Poemsby William Blake

My Pretty Rose Tree

The Lily

Ah Sunflower

 
 Ah Sunflower, weary of time,
   Who countest the steps of the sun;
 Seeking after that sweet golden clime
   Where the traveller's journey is done;

 
 Where the Youth pined away with desire,
   And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
 Arise from their graves, and aspire
   Where my Sunflower wishes to go!

Contents

My Pretty Rose Tree

The Lily