Blake was the child who saw God at his window-pane. He frightened Blake and then Went away again. Blake saw angels in A tree at Peckham Rye, Like stars upon the branches They flamed before his eye. Blake was a madman to The men of his day; They never saw the Lord Or Heaven his way. It is a queer thing: Though I am wise and sane God does not come to stare Through my window-pane, Nor anywhere in London Do angels stand in trees, Though I have knelt down yearning For visions like these. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VOICE OF THE BANJO by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR COUPLETS IN PRAISE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SEARCHLIGHTS by MILDRED SUTTON BRENEMAN THE OL' COW HAWSE by EARL ALONZO BRININSTOOL WHITE FOXGLOVE by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN A FARMER REMEMBERS LINCOLN by WITTER BYNNER |