Father, the gate is open.

William Blake moved to Felpham and loved the place. In a letter, he wrote:

…the sweet air & the voices of winds trees & birds & the odours of the happy ground makes it a dwelling for immortals. Work will go on here with God speed–…. I met a plow on my first going out at my gate the first morning after my arrival & the Plowboy said to the Plowman. “Father The Gate is Open”–I have begun to Work & find that I can work with greater pleasure than ever.

A Poison Tree

William Blake

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine –

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.



Filed under literature

3 responses to “Father, the gate is open.

  1. I read this last week. Blake is probably my favorite of the “mainstream” British Romantic poets… This was interesting to note, as all the Romantic poems/poets I have been exposed to in class are really awful, in my opinion.

    D’ya like Wordsworth?

  2. The Romantics who wax about the Power of Nature get ho-hum, after a while, imo. Wordsworth is alright, I like Blake and Shelley and Keats better. 😉

  3. Bah, Wordsworth is excessively wordy and silly.

    Keats is all right. At one point I thought his poem was titled “Ode _to_ a Grecian Urn.”

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