Well, son, I'll tell you: Life for me ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor— Bare. But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on, And reachin' landin's, And turnin' corners, And sometimes goin' in the dark Where there ain't been no light. So, boy, don't you turn back. Don't you set down on the steps. 'Cause you finds it's kinder hard. Don't you fall now— For I'se still goin', honey, I'se still climbin', And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
- by William Blake58
When the voices of children are heard on the green, And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast, And everything else is still.
‘Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise; Come, come leave off play, and let us away Till the morning appears in the skies.’
‘No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, And we cannot go to sleep; Besides, in the sky the little birds fly, And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.’
‘Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, And then go home to bed.’ The little ones leapèd, and shoutèd, and laugh'd And all the hills echoèd.
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