Poems test. | Quizlet

"OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray:

And, when I crossed the wild,

I chanced to see at break of day

The solitary child.

"Lucy Gray or, solitude" William Wordsworth

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tomb-stones where flowers should be:

And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars, my joy & desires.

"The Garden of Love" William Blake

I wander thro' each charter'd street,

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

"London" William Blake

They followed from the snowy bank

Those footmarks, one by one,

Into the middle of the plank;

And further there were none!

"Lucy Gray or, Solitude" William Wordsworth

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 chear;

"Piper pipe that song again"-

So I piped, he wept to hear.

"Songs of Innocence" Introduction William Blake

And then an open field they crossed:

The marks were still the same;

They tracked them on, nor ever lost;

And to the bridge they came.

"Lucy Gray or, Solitude" William Wordsworth

"And I made a rural pen,

And I stain'd the water clear,

And I wrote my happy songs

Every child may joy to hear.

"Songs of Innocence" Introduction William Blake

How the Chimney-sweepers cry

Every blackning Church appalls,

And the hapless Soldiers sigh

Runs in blood down Palace walls.

"London" William Blake

And the gates of this Chapel were shut, / And Thou shalt not writ over the door:

So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,

That so many sweet flowers bore;

"The Garden of Love" William Blake

At day-break on a hill they stood

That overlooked the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood,

A furlong from their door.

"Lucy Gray or, Solitude" William Wordsworth

In what distant deeps or skies.

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?

"The Tyger" Songs of Experience William Blake

"Is this a holy thing to see,

In a rich and fruitful land.

Babes reduced to misery,

Fed with cold and usurous hand?"

"Holy Thursday" Songs of Experience William Blake

" Because I was happy upon the heath,

And smil'd among the winter's snow;

They clothed me in the clothes of death,

And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

"The Chimney Sweeper" Songs of Experience William Blake

"O Earth, O earth, return!

Arise from out the dewy grass;

Night is worn,

And the morn

Rises from the slumberous mass.

Turn away no more;

Why wilt thou turn away?

The starry floor

The watry shore

Is giv'n thee till the break of day.

Songs of Experience Introduction William Blake

They wept - and, turning homeward, cried,

"In heaven we all shall meet'

- When in the snow the mother spied

The print of Lucy's feet

"Lucy Gray or, Solitude" William Wordsworth

O what a multitude they seemd these flowers of London town

Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own

The hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambs

Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands

"Holy Thursday" Songs of Innocence William Blake

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

"I wandered lonely as a Cloud" the daffodils- William Wordsworth

Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song

Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among

Beneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poor

Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door

"Holy Thursday" Songs of Innocence William Blake

"Little Lamb I'll tell thee!

He is called by thy name,

For he calls himself a Lamb"

He is meek & he is mild,

He became a little child;

I a child & thou a lamb,

We are called by his name.

Little Lamb God bless thee.

Little Lamb God bless thee.

"The Lamb" Songs of Innocence William Blake

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,

They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.

And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,

He'd have God for his father & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark

And got with our bags & our brushes to work.

Tho" the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm;

So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

"The Chimney Sweeper" Songs of Innoncece William Blake

Little Lamb who made thee

Dost thou know who made thee?

Gave thee life & bid thee feed,

By the stream & o'er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing wooly bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the vales rejoice!

Little Lamb who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

"The Lamb" Songs of Innoncece William Blake

And so he was quiet, & that very night,

As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight!

That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack,

Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black.

"The Chimney Sweeper" Songs of Innocence William Blake

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

I wandered lonely as a cloud. The daffodils William Wordsworth

"My stockings there I often knit,

My kerchief there I hem;

And there upon the ground I sit,

And sing a song to them.

"We are seven" William Wordsworth

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;

She dwelt on a wide moor,

--The sweetest thing that ever grew

Beside a human door!

"Lucy Gray or, Solitude" William Wordsworth

When my mother died I was very young,

And my father sold me while yet my tongue

Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"

So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

"The Chimney Sweeper" Songs of Innocence William Blake

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head

That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said,

"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,

You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."

"The Chimney Sweeper" Songs of Innocence William Blake

'Twas on a holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean

The children walking two & two, in red & blue & green;

Grey headed beadles walked before with wands as white as snow,

Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' water flow.

