Piping Down The Valleys Wild

Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:

'Pipe a song about a lamb!'
So I piped with merry cheer.
'Piper, pipe that song again.'
So I piped: he wept to hear.

'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer.'
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

'Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read.'
So he vanished from my sight,
And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.

William Blake

William Blake was an English poet, painter, and printmaker, who is considered one of the seminal figures in the history of poetry and visual arts of the Romantic Age. Born in London, Blake was largely unrecognized during his lifetime but is now renowned for his expressive and mystical works that blend poetic and visual art. His notable works include 'Songs of Innocence and Experience' and 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell'. His unique creative vision and philosophical outlook have influenced numerous artists and thinkers since his death.

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English

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Reeds Of Innocence

Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:

'Pipe a song about a Lamb!'
So I piped with merry cheer.
'Piper, pipe that song again;'
So I piped: he wept to hear.

'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer!'
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

'Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book that all may read.'
So he vanish'd from my sight;
And I pluck'd a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.

William Blake

Introduction To Songs Of Innocence

Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:

"Pipe a song about a Lamb!"
So I piped with merry cheer.
"Piper, pipe that song again;"
So I piped: he wept to hear.

"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer!"
So I sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

"Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read."
So he vanish'd from my sight;
And I pluck'd a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.

William Blake

The Piper (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    Shepherd! while the lambs do feed,
        And you rest beneath a tree,
    Pipe upon an oaten reed
        Merrily and merrily.

    Should it rain do not forbear,
        Rain comes from the happy sky,
    Tune us now a quiet air
        Till the shower passes by.

    Back the sun will come in gold!
        Pipe away, my dear, until
    Evening brings the lambs to fold,
        You may weep then if you will.

James Stephens

Nursery Rhyme. CLIV. Songs.

        [Part of this is in a song called 'Jockey's Lamentation,' in the 'Pills to Purge Melancholy,' 1719, vol. v, p. 317.]

    Tom he was a piper's son,
    He learn'd to play when he was young,
    But all the tunes that he could play,
    Was, "Over the hills and far away;"
    Over the hills, and a great way off,
    And the wind will blow my top-knot off.

    Now Tom with his pipe made such a noise,
    That he pleas'd both the girls and boys,
    And they stopp'd to hear him play,
    "Over the hills and far away."

    Tom with his pipe did play with such skill,
    That those who heard him could never keep still;
    Whenever they heard they began for to dance,
    Even pigs on their hind legs would after him prance.

    As Dolly was...

Unknown

Corydon's Farewell To His Pipe

Yea, it is best, dear friends, who have so oft
Fed full my ears with praises sweet and soft,
Sweeter and softer than my song should win,
Too sweet and soft - I must not listen more,
Lest its dear perilous honey make me mad,
And once again an overweening lad
Presume against Apollo. Nay, no more!
'Tis not to pipes like mine sing stars at morn,
Nor stars at night dance in their solemn dance:
Nay, stars! why tell of stars? the very thrush
Putteth my daintiest cunning to the blush
And boasteth him the hedgerow laureate.
Yea, dimmest daisies lost amid the grass,
One might have deemed blessed us for looking at,
Would rather choose, - yea, so it is, alas! -
The meanest bird that from its tiny throat
Droppeth the pearl of one monotonous note,
Than any music I can ...

Richard Le Gallienne

Pipes O' Pan At Zekesbury

The pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they
Than when their cunning fashioner first blew
The pith of music from them: Yet for you
And me their notes are blown in many a way
Lost in our murmurings for that old day
That fared so well, without us. - Waken to
The pipings here at hand: - The clear halloo
Of truant-voices, and the roundelay
The waters warble in the solitude
Of blooming thickets, where the robin's breast
Sends up such ecstacy o'er dale and dell,
Each tree top answers, till in all the wood
There lingers not one squirrel in his nest
Whetting his hunger on an empty shell.

James Whitcomb Riley