Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

It may be suggested that, for their purpose, Ruskin's words are perfectly
chosen, that as a direct social charge they achieve their purpose better
than any others that could have been shaped. Even if we allow this and
do not press, as we very reasonably might, the reply that merely in this
direction Blake's poem working, as is the manner of all great art, with
tremendous but secret vigour upon the imagination of the people, has a
deeper and more permanent effect than Ruskin's prose, we still remember
that the sole purpose of poetry is to produce the virile spiritual
activity that we call aesthetic delight and that to do this is the highest
achievement to which the faculties of man can attain. If by "the best
words" we mean anything, we must mean the best words for the highest