"Holy Thursday" Songs of Innoncence William Blake

What the hammer? what the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp,

Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

"The Tyger" Songs of Experience William Blake

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

"The Tyger" Songs of Experience William Blake

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not be but gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed-and gazed- but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought

I wandered lonely as a cloud. The daffodils. William Wordsworth

I met a little cottage Girl:

She was eight years old, she said;

Her hair was thick with many a curl

That clustered round her head.

She had rustic, woodland air,

And she was wildly clad:

Her eyes were fair, and very fair;

-Her beauty made me glad.

We are seven- William Wordsworth

At this the Father raised his hook,

And snapped a ******-band;

He plied his work- and Lucy took

The lantern in her hand.

"Lucy Gray or, Solitude" William Wordsworth

Not blither is the mountain roe:

With many a wanton stroke

Her feet disperse the powdery snow,

That rises up like smoke.

Lucy Gray or, Solitude. William Wordsworth

The storm came on before its time:

She wandered up and down:

And many a hill did Lucy climb:

But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night

Went shouting far and wide;

But there was neither sound nor sight

To serve them for a guide.

Lucy Gray or, Solitude William Wordsworth

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

"The Tyger" Songs of Experience William Blake

When the stars threw down their spears

And water'd heaven with their tears:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

"The Tyger" Songs of Experience William Blake

Hear the voice of the Bard!

Who Present, Past, & Future sees;

Whose ears have heard

The Holy Word

That walk'd among the ancient trees;

Calling the lapsed Soul

And weeping in the evening dew,

That might controll

The starry pole,

And fallen, fallen light renew!

Songs of Experience Introduction William Blake

Is that trembling cry a song?

Can it be a song of joy?

And so many children poor?

It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine,

And their fields are bleak & bare,

And their ways are fill'd with thorns;

It is eternal winter there.

For where-e-er the sun does shine,

And where-e-er the rain does fall,

Babe can never hunger there,

Nor poverty the mind appall.

"Holy Thursday" Songs of Experience William Blake

A little black thing among the snow,

Crying "weep! 'weep!" in notes of woe!

"Where are thy father and mother? say?"

"They are both gone up to the church to pray.

"The Chimney Sweeper" Songs of Experience- William Blake

And because I am happy and dance and sing,

They think they have done me no injury,

And are gone to praise God and his Priest and King,

Who make up a heaven of our misery."

"The Chimney Sweeper" Songs of Experience- William Blake

Drop thy pipe thy happy pipe

Sing thy songs of happy chear,

So I sung 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 vanish'd from my sight.

And I pluck'd a hollow read.

Songs of Innocence- Introduction William Blake

I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen:

A Chapel was built in the midst,

Where I used to play on the green.

The Garden of Love- William Blake

"In every cry of every man, in every infants cry of fear, in every voice in every ban" the mind- forged manacles I hear.

"London" William Blake

But most thro' midnight streets I hear

How the youthful Harlots curse

Blasts the new-born Infants tear

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

"London" William Blake

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

I wandered lonely as a cloud. the daffodils. William Wordsworth

"And often after sun-set, Sir,

When it is light and fair,

I take my little porringer,

And eat my supper there.

"We are seven" William Wordsworth

"To-night will be a stormy night--

You to the town must go;

And take a lantern, Child, to light

Your mother through the snow."

That, Father! will I gladly do:

Tis scarcely afternoon-

The minster-clock has just struck two,

And yonder is the moon!

"Lucy Gray or, Solitude" William Wordsworth

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge

They tracked the footmarks small;

And through the broken hawthorn hedge,

And by the long stone-wall;

"Lucy Gray or, Solitude" William Wordsworth

--Yet some maintain that to this day

She is a living child;

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray

Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

" Lucy Gray or, Solitude" William Wordsworth

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,What mighty contests rise from trivial things,I sing—This verse to Caryll, Muse! is due:This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,If she inspire, and he approve my lays.

"The Rape of the Lock" Alexander Pope

And now, unveil'd, the toilet stands display'd,Each silver vase in mystic order laid....With shining ringlets the smooth ivory neck.Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains,And mighty hearts are held in slender chains.

"The Rape of the Lock" Alexander Pope

Of these am I, who thy protection claim,Ariel, and watch thy breast's dear frame:...Warn'd by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware!This day, black omens threat the brightest fair.

"The Rape of the Lock" Alexander Pope

The peer now spreads the glittering forfex wide,To seize the power of that fair head denied....The lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,In every place is sought, but sought in vain.

