NaPoWriMo: Day 3

The goal of  NaPoWriMo is to write 30 poems in 30 days (the month of April). I will attempt to either write a poem or share a favorite of mine several days a week, not everyday. I really love good poetry, and I don’t invest nearly enough time into it. NaPoWriMo will provide me a nice kick start to diving back in.

Here is one of my favorites by William Blake called The Little Black Boy. I’ve always loved this poem. It’s dark and filled with historical significance and written so emotionally and wonderfully. Enjoy:

The artist and poet William Blake, who lived i...

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but oh my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And, pointed to the east, began to say:

‘Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives His light, and gives His heat away,
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.

‘And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

‘For when our souls have learn’d the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice,
Saying, ‘Come out from the grove, my love and care
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice’,’

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me;
And thus I say to little English boy.
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy

I’ll shade him from the heat till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our Father’s knee;
And then I’ll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will then love me.

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