Ruby's Poetry Blog

The Bridge of Cloud By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

2005-06-08T21:19:00.000-07:00

ls-monet-1
Originally uploaded by Ruby88.

Burn, O evening hearth, and waken
  Pleasant visions, as of old!
Though the house by winds be shaken,
  Safe I keep this room of gold!

Ah, no longer wizard Fancy
  Builds her castles in the air,
Luring me by necromancy
  Up the never-ending stair!

But, instead, she builds me bridges
  Over many a dark ravine,
Where beneath the gusty ridges
  Cataracts dash and roar unseen.

And I cross them, little heeding
  Blast of wind or torrent's roar,
As I follow the receding
  Footsteps that have gone before.

Naught avails the imploring gesture,
  Naught avails the cry of pain!
When I touch the flying vesture,
  'T is the gray robe of the rain.

Baffled I return, and, leaning
  O'er the parapets of cloud,
Watch the mist that intervening
  Wraps the valley in its shroud.

And the sounds of life ascending
  Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear,
Murmur of bells and voices blending
  With the rush of waters near.

Well I know what there lies hidden,
  Every tower and town and farm,
And again the land forbidden
  Reassumes its vanished charm.

Well I know the secret places,
  And the nests in hedge and tree;
At what doors are friendly faces,
  In what hearts are thoughts of me.

Through the mist and darkness sinking,
  Blown by wind and beaten by shower,
Down I fling the thought I'm thinking,
  Down I toss this Alpine flower.

The imagery in this poem is well done, some of the versus remind me of the wizard of Oz for example Ah, no longer wizard Fancy, Builds her castles in the air, It reminds me of some sort of fairy tale you read back when you were younger. the way Lonfellow starts off his poem is quite lively and entertaining, but as the poem progresses it becomes a darker more dramatic tone, which doesnt appeal to me as much as the beginning versus. This is an overall well written poem.

Love and Death By Alfred Tennyson

2005-06-08T11:06:00.000-07:00

herat and arrow
Originally uploaded by Ruby88.

What time the mighty moon was gathering light
Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise,
And all about him roll’d his lustrous eyes;
When, turning round a cassia, full in view,
Death, walking all alone beneath a yew,
And talking to himself, first met his sight.
‘You must begone,’ said Death, ‘these walks are mine.’
Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight;
Yet ere he parted said, ‘This hour is thine:
Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree
Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,
So in the light of great eternity
Life eminent creates the shade of death.
The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,
But I shall reign for ever over all.’

The imagery in this poem is quite good, it is a gloomy poem even though it does talk about death, but I also like the way Tennyson compares love and death together, for example like love as a paradise and death as walking all alone without anyone else there.

From Song of Myself By Walt Whitman

2005-06-08T10:54:00.000-07:00

ist2_476160_musical_notes
Originally uploaded by Ruby88.

1

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

2

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with
perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the
distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing
of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and
dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of
the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields
and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising
from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of
all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through
the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

This poem kind of gives you this vibe about being happy with who you areand to not try and be someone your not, to give yourself a chance. This poem is quite cheery and happy which makes this poem one of my favourites of Whitman's.

The Doctor's Story By Will Carleton

2005-06-08T10:42:00.000-07:00

stethoscope
Originally uploaded by Ruby88.

Good folks ever will have their way
Good folks ever for it must pay.

But we, who are here and everywhere,
The burden of their faults must bear.

We must shoulder others' shame,
Fight their follies, and take their blame:

Purge the body, and humor the mind;
Doctor the eyes when the soul is blind;

Build the column of health erect
On the quicksands of neglect:

Always shouldering others' shame-
Bearing their faults and taking the blame!

Deacon Rogers, he came to me;
"Wife is a-goin' to die," said he.

'Doctors great, an' doctors small,
Haven't improved her any at all.

'Physic and blister, powders and pills,
And nothing sure but the doctors' bills!

"Twenty women, with remedies new,
Bother my wife the whole day through.

'Sweet as honey, or bitter as gall
Poor old woman, she takes 'em all.

'Sour or sweet, whatever they choose;
Poor old woman, she daren't refuse.

'So she pleases whoe'er may call,
An' Death is suited the best of all.

'Physic and blister, powder an' pill
Bound to conquer, and sure to kill!"

Mrs. Rogers lay in her bed,
Bandaged and blistered from foot to head.

