William Blake and A Poison Tree
I thought this was particularly poignant to the mood I’m in at the moment.
Mr Blake, born in 1757 was an English poet, painter, and printmaker. Largely unrecognised during his lifetime, Blake is now considered a seminal figure in the history of poetry and visual arts of the Romantic Age.
I just love this poem. For me it’s like how someone in 18th century might think if their pissed off with someone. Kind of like the song Bad Days, which I posted early, you think about what you want to do but know you won’t go through with it.
Ever seen Wanted? Like that.
A poison Tree
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.