Blake and the Angels – poem by Richard Hemmings
Under a canopy of trees
stands a man arrested, transfixed;
sharp eyes intense under stout hat.
He hears whispering,
sliding sounds;
floating, transient voices;
stretching the air; caressing the verdant
bright, shimmering leaves;
transformed by song.
Since he was young these visions
have enfolded him;
in trees; on spangled boughs.
Only he sees their essence sparkling above;
only hears childhood songs of innocence,
echo again and again.
Calling on of spirit voices,
high in the sky;
dancing and delighting.
An ant nudges his shoe;
a single drop of dew clings to a flower.
Darkness, dirt and smoke;
cries and hammerings fade.
Sights and sounds of the city recede;
Music and light surround him,
In this mystical land.
The realm of Angels
In his hand, his eye, his heart;
they will never desert him.
– Richard Hemmings
Illustration by Richard Hemmings