My first reaction is:

The lamb with the eyes of a tiger...

Then i went looking for some comments on these poems on the Internet and found this:

"Throughout infinity evolution sweeps along all the children of an ever-fecund mother who is Space-as-consciousness. Consequently the descent into individualized life on earth is necessary for growth. Thereby our experiences call out of our hidden recesses a limitless range of qualities that are expressed in ever-larger degrees of refinement.

"What the hand dare seize the fire?" Does this line of the poem not echo the Greek myth of Prometheus who 'stole' the fire of the gods -- mind -- to give to man, thereby dooming himself to the aeons-long torments of physical existence in order to inspire the human race to become aware that they are embryo gods, cosmic beings at school? The descent into matter is matched by a later ascent into the realms from which all have come, back to the primal source.

The fiery look of the tiger is a challenge to awaken and to scale the rungs of the limitless ladder of beings that comprises the vast ranges of nature.

(From Sunrise magazine, January 1974; copyright © 1974 Theosophical University Press)

And to me this says it all :)

To William Blake,

Thou that beheld visions and banned all thy visualry
With quill or chalk or pin on paper sheet or stone,
Their form in lines or shades, their sense in thy poetry,
Gruesome or tender or grand, but a thousandfold al-One, -

Thou was a man as we: the wildness of thy bliss
Was no other than that radiant glow
Rising from high heaven’s steep’st abyss
Waking our imagination to creations eternal flow.

Thou willed not thine eyes elsewhere to sway
High or low but to the images twirl and twist,
And thine enigmatic word and play were but a way
For One more than thee to pray in thee, his Artist.

How capricious speech and stroke; ‘cause man on earth,
As a mesh in synchronicities web, endlessly meshed
Grasps best that from impression form expressed
And therefrom furthers the Kingdom to its birth.

Our Kingdom was thine and thy were its preacher.
Imagination its name and Spirit as its teacher
In itself miraculously inspires elated creatures,
Though with ratio bounded, ruled and fragmented features.

Unsave from that Fall! Love only can avail;
Who pierces the once created ever with beaming arrow,
Who grants the stark and dying but short bail
And always the Denier-of-nature overthrow.

How did thee wind around thy core, thy deepest sow,
And not only thine, but of humanity whole,
Myths and dreams, whose heavenly high grow
Became a canopy, by thy thought in an enlightened glow.

Under that heavens arch,- plagued, taunted, pushed away,
By brave and learned as well, who deemed insanity your expose –
Worked thee with a woman near, she held thee interlocked, close
When rapture reaped thou and all thy worry away.

And when walking, sometimes, of thy visions one said,
Their sense were so deep and pure, a formidable pleasure,
And then eyes looked at thee jestingly to take thy measure:
Where didst thou see that? – Thee quietly pointed at thy forehead: here.

Here. In your world not, which is glimmer, dull, deceptive,
For who it as a fact and not as symbol meets.
Here, in our own Kingdom, to anyone open and receptive
Where the symbol Nature to higher Art completes.

How were thy quiet and peaceful in thy final reposes.
Thy laid and waited, and sang thy soul song so bold,
For it to be heard above the heavens vault
Whose opening the human eye its last vision encloses.

Thy sang! So sweet; and she weeped who thou love begot.
But thee: O sweet, that song isn’t mine, it’s not!
No, t’was the god in thee whose ev’ry song thy lent
We’re with him, stay with him, beginning through the end.

By Albert Verwey, Dutch Poet 1865-1937
Courtesy translation 2006 by C

Dear DK,

"by giving form to ideas"

I thought that was the function of the universe? Amazing that the Artist and the Universe perform the same function.

To William Blake

Prophet of Art everlasting; where the eternal Representation
Which is life itself through the holy Spirit's lead,
After Love's first quest which bared Nature's breasts and seed
Were sown to her recreation indeed.

By Albert Verwey, Dutch Poet 1865-1937
courtesy translation 20006 by C