America, A Prophecy
The shadowy Daughter of Urthona stood before red Orc,
When fourteen suns had faintly journey'd o'er his dark abode:
His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron:
Crown'd with a helmet and dark hair the nameless female stood;
A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night,
When pestilence is shot from heaven: no other arms she need!
Invulnerable though naked, save where clouds roll round her loins
Their awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night;
For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise,
But dumb till that dread day when Orc assay'd his fierce embrace.
'Dark Virgin,' said the hairy youth, 'thy father stern, abhorr'd,
Rivets my tenfold chains while still on high my spirit soars;
Sometimes an Eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a Lion
Stalking upon the mountains, and sometimes a Whale, I lash
The raging fathomless abyss; anon a Serpent folding
Around the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbs
On the Canadian wilds I fold; feeble my spirit folds,
For chain'd beneath I rend these caverns: when thou bringest food
I howl my joy, and my red eyes seek to behold thy face--
In vain! these clouds roll to and fro, and hide thee from my sight.'
Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy,
The hairy shoulders rend the links; free are the wrists of fire;
Round the terrific loins he seiz'd the panting, struggling womb;
It joy'd: she put aside her clouds and smiled her first-born smile,
As when a black cloud shews its lightnings to the silent deep.
Soon as she saw the terrible boy, then burst the virgin cry:
'I know thee, I have found thee, and I will not let thee go:
Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa,
And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark death.
On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictions
Endur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep.
I see a Serpent in Canada who courts me to his love,
In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru;
I see a Whale in the south-sea, drinking my soul away.
O what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frost
Mingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent.
This is eternal death, and this the torment long foretold.'
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (America, A Prophecy by William Blake )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Alfred Lord Tennyson
(6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 March 1934 – 31 May 2009)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 February 1898 – 14 August 1956)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Warning, Jenny Joseph
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
- All Things will Die, Alfred Lord Tennyson
- 'Hope' is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson
Poem of the Day
- I Will Seek For You, Edward Kofi Louis
- Under The Apple Tree, Edward Kofi Louis
- Spiced Wine, Edward Kofi Louis
- Innocent Wishes, Col Muhamad Khalid Khan
- Come And See II, Edward Kofi Louis
- Office, orifice!, Edward Kofi Louis
- Like A Baby, Edward Kofi Louis
- Tears Of Love II, Edward Kofi Louis
- Pumpkin Pie, Ima Ryma
- '' Even Animals Look After Their Own '', bri mar