"The Rape of the Lock" Alexander Pope

Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd hair,Which adds new glory to the shining sphere!...This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to fame,And midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

"The Rape of the Lock" Alexander Pope

These are the secret comforts of my soul,My thoughts are ripe, and full of maturity;I do applaud my sudden choice with joy;To marry my own sister and begetA race of love, if such a thing could be.

"Tis pity she's a *****" John Ford

O Giovanni! Hast thou left the schoolsOf knowledge to converse with lust and death?

"Tis pity she's a *****" John Ford

If this be true, 'tis brave,And thou hast made me happy in thy love.

"Tis pity she's a *****" John Ford

I say still, it's good to have a woman's counsellor,If a man knew how to use her.

"Tis pity she's a *****" John Ford

Oh, keep awayFrom me, you furies! I am sick at heartAnd loathe this life!

"Tis pity she's a *****" John Ford

Pleasures, farewell, and all ye thriftless minutesWherein false joys have spun a weary life!To these my fortunes now I take my leave.Thou, precious Time, that swiftly rid'st in postOver the world, to finish up the raceOf my last fate, here stay thy restless course,And bear to ages that are yet unbornA wretched, woeful woman's tragedy.My conscience now stands up against my lustWith depositions character'd in guilt,And tells me I am lost: now I confessBeauty that clothes the outside of the faceIs curs'd if it be not cloth'd with grace.Here like a turtle (mew'd up in a cage)Unmated, I converse with air and walls,And descant on my vile unhappiness.O Giovanni, that hast had the spoilOf thine own virtues and my modest fame,Would thou hadst been less subject to those starsThat luckless reign'd at my nativity:O would the scourge due to my black offenseMight pass from thee, that I alone might feel

Tis pity she's a *****" John Ford

At length did cross an Albatross,Thorough the fog it came;As if it had been a Christian soul,We hailed it in God's name.

"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" Samuel Taylor Coleridge

And I had done a hellish thing,And it would work 'em woe:For all averred, I had killed the birdThat made the breeze to blow.Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,That made the breeze to blow!

"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Beyond the shadow of the ship,I watched the water-snakes:They moved in tracks of shining white,And when they reared, the elfish lightFell off in hoary flakes....O happy living things! no tongueTheir beauty might declare:A spring of love gushed from my heart,And I blessed them unaware:Sure my kind saint took pity on me,And I blessed them unaware.

"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" Samuel Taylor Coleridge

This soul hath beenAlone on a wide wide sea:So lonely 'twas, that God himselfScarce seemed there to be....O sweeter than the marriage-feast,'Tis sweeter far to me,To walk together to the kirkWith a goodly company!—To walk together to the kirk,And all together pray,While each to his great Father bends,Old men, and babes, and loving friends,And youths and maidens gay!

"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" Samuel Taylor Coleridge

He prayeth well, who loveth wellBoth man and bird and beast.He prayeth best, who loveth bestAll things both great and small;For the dear God who loveth us,He made and loveth all.

"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The awful shadow of some unseen Power

Floats though unseen among us; visiting

This various world with as inconstant wing

As summer winds that creep from flower to flower;

Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower,

It visits with inconstant glance

Each human heart and countenance;

Like hues and harmonies of evening,

Like clouds in starlight widely spread,

Like memory of music fled,

Like aught that for its grace may be

Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.

"Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" Percy Bysshe Shelley

Spirit of BEAUTY, that dost consecrate

With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon

Of human thought or form, where art thou gone?

Why dost thou pass away and leave our state,

This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate?

Ask why the sunlight not for ever

Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain-river,

Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown,

Why fear and dream and death and birth

Cast on the daylight of this earth

Such gloom, why man has such a scope

For love and hate, despondency and hope?

"Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" Percy Bysshe Shelley

No voice from some sublimer world hath ever

To sage or poet these responses given:

Therefore the names of Demon, Ghost, and Heaven,

Remain the records of their vain endeavour:

Frail spells whose utter'd charm might not avail to sever,

From all we hear and all we see,

Doubt, chance and mutability.

Thy light alone like mist o'er mountains driven,

Or music by the night-wind sent

Through strings of some still instrument,

Or moonlight on a midnight stream,

Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream.

"Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" Percy Bysshe Shelley

Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds depart

And come, for some uncertain moments lent.

Man were immortal and omnipotent,

Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art,

Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart.

Thou messenger of sympathies,

That wax and wane in lovers' eyes;

Thou, that to human thought art nourishment,

Like darkness to a dying flame!

Depart not as thy shadow came,

Depart not—lest the grave should be,

Like life and fear, a dark reality.

"Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" Percy Bysshe Shelley

While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped

Through many a listening chamber, cave and ruin,

And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing

Hopes of high talk with the departed dead.

I call'd on poisonous names with which our youth is fed;

I was not heard; I saw them not;

When musing deeply on the lot

Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing

All vital things that wake to bring

News of birds and blossoming,

Sudden, thy shadow fell on me;

I shriek'd, and clasp'd my hands in ecstasy!

"Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" Percy Bysshe Shelley

I vowed that I would dedicate my powers

To thee and thine - have I not kept the vow?

With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now

I call the phantoms of a thousand hours

Each from his voiceless grave; they have in visioned bowers

Of studious zeal or love's delight

Outwatched with me the envious night -

They know that never joy illumined my brow

Unliked with hope that thou wouldst free

This world from its dark slavery,

That thou - O awful LOVELINESS

Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot express.

"Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" Percy Bysshe Shelley

The day become more solemn and serene

When noon is past - there is a harmony

In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,

Which through the summer is not heard or seen,

As if it could not be, as if it had not been!

Thus let thy power, which like the truth

Of nature on my passive youth

Descended, to my onward life supply

Its calm - to one who worships thee,

And every from containing thee,

Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did bind

To fear himself, and love all human kind.

"Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away."

"Ozymandias" Percy Bysshe Shelley

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,

Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,

Each like a corpse within its grave, until

Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill

(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)

With living hues and odorus plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;

Destroyed and Preserver, hear, O hear!

"Ode to the West Wind" Percy Bysshe Shelley

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreamsThe blue Mediterranean, where he lay,Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day,All overgrown with azure moss, and flowersSo sweet, the sense faints picturing them! ThouFor whose path the Atlantic's level powersCleave themselves into chasms, while far belowThe sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wearThe sapless foliage of the ocean, knowThy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!

IV

"Ode to the West Wind" Percy Bysshe Shelley

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;A wave to pant beneath thy power, and shareThe impulse of thy strength, only less freeThan thou, O uncontrollable! If evenI were as in my boyhood, and could beThe comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speedScarce seemed a vision—I would ne'er have strivenAs thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowedOne too like thee—tameless, and swift, and proud.

"Ode to the West Wind" Percy Bysshe Shelley

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:What if my leaves are falling like its own!The tumult of thy mighty harmoniesWill take from both a deep, autumnal tone,Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!Drive my dead thoughts over the universeLike withered leaves to quicken a new birth!And, by the incantation of this verse,Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearthAshes and sparks, my words among mankind!Be through my lips to unawakened EarthThe trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

"Ode to the West Wind" Percy Bysshe Shelley

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,From the seas and the streams;I bear light shade for the leaves when laidIn their noonday dreams.From my wings are shaken the dews that wakenThe sweet buds every one,When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,As she dances about the sun.I wield the flail of the lashing hail,And whiten the green plains under,And then again I dissolve it in rain,And laugh as I pass in thunder.

"The Cloud" Percy Bysshe Shelley

I sift the snow on the mountains below,And their great pines groan aghast;And all the night 'tis my pillow white,While I sleep in the arms of the blast.Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,Lightning my pilot sits;In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,It struggles and howls at fits;Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,This pilot is guiding me,Lured by the love of the genii that moveIn the depths of the purple sea;Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,Over the lakes and the plains,Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,The Spirit he loves remains;And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile,Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

"The Cloud" Percy Bysshe Shelley

The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,And his burning plumes outspread,Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,When the morning star shines dead:As on the jag of a mountain crag,Which an earthquake rocks and swings,An eagle alit one moment may sitIn the light of its golden wings.And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,Its ardours of rest and of love,And the crimson pall of eve may fallFrom the depth of Heaven above,With wings folded I rest, on mine aëry nest,As still as a brooding dove.

"The Cloud" Percy Bysshe Shelley

That orbèd maiden with white fire ladenWhom mortals call the Moon,Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floorBy the midnight breezes strewn;And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,Which only the angels hear,May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,The stars peep behind her and peer;And I laugh to see them whirl and fleeLike a swarm of golden bees,When I widen the rent in my wind-built tentTill the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,Are each paved with the moon and these.

"The Cloud" Percy Bysshe Shelley

I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone,And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swimWhen the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,Over a torrent sea,Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof—The mountains its columns be.The triumphal arch through which I marchWith hurricane, fire, and snow,When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,Is the million-coloured bow;The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,While the moist Earth was laughing below.

