Poetry+Unit+Review

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List of Poems Studied:

He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.
 * "The Eagle", Alfred, Lord Tennyson**

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.

The Littlest Poet recites Tennyson: []

code When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
 * "Winter", Shakespeare**

When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson’s saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marion’s nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs his in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

code

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,  Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,  Till on the haunting flares(2) we turned our backs  And towards our distant rest(3) began to trudge.  Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots  But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;  Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots(4)  Of tired, outstripped(5) Five-Nines(6) that dropped behind.  Gas!(7) Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,  Fitting the clumsy helmets(8) just in time;  But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,  And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime(9). . .  Dim, through the misty panes(10) and thick green light,  As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.  In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> He plunges at me, guttering,(11) choking, drowning. <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> If in some smothering dreams you too could pace <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> Behind the wagon that we flung him in, <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud(12) <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> My friend, you would not tell with such high zest(13) <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> To children ardent(14) for some desperate glory, <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est <span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal;"> Pro patria mori.(15)
 * "Dolce est Decorum", Wilfred Owen**

<span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;">Whose woods these are I think I know. <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> His house is in the village though; <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> He will not see me stopping here <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> To watch his woods fill up with snow.
 * "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening", Frost**

<span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> My little horse must think it queer <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> To stop without a farmhouse near <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> Between the woods and frozen lake <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> The darkest evening of the year.

<span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> He gives his harness bells a shake <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> To ask if there is some mistake. <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> The only other sound's the sweep <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> Of easy wind and downy flake.

<span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> The woods are lovely, dark and deep. <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> But I have promises to keep, <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> And miles to go before I sleep, <span style="font-family: Garamond,'Times New Roman'; font-size: 20px; line-height: normal;"> And miles to go before I sleep. Visual Interpretation of Frost's poem: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Cpr5pLoxGo&feature=related


 * "Broken Heart", John Donne**

He is stark mad, whoever says, That he hath been in love an hour, Yet not that love so soon decays, But that it can ten in less space devour ; Who will believe me, if I swear That I have had the plague a year? Who would not laugh at me, if I should say I saw a flash of powder burn a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart, If once into love's hands it come ! All other griefs allow a part To other griefs, and ask themselves but some ; They come to us, but us love draws ; He swallows us and never chaws ; By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die ; He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.

If 'twere not so, what did become Of my heart when I first saw thee? I brought a heart into the room, But from the room I carried none with me. If it had gone to thee, I know Mine would have taught thine heart to show More pity unto me ; but Love, alas ! At one first blow did shiver it as glass.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall, Nor any place be empty quite ; Therefore I think my breast hath all Those pieces still, though they be not unite ; And now, as broken glasses show A hundred lesser faces, so My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, But after one such love, can love no more.

Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots. Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills We trekked and picked until the cans were full Until the tinkling bottom had been covered With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's. We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre. But when the bath was filled we found a fur, A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache. The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour. I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot. Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.
 * "Blackberry Picking", Heaney**

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
 * "Sonnet 29", Shakespeare**

The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy.
 * "My Papa's Waltz", Theodore Roethke**

We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother's countenance Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt.

Sundays too my <span style="background-color: transparent ! important; background-image: none ! important; border: 0px none transparent ! important; bottom: 0px; color: blue ! important; cursor: pointer; display: inline ! important; font-family: inherit ! important; font-size: inherit ! important; font-variant: normal; font-weight: inherit ! important; left: 0px; margin: 0px; outline-style: none; padding: 0px ! important; position: static; right: 0px; text-decoration: underline ! important; text-transform: none ! important; top: 0px;">[|father] got up early And put his clothes on in the blueback cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
 * "Those Winter Sundays", Robert Hayden**

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he'd call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love's austere and lonely offices?


