun does never shine.
And their fields are bleak & bare.
And their ways are fill'd with thorns.
It is eternal winter there.
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Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal had or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger, Tyge, burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand to eye,
Dare frame they fearful symmetry?
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I love to rise in a summer morn,
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the sky-lark sings with me.
O! what sweet company.
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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?
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To see a World in a Grain of sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower:
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.
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I will not cease from Mental Fight