Managing Editor
M. Lynam Fitzpatrick

SENIOR EDITOR
Bill West

EDITORS FOR REVIEW
ENGLISH
Bill West
Nonnie Augustine
Yvette Wielhouwer Flis

SPANISH
Diana Ferraro
Marie Fitzpatrick

Consulting on Copy
Digby Beaumont

Spanish Translations
Diana Ferraro

Contributing Editors
Martin Heavisides

Photography Editor
Maia Cavelli

Layout and Design
Marie Lynam Fitzpatrick

Database Manager
Peter Gilkes

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TheLinnetsWings.org 2013

Founded, in Edgeworthstown, Co. Longford, in ROI, in 2007

Publisher: M. Lynam Fitzpatick

Published by The Linnet's Wings

Auguries of Innocence by William Blake

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.

A robin redbreast in a cage/Puts all heaven in a rage./A dove-house fill’ d with doves and pigeons/Shudders hell thro’ all its regions.

A dog starv’ d at his master’s gate/Predicts the ruin of the state./A horse misused upon the road/Calls to heaven for human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted hare/A fibre from the brain does tear./A skylark wounded in the wing,/A cherubim does cease to sing.

The game-cock clipt and arm’ d for fight/Does the rising sun affright./Every wolf’s and lion’s howl/Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand’ ring here and there,/Keeps the human soul from care./The lamb misus’ d breeds public strife,/And yet forgives the butcher’s knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve/Has left the brain that won’t believe./The owl that calls upon the night/Speaks the unbeliever’s fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren/Shall never be belov’ d by men./He who the ox to wrath has mov’d/Shall never be by woman lov’ d.

The wanton boy that kills the fly/Shall feel the spider’s enmity./He who torments the chafer’s sprite/Weaves a bower in endless night.

xi

The caterpillar on the leaf/Repeats to thee thy mother’s grief./Kill not the moth nor butterfly,/For the last judgment draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war/Shall never pass the polar bar./The beggar’s dog and widow’s cat,/Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer’s song/Poison gets from slander’s tongue./The poison of the snake and newt/Is the sweat of envy’s foot.

The poison of the honey bee/Is the artist’s jealousy./The prince’s robes and beggar’s rags/Are toadstools on the miser’s bags.

A truth that’s told with bad intent/Beats all the lies you can invent./It is right it should be so;/Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know,/Thro’ the world we safely go./Joy and woe are woven fine,/A clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine/Runs a joy with silken twine./The babe is more than swaddling bands;/Throughout all these human lands

xii

Tools were made, and born were hands,/Every farmer understands./Every tear from every eye/Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,/And return’ d to its own delight./The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,/Are waves that beat on heaven’s shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath/Writes revenge in realms of death./The beggar’s rags, fluttering in air,/Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm’ d with sword and gun,/Palsied strikes the summer’s sun./The poor man’s farthing is worth more/Than all the gold on Afric’s shore.

One mite wrung from the lab’ rer’s hands/Shall buy and sell the miser’s lands;/Or, if protected from on high,/Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant’s faith/Shall be mock’ d in age and death./He who shall teach the child to doubt/The rotting grave shall ne’ er get out.

He who respects the infant’s faith/Triumphs over hell and death./The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons/Are the fruits of the two seasons.