Blistered and bandaged from head to toe,
Mrs. Rogers was very low.

Bottle and saucer, spoon and cup,
On the table stood bravely up;

Physics of high and low degree;
Calomel, catnip, boneset tea;

Everything a body could bear,
Excepting light and water and air.

I opened the blinds; the day was bright,
And God gave Mrs. Rogers some light.

I opened the window; the day was fair,
And God gave Mrs. Rogers some air.

Bottles and blisters, powders and pills,
Catnip, boneset, sirups and squills;

Drugs and medicines, high and low,
I threw them as far as I could throw.

"What are you doing?" my patient cried;
"Frightening Death," I coolly replied.

"You are crazy!" a visitor said:
I flung a bottle at his head.

Deacon Rogers he came to me,
'Wife is a-gettin' her health," said he.

"I really think she will worry through;
She scolds me just as she used to do.

'All the people have poohed an' slurred,
All the neighbors have had their word;

"'Twere better to perish, some of 'em say,
Than be cured in such an irregular way."

"Your wife," said I, "had God's good care,
And His remedies, light and water and air.

"All of the doctors, beyond a doubt,
Couldn't have cured Mrs. Rogers without.'

Tle deacon smiled and bowed his head;
Then your bill is nothing," he said.

"God's be the glory, as you sayl
God bless you, Doctor! Good day! Good day!"

If ever I doctor that woman again,
I'll give her medicine made by men.

This poem is not my favourite, but it was funny how you can compare it to the medical issues we've been having today. For example medical costs were cut down an health insurance for the elderly was on a breaking point. When Carleton mentions about paying, you could expand on this and relate it to modern day medical care. Paying could mean money and costs or it could mean that since hospitals were closing down and had low staff, it could cost them for loosing a patient that they never treated because they couldnt get to him or her.

Cards of Fortune by Eliza Acton

2005-06-08T09:01:00.000-07:00

cards
Originally uploaded by Ruby88.

MANY a graven gem, beset
With gold, is worn as an amulet
In the far-off climes of the East,--a charm
To preserve the bosom from grief and harm.
Within thy breast a spirit dwells,
More powerful ev'n than Arab-spells :--
'Tis Love!--oh, keep it pure--and still
'Twill be thy shield 'gainst many an ill!

PLUCK, in the depth of the midnight hour,
Buds of the beautiful Passion-flow'r;

Take the young Rose of the snowy vest,
The purest one, and the loveliest
With the twilight Primrose,--and let them be,
Blended with braids of the Sensitive tree:
Pillow thy head on that star-light wreath,
And the balmy spell of its dewy breath
Will cause such dreams o'er thy sleep to steal,
As shall the future to thee unseal,
And show thee, in visions of curtain'd rest,
The one, who shall cherish, and love thee best!

THY steps shall press a foreign shore,
But thou shalt tread thine own no more;
And thou wilt sigh, but sigh in vain,
To view thy native isle again:
In stranger-land thine eyes shall close;--
In stranger-earth thy dust repose :--
Yet one,--thine own belov'd shall be
Parted, by death alone from thee!

THOU shalt win wealth, if wealth can bless,
And fame, if fame be dear;
Or pass in humble happiness,
The years allowed thee here,
Choose !--but forget not woe, and strife
Are link'd unto ambition's life;--
That envyings follow high renown;--
That riches press the spirit down
With low, mean, cares--but thou art free,
To make, or mar thy destiny!

THY fairest hopes shall perish;
Thy dearest dreams depart;
The love which thou wilt cherish
Will feed upon thy heart;
Thy brow shall be o'er shaded
By darkness, and despair,
And thy pleasant smile be faded
Before the frown of care;

Unless from Pleasure's trance thou wake,
And Error's wildering paths forsake.

IF Spring should bring no bliss to thee,
And Summer should as joyless be,
The Autumn's close will find thee blest,
With all that makes life happiest;
And wintry storms shall shed their wrath
In vain upon thy shelter'd path,
Where Hope's sweet hymn shall still beguile,
And Fortune's sunshine warmly smile!

DARK eyes are steep'd in tears for thee,
And blue ones lose their lustrous light;
While thine, with careless gaiety,
Shine on for ever calmly bright.
Revenge will come !--and thou, in turn,
Shalt lose the looks which charm the many;

And long the cold disdain shalt mourn,
Of one, who ne'er has smil'd on any!