 * "Sirens", Margaret Atwood**

This is the one song everyone would like to learn: the song that is irresistible: the song that forces men to leap overboard in squadrons even though they see the beached skulls the song nobody knows because anyone who has heard it is dead, and the others can't remember. Shall I tell you the secret and if I do, will you get me out of this bird suit? I don't enjoy it here squatting on this island looking picturesque and mythical with these two feathery maniacs, I don't enjoy singing this trio, fatal and valuable. I will tell the secret to you, to you, only to you. Come closer. This song is a cry for help: Help me! Only you, only you can, you are unique at last. Alas it is a boring song but it works every time.


 * "ΕΡΩΣ"**
 * By Robert Bridges**

Why hast thou nothing in thy face?Thou idol of the human race,Thou tyrant of the human heart,The flower of lovely youth that art;Yea, and that standest in thy youthAn image of eternal Truth,With thy exuberant flesh so fair,That only Pheidias might compare,Ere from his chaste marmoreal formTime had decayed the colours warm;Like to his gods in thy proud dress,Thy starry sheen of nakedness. Surely thy body is thy mind,For in thy face is nought to find,Only thy soft unchristen’d smile,That shadows neither love nor guile,But shameless will and power immense,In secret sensuous innocence. O king of joy, what is thy thought?I dream thou knowest it is nought,And wouldst in darkness come, but thouMakest the light where’er thou go.Ah yet no victim of thy grace,None who e’er long’d for thy embrace,Hath cared to look upon thy face. "Eros" By Anne Stevenson


 * "The Barred Owl"**

The warping night air having brought the boom Of an owl’s voice into her darkened room, We tell the wakened child that all she heard Was an odd question from a forest bird, Asking of us, if rightly listened to, “Who cooks for you?” and then “Who cooks for you?” Words, which can make our terrors bravely clear, Can also thus domesticate a fear, And send a small child back to sleep at night Not listening for the sound of stealthy flight Or dreaming of some small thing in a claw Borne up to some dark branch and eaten raw.


 * "The History Teacher"**


 * "London, 1802"**

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: alter, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart; Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.


 * "Douglass"**


 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">Ah, Douglass, we have fall'n on evil days, **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Such days as thou, not even thou didst know, **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> When thee, the eyes of that harsh long ago **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Saw, salient, at the cross of devious ways, **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> And all the country heard thee with amaze. **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Not ended then, the passionate ebb and flow, **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> The awful tide that battled to and fro; **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> We ride amid a tempest of dispraise. **


 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Now, when the waves of swift dissension swarm, **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> And Honour, the strong <span style="background-color: transparent ! important; background-image: none ! important; bottom: 0px; color: blue ! important; cursor: pointer; display: inline ! important; font-family: inherit ! important; font-size: inherit ! important; font-variant: normal; font-weight: inherit ! important; left: 0px; margin: 0px; outline-style: none; padding: 0px ! important; position: static; right: 0px; text-decoration: underline ! important; text-transform: none ! important; top: 0px;">[|pilot], lieth stark, **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Oh, for thy voice high-sounding o'er the storm, **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> For thy strong arm to guide the shivering bark, **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> The blast-defying power of thy form, **
 * <span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> To give us comfort through the lonely dark. **


 * "When I have Fears"**
 * by John Keats**


 * When I have fears that I may cease to be **
 * Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, **
 * Before high piled books, in charact'ry, **
 * Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain; **
 * When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, **
 * Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, **
 * And think that I may never live to trace **
 * Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; **
 * And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, **
 * That I shall never look upon thee more, **
 * Never have relish in the faery power **
 * Of unreflecting love!—then on the shore **
 * Of the wide world I stand alone, and think **
 * Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. **


 * "Mezzo Cammin"**

> Half my life is gone, and I have let > The years slip from me and have not fulfilled > The aspiration of my youth, to build > Some tower of song with lofty parapet. > Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor the fret > Of restless passions that would not be stilled, > But sorrow, and a care that almost killed, > Kept me from what I may accomplish yet; > Though, half-way up the hill, I see the Past > Lying beneath me with its sounds and sights,-- > A city in the twilight dim and vast, > With smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights,-- > And hear above me on the autumnal blast > The cataract of Death far thundering from the heights.