William Blake (1757–1827)

AWAKE, awake, my little boy!

Thou wast thy mother’s only joy;

Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?

Awake! thy father does thee keep.

‘O, what land is the Land of Dreams,

What are its mountains, and what are its streams?

O father! I saw my mother there,

Among the lilies by waters fair.

‘Among the lambs, clothèd in white,

She walked with her Thomas in sweet delight.

I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn;

O! when shall I again return?’

Dear child, I also by pleasant streams

Have wander’d all night in the Land of Dreams;

But tho’ calm and warm the waters wide,

I could not get to the other side.

‘Father, O father! what do we here

In this land of unbelief and fear?

The Land of Dreams is better far,

Above the light of the morning star.’