THE clear, warm, waves, which smiling lie
In rest, beneath the summer-sky;--
The sail, in safety wafted on
By light, and perfum'd gales, alone;
The sweetness of the air-harp's sigh
When soft winds wake its melody ;--
A cloudless heav'n;--and thornless flow'rs--
Are emblems of thy coming hours !

THY lips are doom'd awhile to press
The o'erflowing cup of bitterness;
But only for awhile !--the draught
Of suff'ring will be quickly quaff'd,
And sweeter will the future be
For that one taste of ill to thee,

Drain'd and forgotten soon: thy years
Will then be free from grief and tears,
And to thy spirit shall be known
The pleasantness of life alone !--

WHEN Roses bloom on Hecla's brow,
And Violets vein the sunless snow;
When birds of Paradise can bear
Unchill'd, Siberia's desert-air;
When man's weak voice shall charm to sleep
The wild, and tempest-shaken deep:--
Then thou shalt win the seeming good,
Thou hast, in vain, so long pursued.

THOU dwellest within the changeless thought
Of one, whose lightest looks to thee,
Are far more precious, than perfumes brought
From the sun-bright land of Araby.

Richer, than star-like gems, which shed
Their lustrous rays round a royal head,
Is the treasure which true love keeps for thee,
To reward thy prov'd fidelity !--

BEWARE the full of the next May-moon;
But more beware thou, the Ides of June;
Touch no flow'r that the shade falls on;
Move not in dance till the sun's gone down;
Drink not the juice of Oporto's vine;
Pluck not the treacherous Eglantine;
Taste not the fruit of the Orange-grove;
Read not the Mintrel's songs of love;
And thou shalt be prosperous, wealthy, and gay,
Ere a year, and a month have pass'd away!

A BIRD, which droops its wounded wing;
A young flow'r, fading in its spring;

A broken lyre, whose ev'ry tone
Of joy and harmony is gone;
A lonely leaf, whose blighted hue
But mocks alike the beam, and dew,
Of sunny April's glowing sky;--
A ruin'd fountain, moss'd, and dry;--
A shatter'd gem ;--a sinking star,
The mirrors of thy fortune are!

REST thee here !--securely rest,
In thine island sojourn blest.
Safety dwells within thy home;
Danger warns thee not to roam,
For afar, on earth, and sea,
Ten-fold perils lurk for thee.
Friendship's smile, and love's caress,
Here shall form thy happiness :--
Rest thee then,--securely rest
In thine island sojourn blest!

THY brow is bright, and sweet thy smile;
Thy heart, thy heart, is fill'd with guile;
And though thy softly beaming eye
Affects such gentle sympathy,
Thy heart, thy heart is cold as stone,
And feels but for itself alone :--
For this, thou ever more shalt prove,
That those who know thee, cannot love !

MISTS, from the hand of Sorrow flung,
The planet of thy birth o'er hung;
And round it giant-clouds of shame,
In dark'ning masses, clust'ring came,
While that sweet star grew pale to see
Such threat'nings of deep misery.
But yet despond not!--soon the ray
Of Peace shall chase that gloom away,
And ten-fold happiness shall shine
For evils past, o'er thee, and thine!

BEWARE the hand whose daring grasp
Hath wav'd the death-sword in its clasp,
Though fondly to thine own it cling,
With seeming friendship's lingering.
A soldier's hand shall make thy fate,
As Arab-desert desolate,
If thou should'st yet, with daring pride,
On one of war's wild sons confide:
Oh! sadly wilt thou sorrow then
O'er long-past warnings, breath'd in vain.

BELIEVE not all the flatt'ring things,
Some eyes have said to thee;
Nor heed the tender whisperings,
Of love, though sweet they be!
The look and tone alike deceive,
And subtle is the web they weave
For thy poor heart--but thou shalt yet
Their pow'r defy, their charm forget,

And in a true, and gen'rous breast
Thy hopes shall find a happier rest!

SMILE on!--thou wert not form'd for tears;
And if their trace hath been
Upon thy cheek, in those bright years,
When life's first hopes were green;
They were but as the fost'ring dew
Upon the young flow'r's bloom,
Which nourisheth its grace of hue,
And richness of perfume !--
Smile on !--for blest shall be thy lot,
And brilliant thy career :--
Oh! sure the world can offer not
A fairer promise here!--

WHEN next the Rose on its bough shall bloom,
And the soft Lily bursts from its silken tomb,

The star of thy destiny brighter shall shine
Than it e'er hath done yet--and a glow divine,
Of pure, and fadeless joy, shall be
The gift of the smiling fates to thee.

