O Rose, thou art sick: The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy; And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.
The Sick Rose
About the poet
William Blake
William Blake was born in London on November 28, 1757, to James, a hosier, and Catherine Blake. Two of his six siblings died in infancy. From early childhood, Blake spoke of having visions—at four he saw God "put his head to the window"; around age nine, whil…
View profile & all 59 Poems / StoriesMore from William Blake
Auguries of Innocence
To see a World in a Grain of SandAnd a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Holy Thursday
Is this a holy thing to seeIn a rich and fruitful land,
Love's Secret
Never seek to tell thy love,Love that never told can be;
The Fly
Little fly,Thy summer s play
Cradle Song
Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,Dreaming in the joys of night;
