Page 151. " We'll love her and love her and love her "

A Cradle Song

Sweet dreams, form a shade

O'er my lovely infant's head;

Sweet dreams of pleasant streams

By happy, silent, moony beams.


Sweet sleep, with soft down

Weave thy brows an infant crown.

Sweep sleep, Angel mild,

Hover o'er my happy child.


Sweet smiles, in the night

Hover over my delight;

Sweet smiles, Mother's smiles,

All the livelong night beguiles.


Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,

Chase not slumber from thy eyes.

Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,

All the dovelike moans beguiles.


Sleep, sleep, happy child,

All creation slept and smil'd;

Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,

While o'er thee thy mother weep.


Sweet babe, in thy face

Holy image I can trace.

Sweet babe, once like thee,

Thy maker lay and wept for me,


Wept for me, for thee, for all,

When he was an infant small

Thou his image ever see,

Heavenly face that smiles on thee,


Smiles on thee, on me, on all;

Who became an infant small.

Infant smiles are his own smiles;

Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.

Page 152. " 'Love is the child that breathes our breath/Love is the child that scatters death.' "

Page 158. " 'What are you?' I whispered. He shrugged again. 'Something like you, something like a beast, something like a bird, something like an angel.' He laughed. 'Something like that. "

Page 168. " I held her closer and her dark eyes looked right into me, right into the place where all my dreams were, and she smiled. "

A Dream (William Blake)


Once a dream did weave a shade

O'er my Angel-guarded bed,

That an Emmet lost its way

Where on grass methought I lay.


Troubled, 'wilder'd, and forlorn,

Dark, benighted, travel-worn,

Over many a tangled spray,

All heart-broken I heard her say:


``O, my children! do they cry?

Do they hear their father sigh?

Now they look abroad to see:

Now return and weep for me.''


Pitying, I drop'd a tear;

But I saw a glow-worm near,

Who replied: ``What wailing wight

Calls the watchman of the night?


``I am set to light the ground,

While the beetle goes his round:

Follow now the beetle's hum;

Little wanderer, hie thee home.''


Page 170. " We thought a little longer, and in the end we simply called her Joy. "

Infant Joy (William Blake)

``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!