THOU dost pursue a fleeting shade
Which soon will pass away,
Swiftly as morning mist-wreath's fade
Before the Fire-God's ray:
Then to her long-deserted rest,
Within thy warm, but wearied breast,
Peace, like the nestling dove, shall come
To make, and keep, once more her home!

WAND'RING winds, still roving on;
Rainbow-tints, just seen and gone;
Butterflies with painted wing
Mid young spring-flow'rs hovering;--

Meteor-gleams, whose changing ray
Is flown, ere we can mark its play;
All these things resemble thee,
Capricious !--light !--yet fancy-free!

YES, there was one, to whom thy name
Like breathing's of sweet music came;
One who beheld in thee a star
Of guiding light, though seen afar;
And turn'd to thee with love intense,
Yet pure as early innocence.
Thou hast dispell'd that dream but ne'er
Another in thy heart shall share :--
Though many flatter, more caress,
Thy doom is--lasting loneliness!

THRICE happy !--no sorrow thy breast shall know
Till our land's bright roses in dust lie low;

Till trampled and torn by the foe-man's tread,
On our glorious banners disgrace is shed;
Till our soldiers turn from the fight to flee,
And ocean is freed from our mastery;
Till a tyrant's chain, or a hero's grave,
Is all that is left for the true and brave;
And foreign standards are planted o'er,
The free-born breasts of our native shore !--

OH! banish the thoughts which enchain thee,
As if by enchantment,--ere yet
The probe of reality pain thee
With pangs thou may'st never forget!
Awake from thy passionate dreaming,
While now for a moment thou'rt free;
And turn thee from false visions teeming,
With death, to thy fortunes, and thee.
Thou shalt gain what the world cannot render
Of peace, and delight, and repose;

And a warm heart's devotion shall tender
Affections soft balm for thy woes

GENTLE and pure, shall the happiness be,
Shed over thy dwelling, and centred in thee!
Dear as the Music of days that are gone;
Soft as a beautiful vision that's flown;
Soothing and calm as the moon's silver ray,
When she smilingly chases the night clouds away
Tender and sweet as the nightingale's song,
Borne on the flower-scented breezes along;
Precious as home to the wanderer's heart,
And enduring as Truth--it shall only depart
When the chill of the grave o'er each feeling is thrown,
And the darkness of death o'er thy spirit comes on!
DARKLY, darkly, Misfortune's wing
Is o'er thee rolling its heavy cloud;

Slowly, slowly, 'tis gathering,
Cold, and gloomy, as pleasure's shroud.
Brightly, brightly, the bursting beams
Of courage and hope shall struggle through,
Sweetly, sweetly, the silent gleams
Of happiness chase its raven hue:
Firmly, firmly, sustain thy lot--
That passing shadow shall harm thee not.
PAUSE!--'ere thy choice hath clasp'd the chain
Which may not be unloos'd again;
For though of gold the links may be
They will not press less painfully.
Nor will the fetters bound by pride
The aching of thy bosom hide.
An empire's wealth would ill atone
For feelings crush'd, and peace o'erthrown ;--
Nor might a despot's pow'r repay
The spirit's sunshine pass'd away!
HAST thou e'er seen a moonlight path
Upon the wild waves thrown,
Binding their peacefulness or wrath
As with a silvery zone,
And shining, 'mid the darkness there
More bright than it could gleam elsewhere?
Ev'n such in life thy way shall be!
A moonlight track o'er sorrow's sea!--
BEWARE thou the voice of the stranger,
Though gentle its accents may be,
For sorrow, beguiling, and danger,
Will dwell in its music for thee.
And be not thou too much believing
In eyes that with tenderness shine,
Or bitter will be their deceiving
Of feelings reflected in thine,

And smiles in whose eloquent beaming,
Live sweetness, and beauty, and light,
Will mock thee with treacherous seeming,
Then leave thee to Misery's night !

This poem went along well with its title. In the beginning it explains all tha good cluck charms that someone may have and how certain people obtain that luck..The imagery of this poem is quite detailed and it gives you a good look at what kind of atmosphere Eliza Acton may be trying to convey to the readers. The title suits this poem very well, ( Cards of Fortune ) and the rhyming that Acton writes flows wel with the rest of the words.

