| The Little Girl Lost | |
| William Blake (from Songs of Experience, 1794) | |
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In futurity I prophetic see That the earth from sleep (Grave the sentence deep) Shall arise and seek For her maker meek; And in the desart wild Become a garden mild. * * * In the southern clime, Where the summer’s prime Never fades away, Lovely Lyca lay. Seven summers old Lovely Lyca told; She had wander’d long Hearing wild birds’ song. “Sweet sleep, come to me Underneath this tree. Do father, mother weep, Where can Lyca sleep? “Lost in desart wild Is your little child. How can Lyca sleep If her mother weep? “If her heart does ake Then let Lyca wake; If my mother sleep, Lyca shall not weep. “Frowning, frowning night, O’er this desart bright Let thy moon arise While I close my eyes.” Sleeping Lyca lay While the beasts of prey, Come from caverns deep, View’d the maid asleep. The kingly lion stood And the virgin view’d, Then he gamboll’d round O’er the hollow’d ground. Leopards, tygers, play Round her as she lay, While the lion old Bow’d his mane of gold. And her bosom lick, And upon her neck From his eyes of flame Ruby tears there came; While the lioness Loos’d her slender dress, And naked they convey’d To caves the sleeping maid. 
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