The Song of Los Poem by William Blake

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The Kings of Asia heard 
The howl rise up from Europe! 
And each ran out from his Web; 
From his ancient woven Den; 
For the darkness of Asia was startled 
At the thick-flaming, thought-creating fires of Orc. 

And the Kings of Asia stood 
And cried in bitterness of soul. 

Shall not the King call for Famine from the heath? 
Nor the Priest, for Pestilence from the fen? 
To restrain! to dismay! to thin! 
The inhabitants of mountain and plain; 
In the day, of full-feeding prosperity; 
And the night of delicious songs. 

Shall not the Councellor throw his curb 
Of Poverty on the laborious? 
To fix the price of labour; 
To invent allegoric riches: 

And the privy admonishers of men 
Call for fires in the City 
For heaps of smoking ruins, 
In the night of prosperity & wantonness 

To turn man from his path, 
To restrain the child from the womb, 

To cut off the bread from the city, 
That the remnant may learn to obey. 
That the pride of the heart may fail; 
That the lust of the eyes may be quench'd: 
That the delicate ear in its infancy 

May be dull'd; and the nostrils clos'd up; 
To teach mortal worms the path 
That leads from the gates of the Grave. 

Urizen heard them cry! 
And his shudd'ring waving wings 
Went enormous above the red flames 
Drawing clouds of despair thro' the heavens 
Of Europe as he went: 
And his Books of brass iron & gold 
Melted over the land as he flew, 

Heavy-waving, howling, weeping. 

And he stood over Judea: 
And stay'd in his ancient place: 
And stretch'd his clouds over Jerusalem; 

For Adam, a mouldering skeleton 
Lay bleach'd on the garden of Eden; 
And Noah as white as snow 
On the mountains of Ararat. 

Then the thunders of Urizen bellow'd aloud 
From his woven darkness above. 

Orc raging in European darkness 
Arose like a pillar of fire above the Alps 
Like a serpent of fiery flame! 
The sullen Earth 

Forth from the dead dust rattling bones to bones 
Join: shaking convuls'd the shivring clay breathes 
And all flesh naked stands: Fathers and Friends; 
Mothers & Infants; Kings & Warriors: 

The Grave shrieks with delight, & shakes 
Her hollow womb, & clasps the solid stem: 
Her bosom swells with wild desire: 
And milk & blood & glandous wine. 

About the author


Born In pakistan April 1978

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