On receiving a curious Shell by John Keats

2005-06-08T08:59:00.000-07:00

asian-clam-shell-small
Originally uploaded by Ruby88.

On receiving a curious Shell

HAST thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem
Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain?
Bright as the humming-bird’s green diadem,
When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through a fountain?

Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine?

That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold?
And splendidly mark’d with the story divine
Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold?

Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing?
Hast thou a sword that thine enemy’s smart is?

Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing?
And wear’st thou the shield of the fam’d Britomartis?

What is it that hangs from thy shoulder, so brave,
Embroidered with many a spring peering flower?
Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave?

And hastest thou now to that fair lady’s bower?

Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art crown’d;
Full many the glories that brighten thy youth!
I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound
In magical powers to bless, and to sooth.

On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair
A sun-beamy tale of a wreath, and a chain;
And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare
Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain.

This canopy mark: ’tis the work of a fay;

Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish,
When lovely Titania was far, far away,
And cruelly left him to sorrow, and anguish.

There, oft would he bring from his soft sighing lute
Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightingales listened;

The wondering spirits of heaven were mute,
And tears ’mong the dewdrops of morning oft glistened.

In this little dome, all those melodies strange,
Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh;
Nor e’er will the notes from their tenderness change;

Nor e’er will the music of Oberon die.

So, when I am in a voluptuous vein,
I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose,
And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain,
Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose.

Adieu, valiant Eric! with joy thou art crown’d;
Full many the glories that brighten thy youth,
I too have my blisses, which richly abound
In magical powers, to bless and to sooth.

this poem is quite odd, it does not mention anything thing about a shell which Keats mentions in his title. This poem is quite random in the fact that he leaps from odd subjects and back again for example when he talks about Oberon from Midsummer Nights Dream, that is a very random verse, which has nothing to do with what he was talking about on the line before.

To a Lady, With a Guitar by Percy Bysse Shelley

2005-06-08T08:58:00.000-07:00

guitar
Originally uploaded by Ruby88.

To a Lady, With a Guitar

Ariel to Miranda: -Take
This slave of music, for the sake
Of him who is the slave of thee;
And teach it all the harmony
In which thou canst, and only thou,
Make the delighted spirit glow,
Till joy denies itself again
And, too intense, is turned to pain.
For by permission and command
Of thine own Prince Ferdinand,
Poor Ariel sends this silent token
Of more than ever can be spoken;
Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who
From life to life must still pursue
Your happiness, for thus alone
Can Ariel ever find his own.
From Prospero's enchanted cell,
As the mighty verses tell,
To the throne of Naples he
Lit you o'er the trackless sea,
Flitting on, your prow before,
Like a living meteor.
When you die, the silent Moon
In her interlunar swoon
Is not sadder in her cell
Than deserted Ariel.
When you live again on earth,
Like an unseen Star of birth
Ariel guides you o'er the sea
Of life from your nativity.
Many changes have been run
Since Ferdinand and you begun
Your course of love, and Ariel still
Has tracked your steps and served your will.
Now in humbler, happier lot,
This is all remembered not;
And now, alas! the poor sprite is
Imprisoned for some fault of his
In a body like a grave -
From you he only dares to crave,
For his service and his sorrow,
A smile today, a song tomorrow.

The artist who this idol wrought
To echo all harmonious thought,
Felled a tree, while on the steep
The woods were in their winter sleep,
Rocked in that repose divine
On the wind-swept Apennine;
And dreaming, some of Autumn past,
And some of Spring approaching fast,
And some of April buds and showers,
And some of songs in July bowers,
And all of love; and so this tree, -
O that such our death may be! -
Died in sleep, and felt no pain,
To live in happier form again:
From which, beneath Heaven's fairest star,
The artist wrought this loved Guitar;
And taught it justly to reply
To all who question skilfully
In language gentle as thine own;
Whispering in enamoured tone
Sweet oracles of woods and dells,
And summer winds in sylvan cells;
- For it had learnt all harmonies
Of the plains and of the skies,
Of the forests and the mountains,
And the many-voiced fountains;
The clearest echoes of the hills,
The softest notes of falling rills,
The melodies of birds and bees,
The murmuring of summer seas,
And pattering rain, and breathing dew,
And airs of evening; and it knew
That seldom-heard mysterious sound
Which, driven on its diurnal round,
As it floats through boundless day,
Our world enkindles on its way:
- All this it knows, but will not tell
To those who cannot question well
The Spirit that inhabits it;
It talks according to the wit
Of its companions; and no more
Is heard than has been felt before
By those who tempt it to betray
These secrets of an elder day.
But, sweetly as its answers will
Flatter hands of perfect skill,
It keeps its highest holiest tone
For one beloved Friend alone.

