It is of lyrics such as this that Pater writes: “And the very perfection of such poetry often appears to depend, in part, on a certain suppression or vagueness of mere subject, so that the meaning reaches us through ways not distinctly traceable by the understanding, as in some of the most imaginative compositions of William Blake.”

“The Divine Image” is another equally lovely poem, with its sinuous growth of ribbon-like leaves, climbing among the verses. The unmistakeable figure of Christ at the root, raises a prostrate figure.

The verses, writ in golden brown, lie on a ground of palest blue, thrilling to Tyrian purple.

“Holy Thursday,” after the rainbow tints of many of the pages and the luxuriance of their designs, is a Quaker-like and unpretending affair altogether. It would seem to be the untouched impression as it was first stereotyped off the plate; and is interesting for that reason.

There is hardly anything in the book more delicious than Plate 25, “Infant Joy.” A typical (rather than botanically correct) flower with a flame-shaped bud, and a wind-tossed bloom, springs across a page dyed like a butterfly’s wing. In the cloven blossom a mother and her small baby sit enthroned while an angel with wings like a “White Admiral” stands entranced before the happy child.

“I have no name;
I am but two days old.”
What shall I call thee?
“I happy am,
Joy is my name.”
Sweet joy befall thee.
Pretty joy!
Sweet joy but two days old.
Sweet joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while;
Sweet joy befall thee.

These are the spontaneous, gushing notes of the bird in springtime, careless, unstudied but felicitously right, not to be corrected or even touched, for each word must lie where it fell, just so and no other way.

[Larger Image]

PRINTED AND COLOURED PLATE FROM
“SONGS OF INNOCENCE,” 1789