Poem Identification Exam 2

If I can let you go as trees let go

Their leaves, so casually, one by one;

Autumn Sonnet 2 by Sarton

If I can come to know what they do know,

That fall is the release, the consummation,

Autumn Sonnet 2 by Sarton

Then fear of time and the uncertain fruit

Would not distemper the great lucid skies

Autumn Sonnet 2 by Sarton

This strangest autumn, mellow and acute.

If I can take the dark with open eyes

Autumn Sonnet 2 by Sarton

And call it seasonal, not harsh or strange

(For love itself may need a time of sleep),

Autumn Sonnet 2 by Sarton

And, treelike, stand unmoved before the change,

Lose what I lose to keep what I can keep,

Autumn Sonnet 2 by Sarton

The strong root still alive under the snow,

Love will endure – if I can let you go.

Autumn Sonnet 2 by Sarton

After a night of rain the brilliant screen

Below my terraced garden falls away.

Autumn Sonnet 5 by Sarton

And there, far off, I see the hills again

On this, a raw and windy, somber day.

Autumn Sonnet 5 by Sarton

Moments of loss, and it is overwhelming

(Crimson and gold gone, that rich tapestry),

Autumn Sonnet 5 by Sarton

But a new vision, quiet and soul-calming,

Distance, design, are given back to me.

Autumn Sonnet 5 by Sarton

This is good poverty, now love is lean,

More honest, harder than it ever was

Autumn Sonnet 5 by Sarton

When all was glamoured by a golden screen.

The hills are back, and silver on the grass,

Autumn Sonnet 5 by Sarton

As I look without passion or despair

Out on a larger landscape, grand and bare.

Autumn Sonnet 5 by Sarton

For steadfast flame wood must be seasoned,

And if love can be trusted to last out,

Autumn Sonnet 11 by Sarton

Then it must first be disciplined and reasoned

To take all weathers, absences, and doubt.

Autumn Sonnet 11 by Sarton

No resinous pine for this, but the hard oak

Slow to catch fire, would see us through a year.

Autumn Sonnet 11 by Sarton

We learned to temper words before we spoke,

To force the furies back, learn to forbear,

Autumn Sonnet 11 by Sarton

In silence to wait out erratic storm,

And bury tumult when we were apart.

Autumn Sonnet 11 by Sarton

The fires were banked to keep a winter warm

With heart of oak instead of resinous heart

Autumn Sonnet 11 by Sarton

And in this testing year beyond desire

Began to move toward durable fire.

Autumn Sonnet 11 by Sarton

She walks in beauty, like the night sky

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

She Walks in Beauty by Byron

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

She Walks in Beauty by Byron

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

She Walks in Beauty by Byron

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

She Walks in Beauty by Byron

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

She Walks in Beauty by Byron

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

She Walks in Beauty by Byron

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

She Walks in Beauty by Byron

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

She Walks in Beauty by Byron

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

She Walks in Beauty by Byron

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars

Darkness by Byron

Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

Darkness by Byron

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,

Darkness by Byron

And men forgot their passions in the dread

Of this their desolation; and all hearts

Darkness by Byron

Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:

And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,

Darkness by Byron

The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,

The habitations of all things which dwell,

Darkness by Byron

Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,

And men were gather'd round their blazing homes

Darkness by Byron

To look once more into each other's face;

Happy were those who dwelt within the eye

Darkness by Byron

Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:

A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;

Darkness by Byron

Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour

They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks

Darkness by Byron

Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black.

The brows of men by the despairing light

Darkness by Byron

Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits

The flashes fell upon them; some lay down

Darkness by Byron

And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest

Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;

Darkness by Byron

And others hurried to and fro, and fed

Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up

Darkness by Byron

With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

The pall of a past world; and then again

Darkness by Byron

With curses cast them down upon the dust,

And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd

Darkness by Byron

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,

And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes

Darkness by Byron

Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd

And twin'd themselves among the multitude,

Darkness by Byron

Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food.

And War, which for a moment was no more,

Darkness by Byron

Did glut himself again: a meal was bought

With blood, and each sate sullenly apart

Darkness by Byron

Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;

All earth was but one thought—and that was death

Darkness by Byron

Immediate and inglorious; and the pang

Of famine fed upon all entrails—men

Darkness by Byron

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;

The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,

Darkness by Byron

Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,

And he was faithful to a corse, and kept

Darkness by Byron

The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,

Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead

Darkness by Byron

Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,

But with a piteous and perpetual moan,

Darkness by Byron

And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand

Which answer'd not with a caress—he died.

Darkness by Byron

The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two

Of an enormous city did survive,

Darkness by Byron

And they were enemies: they met beside

The dying embers of an altar-place

Darkness by Byron

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things

For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,

Darkness by Byron

And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands

The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath

Darkness by Byron

Blew for a little life, and made a flame

Which was a mockery; then they lifted up

Darkness by Byron

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld

Each other's aspects—saw, and shriek'd, and died—

Darkness by Byron

Even of their mutual hideousness they died,

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow

Darkness by Byron

Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,

The populous and the powerful was a lump,

Darkness by Byron

Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—

A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.

Darkness by Byron

The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,

And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;

Darkness by Byron

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,

And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd

Darkness by Byron

They slept on the abyss without a surge—

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,

Darkness by Byron

The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;

The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,

Darkness by Byron

And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need

Of aid from them—She was the Universe.

Darkness by Byron

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

To Autumn by Keats

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To Autumn by Keats

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To Autumn by Keats

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

To Autumn by Keats

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

To Autumn by Keats

For summer has o'er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

To Autumn by Keats

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

To Autumn by Keats

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

To Autumn by Keats

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

To Autumn by Keats

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep gravy

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

To Autumn by Keats

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

To Autumn by Keats

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

To Autumn by Keats

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

To Autumn by Keats

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

To Autumn by Keats

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

To Autumn by Keats

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden

To Autumn by Keats

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

To Autumn by Keats

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

The sedge has withered from the lake,

And no birds sing.

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

So haggard and so woe-begone?

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

The squirrel’s granary is full,

And the harvest’s done.

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

I see a lily on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever-dew,

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful—a faery’s child,

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

She looked at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long,

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats

For sidelong would she bend, and sing

A faery’s song.

La Belle Dame sans Merci by Keats