John Adams once wrote, “You’ll never be alone with a poet in your pocket.” Poetry requires a certain amount of attention that many people aren’t willing to invest. You have to slow down and read every word; feel the rhythm in your mind. The investment bears a rich return. Poetry is to the imagination like water is to life. William Blake is one of my favorites. My blog byline, “To find a world in a grain of sand” is from his poem “Auguries of Innocence” which begins:

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour

If you never “got” poetry in school, take one more look. William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience are very beautiful, very accessible, and very short.  Blake was a poet and a painter and an engraver. Like many artists he was never very successful, struggled his whole life. It didn’t matter. The loving care that went into all of his work is simply captivating. For his “Illuminated books” he painted and engraved his verse. If you just read the poetry, you are missing too much.  These reproductions are just the way he originally created them. For clarity, the plates are accompanied by the verse typed out. It’s a treasure. But don’t take my word for it.  Read it yourself.  On my daughter’s second day on the planet I read “Infant Joy” to her from “Songs of Innocence”:

“I have no name:
I am but two days old.”
What shall I call thee?
“I happy am,
Joy is my name.”
Sweet joy befall thee!
Pretty joy!
Sweet joy, but two days old.
Sweet joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while,
Sweet joy befall thee.

For a walk on the wild side, from Songs of Experience there is “The Tyger”:

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forest of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burned the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when that heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forest of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

If you don’t want more after that, poetry is not for you. There are hundreds of editions of Blake’s work out there. Some include the illustrations, some do not. If you want to dive deeper into Blake, go to a bookstore or the library. The artwork in the various editions really needs personal examination that internet browsing does not allow. Usually you can only see the first few pages on the internet, and the delicate coloring may not come through on a screen.