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	<title>flahute &#187; William Blake</title>
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		<title>Poetry Friday</title>
		<link>http://www.flahute.com/2010/10/15/poetry-friday-195/</link>
		<comments>http://www.flahute.com/2010/10/15/poetry-friday-195/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 15 Oct 2010 11:04:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>flahute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Word Play]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[autumn]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[blood]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fruit]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[joy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lust]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[QOTD]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[song]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[spirit]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[summer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[William Blake]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.flahute.com/?p=2380</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p>TO AUTUMN</p> <p>O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayst rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe, And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.</p> <p>&#8220;The [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><strong><u>TO AUTUMN</u></strong></p>
<p><em>O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained<br />
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit<br />
Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayst rest,<br />
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,<br />
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!<br />
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.</p>
<p>&#8220;The narrow bud opens her beauties to<br />
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;<br />
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and<br />
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,<br />
Till clust&#8217;ring Summer breaks forth into singing,<br />
And feather&#8217;d clouds strew flowers round her head.</p>
<p>&#8220;The spirits of the air live on the smells<br />
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round<br />
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.&#8221;<br />
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;<br />
Then rose, girded himself, and o&#8217;er the bleak<br />
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.</em></p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8212; William Blake (1757 &#8211; 1827), English poet and artist</p>
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		<item>
		<title>Poetry Friday</title>
		<link>http://www.flahute.com/2009/11/06/poetry-friday-147/</link>
		<comments>http://www.flahute.com/2009/11/06/poetry-friday-147/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 06 Nov 2009 09:47:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>flahute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Word Play]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[dream]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fear]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[heart]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[kiss]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[light]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lips]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[pain]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[passion]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[QOTD]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[travel]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[William Blake]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[William Butler Yeats]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[wind]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.flahute.com/?p=1991</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p>NEVER GIVE ALL THE HEART</p> <p>Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything that&#8217;s lovely is But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.</p> <p>O never give the heart outright, For [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><strong><u>NEVER GIVE ALL THE HEART</u></strong></p>
<p><em>Never give all the heart, for love<br />
Will hardly seem worth thinking of<br />
To passionate women if it seem<br />
Certain, and they never dream<br />
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;<br />
For everything that&#8217;s lovely is<br />
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.</p>
<p>O never give the heart outright,<br />
For they, for all smooth lips can say,<br />
Have given their hearts up to the play.<br />
And who could play it well enough<br />
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?<br />
He that made this knows all the cost,<br />
For he gave all his heart and lost.</em></p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8212; William Butler Yeats (1865 &#8211; 1939), Irish poet and dramatist.</p>
<p><strong><u><em>LOVE&#8217;S SECRET</em></u></strong></p>
<p><strong>Never seek to tell thy love,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Love that never told can be;<br />
For the gentle wind doth move<br />
  Silently, invisibly.   </p>
<p>I told my love, I told my love,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I told her all my heart,<br />
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Ah! she did depart!   </p>
<p>Soon after she was gone from me,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; A traveller came by,<br />
Silently, invisibly:<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; He took her with a sigh.</strong></p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8212; William Blake (1757 &#8211; 1827), English poet, painter, and printmaker.</p>
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