Blake - Adam Zagajewski

[Lawrence Robinson]

Blake

I watch William Blake, who spotted angels
every day in treetops
and met God on the staircase
of his little house and found light in grimy alleys--

Blake, who dies
singing gleefully
in a London thronged
with streetwalkers, admirals and miracles,

William Blake, engraver, who labored
and lived in poverty but not despair,
who received burning signs 
from the sea and from the starry sky,

who never lost hope, since hope
was always born anew like breath,
I see those who walk like him on graying streets,
headed toward dawns rosy orchid.

    - Adam Zagajewski
             ( translated from the Polish by Clare Cavanagh)