Songs of Innocence and Experience tracks



Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
`Pipe a song about a Lamb!'
So I piped with merry cheer.
`Piper, pipe that song again;'
So I piped: he wept to hear.

`Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer:'
So I sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.
`Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read.'
So he vanished from my sight,
And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.


The Sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around
To the bells' cheerful sound,
While our sports shall be seen
On the Echoing Green.

Old John, with white hair,
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say:
`Such, such were the joys
When we all, girls and boys,
In our youth time were seen
On the Echoing Green.'

Till the little ones, weary,
No more can be merry;
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mothers
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest,
And sport no more seen
On the darkening Green.


When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
When does the air laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hills laugh with noise of it;

When the meadows laugh with lively green,
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene,
When Mary, Susan and Emily
Sing with their sweet mouths `Ha, Ha, He!'

When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread,
Come live, and be merry, and join with me,
To sing the sweet chorus of `Ha, Ha, He!'


Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength and breath,
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.
Or if I die.
If I die...


Little Mary Bell had a fairy in a nut,
Long John Brown had the devil in his gut,
Long John Brown loved little Mary Bell,
And the fairy drew the devil into the nutshell.

Her fairy skipped out and her fairy skipped in,
He laughed at the devil saying: 'Love is a sin'.
Devil raged, and devil he was wroth,
And the devil entered into the young man's broth.

He was soon in the gut of the loving young swain,
For John ate and drank to drive away love's pain,
But all he could do he grew thinner and thinner,
Though he ate and drank as ten men for dinner.

Some said he had wolf in his stomach day and night,
Some said he had the devil, and they guessed right,
The fairy skipped about in his glory, joy and pride
And he laughed at the devil till poor John Brown died.

Then the fairy skipped out of the old nutshell,
And woe and alack for pretty Mary Bell!
For the devil crept in when the fairy skipped out,
And there goes Miss Bell with her fusty old nut.


All the night in woe
Lyca's parents go
Over valleys deep,
While the deserts weep.
Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan,

Arm in arm for days
Traced the desert ways.
Seven nights they sleep
Among shadows deep,
Dreaming see their child
Starved in desert wild.

Pale, through pathless ways
Fancied image strays
Famished, weeping, weak,
Hollow piteous shriek.
Rising from unrest,
Trembling woman prest

Feet of weary woe,
Could no further go.
In his arms he bore
Her with sorrow sore;
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.

Turning back was vain!
Soon his heavy mane
Bore them to the ground.
Then he stalked around,
Smelling to his prey;
But their fears allay

When he licks their hands,
Silent by them stands.
They look 'pon his eyes
Filled with deep surprise;
Wondering behold
Spirit armed in gold.

On his head a crown;
On his shoulders down
Flowed his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.

`Follow me,' he said;
`Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep
Lyca lies asleep.'
Then they followed
Where the vision led,

To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell;
Fear not wolfish howl
Nor the lions' growl.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell;
Not fear the wolfish howl,
Nor the lions' growl.

Lyca lies asleep...
Lyca lies asleep...
Lyca lies asleep...


The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.

The moon, like a flower,
In heaven high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles in the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
Where flocks have took delight.
Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
The feet of angels bright;

If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.

When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
They pitying stand and weep;
Seeking to drive their thirst away,
And keep them from the sheep.

But if they rush dreadful,
The angels, most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.

And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold,
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold,
Flowing, pitying and saying:
`Wrath, by His meekness,
And, by His health, sickness
Is driven away
From our immortal day.

`And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep;
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee and weep.
For, washed in life's river.
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like gold
As I guard o'er the fold.'