I found that this poem could be easily compared with the musical world today. The poem talks about how love and pain are shared within certain music, which is still what happens in 2005, which i find interesting. Also I enjoyed how he worded his sentences while making comparisons between art and music. This poem is very uplifting and well written.

Written After Swimming from Sestos Abydos by Lord Byron

2005-06-08T08:56:00.000-07:00

swimming
Originally uploaded by Ruby88.

Written After Swimming from Sestos to Abydos

If, in the month of dark December,
Leander, who was nightly wont
(What maid will not the tale remember?)
To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!

If, when the wintry tempest roared,
He sped to Hero, nothing loath,
And thus of old thy current poured,
Fair Venus! how I pity both!

For me, degenerate modern wretch,
Though in the genial month of May,
My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,
And think I've done a feat today.

But since he crossed the rapid tide,
According to the doubtful story,
To woo -and -Lord knows what beside,
And swam for Love, as I for Glory;

'Twere hard to say who fared the best:
Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you!
He lost his labour, I my jest;
For he was drowned, and I've the ague.

This poem was not my favourite of Byron's poems. When I first saw the title I thought it would be interesting, since I enjoy swimming myself, and was intrigued to see what he had worte after swimming...Yet when I read it, the poem came out as a dull grey poem with no joyfulness or happiness that I feel after I go swimming. This poem had good imagery, yet it feels to me that even though no matter what the weather may be like, swimming can still be fun and not gloomy.

To William Wordsworth by Samuel Coleridge

2005-06-08T08:55:00.000-07:00

Wordsworth
Originally uploaded by Ruby88.

Friend of the Wise ! and Teacher of the Good !
Into my heart have I received that Lay
More than historic, that prophetic Lay
Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright)
Of the foundations and the building up
Of a Human Spirit thou hast dared to tell
What may be told, to the understanding mind
Revealable ; and what within the mind
By vital breathings secret as the soul
Of vernal growth, oft quickens in the heart
Thoughts all too deep for words !--
Theme hard as high !
Of smiles spontaneous, and mysterious fears
(The first-born they of Reason and twin-birth),
Of tides obedient to external force,
And currents self-determined, as might seem,
Or by some inner Power ; of moments awful,
Now in thy inner life, and now abroad,
When power streamed from thee, and thy soul received
The light reflected, as a light bestowed--
Of fancies fair, and milder hours of youth,
Hyblean murmurs of poetic thought
Industrious in its joy, in vales and glens
Native or outland, lakes and famous hills !
Or on the lonely high-road, when the stars
Were rising ; or by secret mountain-streams,
The guides and the companions of thy way !

