Poems of William Blake

 The voice of the ancient Bard

 Youth of delight! come hither
 And see the opening morn,
 Image of Truth new-born. 
 Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,
 Dark disputes and artful teazing. 
 Folly is an endless maze;
 Tangled roots perplex her ways;
 How many have fallen there! 
 They stumble all night over bones of the dead;
 And feel —­ they know not what but care;
 And wish to lead others, when they should be led.