William
Blake, the 18th and 19th century English poet, painter and engraver, is most
remembered for his two linked collections of poems, Songs of Innocence and
Songs of Experience. Of all of Blake’s
poems, people are most familiar with the oft-anthologized “The Tyger” from the
latter volume, though he wrote many other poems worth reading (to say nothing
of his inventive and delightful illustrations).
Because this is a bird-blog though, I will not be focusing on “The
Tyger” or any other poem about mammals, but on “The Birds,” a poem that I might
never have read had a nineteen year old Dante Gabriel Rossetti not found a
notebook of Blake’s in The British Museum and bought it for ten shillings from
a museum attendant.
The
notebook, now usually known as “The Rossetti Manuscript,” held many literary
treasures, among them “The Birds.” The
poem is a rather simple back-and-forth between a male bird and a female bird,
apparently long separated, who are pleased as can be to have found each other.
The Birds
He. Where
thou dwellest, in what grove,
Tell me Fair
One, tell me Love;
Where thou
thy charming nest dost build,
O thou pride
of every field!
She. Yonder
stands a lonely tree,
There I live
and mourn for thee;
Morning
drinks my silent tear,
And evening
winds my sorrow bear.
He. O thou
summer’s harmony,
I have liv’d
and mourn’d for thee;
Each day I
mourn along the wood,
And night
hath heard my sorrows loud.
She. Dost
thou truly long for me?
And am I
thus sweet to thee?
Sorrow now
is at an end,
O my Lover
and my Friend!
He. Come, on
wings of joy we’ll fly
To where my
bower hangs on high;
Come, and
make thy calm retreat
Among green
leaves and blossoms sweet.
I don’t
think there are any deep meanings to be found in the poem, just (just?)
beautiful language and the heartening image of two lost lovers having found
each other after a long absence. Perhaps
this is how all songbirds feel when they pair up on prime breeding grounds
after a long migration.
Those who
tire of a lonely mockingbird singing its heart out all night long can certainly
understand the male bird saying “And night hath heard my sorrows loud” though
it is extremely unlikely that Blake, who never traveled more than a day’s walk
from London, ever heard a mockingbird.
And anyone who has heard the exuberant song of a Bobolink in flight can
appreciate “the wings of joy.”
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