Of more than Fancy, of the Social Sense
Distending wide, and man beloved as man,
Where France in all her towns lay vibrating
Like some becalméd bark beneath the burst
Of Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloud
Is visible, or shadow on the main.
For thou wert there, thine own brows garlanded,
Amid the tremor of a realm aglow,
Amid the mighty nation jubilant,
When from the general heart of human kind
Hope sprang forth like a full-born Diety !
--Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck down,
So summoned homeward, thenceforth calm and sure
From the dread watch-tower of man's absolute self,
With light unwaning on her eyes, to look
Far on--herself a glory to behold,
The Angel of the vision ! Then (last strain)
Of Duty, chosen Laws controlling choice,
Action and Joy !--An Orphic song indeed,
A song divine of high and passionate thoughts
To their own music chaunted !
O great Bard !
Ere yet that last strain dying awed the air,
With stedfast eye I viewed thee in the choir
Of ever-enduring men. The truly great
Have all one age, and from one visible space
Shed influence ! They, both in power and act,
Are permanent, and Time is not with them,
Save as it worketh for them, they in it.
Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old,
And to be placed, as they, with gradual fame
Among the archives of mankind, thy work
Makes audible a linkéd lay of Truth,
Of Truth profound a sweet continuous lay,
Not learnt, but native, her own natural notes !
Ah ! as I listened with a heart forlorn,
The pulses of my being beat anew :
And even as Life returns upon the drowned,
Life's joy rekindling roused a throng of pains--
Keen pangs of Love, awakening as a babe
Turbulent, with an outcry in the heart ;
And Fears self-willed, that shunned the eye of Hope ;
And Hope that scarce would know itself from Fear ;
Sense of past Youth, and Manhood come in vain,
And Genius given, and Knowledge won in vain ;
And all which I had culled in wood-walks wild,
And all which patient toil had reared, and all,
Commune with thee had opened out--but flowers
Strewed on my corse, and borne upon my bier,
In the same coffin, for the self-same grave !
That way no more ! and ill beseems it me,
Who came a welcomer in herald's guise,
Singing of Glory, and Futurity,
To wander back on such unhealthful road,
Plucking the poisons of self-harm ! And ill
Such intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths
Strew'd before thy advancing !
Nor do thou,
Sage Bard ! impair the memory of that hour
Of thy communion with my nobler mind
By pity or grief, already felt too long !
Nor let my words import more blame than needs.
The tumult rose and ceased : for Peace is nigh
Where Wisdom's voice has found a listening heart.
Amid the howl of more than wintry storms,
The Halcyon hears the voice of vernal hours
Already on the wing.
Eve following eve,
Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of Home
Is sweetest ! moments for their own sake hailed
And more desired, more precious, for thy song,
In silence listening, like a devout child,
My soul lay passive, by thy various strain
Driven as in surges now beneath the stars,
With momentary stars of my own birth,
Fair constellated foam, still darting off
Into the darkness ; now a tranquil sea,
Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the moon.

And when--O Friend ! my comforter and guide !
Strong in thyself, and powerful to give strength !--
Thy long sustainéd Song finally closed,
And thy deep voice had ceased--yet thou thyself
Wert still before my eyes, and round us both
That happy vision of belovéd faces--
Scarce conscious, and yet conscious of its close
I sate, my being blended in one thought
(Thought was it ? or aspiration ? or resolve ?)
Absorbed, yet hanging still upon the sound--
And when I rose, I found myself in prayer.

I enjoyed this poem because it talks of how close friendship can be between people. Also I found it interesting that Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote this poem to his friend William Wordsworth, who is also a well-known romantic poet, whom I had just looked at. Although this peom is quite long, it still shares the idea of what a true friend may be and this is why I enjoyed this poem.

To A Butterfly by William Wordsworth

2005-06-06T10:17:00.000-07:00

monarch2
Originally uploaded by Ruby88.

To A Butterfly
Stay near me---do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find I thee,
Historian of my infancy !
Float near me; do not yet depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart,
My father's family!

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush
Upon the prey:---with leaps and spring
I followed on from brake to bush;
But she, God love her, feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.

I enjoyed this poem because I like how he compares departing with a love to a butterfly that is about to take flight.In the second half of the poem, he reminisces about he childhood and how he used to go catch butterflies. Which makes me day dream about the days when I was younger and I used to have a huge fascination with insects and how I would go out with my net and try to catch monarchs at Hornby Island.

Review of literary blogs

2005-06-06T09:31:00.000-07:00

http://contemporarylit.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?zi=1/XJ&sdn=contemporarylit&zu=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.realisticrecords.net%2Fthemillions%2F... This is a blog review which I thought was well written, the blog showed what he magazine was like and what they did not like about it as well. It was not the best review, because it repeated itself over again near the end but it was a mediocre post.

http://contemporarylit.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?zi=1/XJ&sdn=contemporarylit&zu=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.grumpyoldbookman.blogspot.com%2F... This review was well thought out and it explained clearly what the author thought of the book based on certain criticisms and compliments. He also gave a brief history on the other and used good vocabulary to explain his thoughts of this book. This blog was very detailed and lengthy but by only reading a few paragraphs you could get the overall idea of what he thought of the book. This was a very good review...

http://contemporarylit.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?zi=1/XJ&sdn=contemporarylit&zu=http%3A%2F%2Fmarksarvas.blogs.com%2Felegvar%2F... This posting was not a great review..It just explained what happened throughout the story without giving any insight on what they learned, felt, thought while reading the book. This review just gave an overview of the story and it ended up being somewhat boring because its more interesting to read about what people thought then an overview of the book that they had read.This was not a very good post..