Month: April 2015

Eagle

Eagle-Soul- “God” keeps him safe – he is free Mystery- He looks like a very powerful bird – It seems he has the light of God around him – He is a guardian sprit

The Kingfisher

The Kingfisher – soul- He is happy, Religiously fishing every day – He has no worries mystery- he is happy doing the same thing every day -he can go under water safely

Because I could not stop for Death (479)

Emily Dickinson, 1830 – 1886 Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality. We slowly drove – He knew no haste And I had put

The Second Coming

William Butler Yeats 1865–1939 Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony

The Unknown Citizen

W. H. Auden, 1907-1973 (To JS/07 M 378 This Marble Monument Is Erected by the State) He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be One against whom there was no official complaint, And all the reports on his

Dover Beach

Matthew Arnold, 1822–1888 The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the

She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways

William Wordsworth, 1770–1850 She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! —Fair as

If We Must Die

Claude McKay, 1889–1948 If we must die, let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursèd lot. If we must die,

The Fury of Aerial Bombardment

You would think the fury of aerial bombardment Would rouse God to relent; the infinite spaces Are still silent. He looks on shock-pried faces. History, even, does not know what is meant. You would feel that after so many centuries

Bluejay

Boy -soul -boy thinks winter is going to be long -he feels down because it is cold and snowy -The boy  is also gloomy because winter is long, chilly and dreary. Bluejay-soul -grumpy about winter -feeling down about the long

owl poem

Owls soul- it kills to survive – prey do not suffer Mystery- owls come out at night to eat, most birds come out in the day

Nine Birds

e.e. cummings nine birds (rising through a gold moment) climb: ing i -nto wintry twi- light (all together a manying one -ness) nine souls only alive with a single mys- tery ( liftingly caught upon falling) silent! ly living the

Hawk Roosting

Ted Hughes I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed. Inaction, no falsifying dream Between my hooked head and hooked feet: Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat. The convenience of the high trees! The air’s

Hurt Hawks

Robinson Jeffers, 1887–1962 I The broken pillar of the wing jags from the clotted shoulder, The wing trails like a banner in defeat, No more to use the sky forever but live with famine And pain a few days: cat

The Owl

Edward Thomas, 1878–1917 Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved; Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof. Then at the

The Darkling Thrush

Thomas Hardy, 1840 – 1928 I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray, And Winter’s dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that

Bantams in Pine-Woods

Wallace Stevens, 1879 – 1955 Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan Of tan with henna hackles, halt! Damned universal cock, as if the sun Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail. Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal. Your

Little Trotty Wagtail

John Clare, 1793-1864 Little trotty wagtail he went in the rain And tittering, tottering sideways he neer got straight again He stooped to get a worm, and looked up to get a fly And then he flew away ere his

Philomela

Matthew Arnold, 1822–1888 Hark! ah, the nightingale— The tawny-throated! Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst! What triumph! hark!—what pain! O wanderer from a Grecian shore, Still, after many years, in distant lands, Still nourishing in thy bewilder’d brain

Robert Frost

Robert Frost (1874–1963) THE HOUSE had gone to bring again To the midnight sky a sunset glow. Now the chimney was all of the house that stood, Like a pistil after the petals go. The barn opposed across the way,

The Wild Swans at Coole

W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939 The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky; Upon the brimming water among the stones Are nine and fifty swans.

Wild Swans

Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 – 1950 I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over. And what did I see I had not seen before? Only a question less or a question more; Nothing to match the

Ode to a Nightingale

John Keats, 1795 – 1821 1. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: ‘Tis not

Sailing to Byzantium

W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939 That is no country for old men. The young In one another’s arms, birds in the trees —Those dying generations—at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer

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