"The Cloud" Percy Bysshe Shelley

I am the daughter of Earth and Water,And the nursling of the Sky;I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;I change, but I cannot die.For after the rain when with never a stainThe pavilion of Heaven is bare,And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleamsBuild up the blue dome of air,I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,And out of the caverns of rain,Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,I arise and unbuild it again.

"The Cloud" Percy Bysshe Shelley

She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies;And all that's best of dark and brightMeet in her aspect and her eyes:Thus mellowed to that tender lightWhich heaven to gaudy day denies.

"She walks in Beauty" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

One shade the more, one ray the less,Had half impaired the nameless graceWhich waves in every raven tress,Or softly lightens o'er her face;Where thoughts serenely sweet expressHow pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

"She walks in Beauty" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,The smiles that win, the tints that glow,But tell of days in goodness spent,A mind at peace with all below,A heart whose love is innocent!

"She walks in Beauty" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

"I want a hero: an uncommon want, / When every year and month sends forth a new one."

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

'Brave men were living before Agamemnon'

And since, exceeding valorous and sage,

A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;

But then they shone not on the poet's page,

And so have been forgotten - I condemn none,

But I can't find any in the present age

Fit for my poem ( that is, for my new one);

So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

"Most epic poets plunge "in medias res"

(Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road),

And then your hero tells, whene'er you please,

What went before--by way of episode,

While seated after dinner at his ease,

Beside his mistress in some soft abode,

Palace, or garden, paradise, or cavern,

Which serves the happy couple for a tavern."

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

That is the usual method, but not mine--

My way is to begin with the beginning;

The regularity of my design

Forbids all wandering as the worst of sinning,

And therefore I shall open with a line

(Although it cost me half an hour in spinning),

Narrating somewhat of Don Juan's father,

And also of his mother, if you'd rather.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

In Seville was he born, a pleasant city,

Famous for oranges and women - he

Who has not seen it will be much to pity,

So says the proverb - and I quite agree;

Of all the Spanish towns is none more pretty,

Cadiz perhaps - but that you soon may see: -

Don Juan's parents lived beside the river,

A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquivir.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

His father's name was Jose - Don, of course,

A true Hidalgo, free from every stain

Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his source

Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain;

A better cavalier ne'er mounted horse,

Or, being mounted, e'er got down again,

Than Jose, who begot our hero, who

Begot - but that's to come Well, to renew.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

His mother was a learned lady, famed

For every branch of every science known -

In every children language ever named,

With virtues equally by her wit alone,

She made the cleverest people quite ashamed,

And even the good with inward envy groan,

Finding themselves so very much exceeded

In their own way by all the things that she did.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

Her memory was a mine: she knew by heart

All Calderon and greater part of Lope,

So that if any actor miss'd his part

She could have served him for the prompter's copy;

For her Feinagle's were an useless art.

And he himself obliged to shut up shop - he

Could never make a memory so fine as

That which adorn'd the brain of Donna Inez.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

Her favorite science was the mathematical,

Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity,

Her wit (she sometimes tired at wit) was Attic all,

Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity;

In short, in all things she was fairly what I call

A prodigy - her morning dress was dimity,

Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin,

And other stuffs, with which I won't stay puzzling.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

She knew the Latin--that is, "the Lord's prayer,"

And Greek--the alphabet--I'm nearly sure;

She read some French romances here and there,

Although her mode of speaking was not pure;

For native Spanish she had no great care,

At least her conversation was obscure;

Her thoughts were theorems, her words a problem,

As if she deemed that mystery would ennoble 'em.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

'My poems epic and is meant to be// Divided in twelve books; each book containing,

With love, and war, and heavy gale at sea,

A list pf ships, and captains, and kings reigning,

New characters; the episodes are three:

A panorama view of hell's in training,

After the style of Virgil and of Homer,

So that my name of Epic's no misnomer.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

All these things will be specified in time,

With strict regard to Aristotle's rules,

The vade mecum of the true sublime,

Which makes so many poets, and some fools;

Prose poets like blank-verse, I'm fond of rhyme,

Good workmen never quarrel with their tools;

I've gotten new mythological machinery,

And very handsome supernatural scenery.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

There's only one slight difference between

Me and my epic brethren gone before,

And here the advantage is my own, I ween;

(Not that I have not several merits more,

But this will more peculiarly be seen)

They so embellish, that 'tis quite a bore

Their labyrinth of fables to thread through,

Whereas this story's actually true.

"Don Juan" Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)