Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast,
Where thy little heart does rest.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart does wake,
Then the dreadful light shall break
From thy cheek and from thy eye,
O'er the youthful harvests nigh.
Infant wiles and infant smiles
Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles.
William BLAKE (1757-1827), Blake: The Complete Poems
(Edited by W. H. Stevenson), Longman, London, 1989, pp. 138, 148