IGNOU Meg 1 Important poems and stanzas arranged blockwise based on old question papers
IGNOU Meg 1 Important poems and stanzas arranged blockwise based on old question papers
Block-1 Orientation For the Study of Poetry & The Medieval Poet Chaucer
The General Prologue -
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
His hors were gode, but he was nat gay, Of fustian he wered a gipoun; Al bismotered with his habergeoun; For he was late y-come from his viage, And wente for to doon his pilgrimage. - II
And specially from every shires ende
of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they
were seeke.
He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen,
That seith, that hunters been nat holy men;
lie that a monk, whan he is cloisterlees
Is lykned til a fish that is waterlees,
"A lovyere and a lusty bachelor,
With lokkes crulle as they were leyd
in presse.
Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse.
Of his stature he was of evene lengthe,"
A knyght ther was, and that a worthy man,
That fro the tyme that he first bigan
To riden out, he loved chivalrie
Trouthe and honour, freedom and curteisie.
Of fustian he wered a gypoun
Al bismotered with his habergeoun,
For he was late y-come from his viage,
And wente for to doon his pilgrymage.
Wel coude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde.
He coude songes make and wel endyte,
Juste and eek daunce and wel
purtreye and wryte.
So hote he lovede, that by nightertale
He sleep namore than dooth a nightingale.
Hir nose tretys, hir eyes greye as glas ;
Hir mouth ful smal, and ther-to softe and reed ;
But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed ;
it was almost a spanne brood. I trowe ;
For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.
"That fro the tyme that he first bigan
To riden out, he loved chivalric,
Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie.
Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,"
But for to tellen yow of his array,
His hors were gode, but he was not gay.
Of fustian he weved a gipoun,
Al bismotered with his habergeoun;
For he was late y-come from his viage,
And wente for to doon his pilgrimage.
Nun’s Priest’s Tale-
This widewe of which I telle yow my tale,
Syn thilke day that she was last a wyf,
In pacience ladde a ful symple lyf,
For litel was hir catel and hir rente
"A povre wydwe somdeel stape in age,
Was whilom dwellyng in a narwe cotage,
Biside a grove, stondynge in a dale.
This wydwe, of which I telle yow my tale,"
0 Chauntecleer, accursed be that morwe,
That thou into that yerd flaugh fro the bemes !
Thou were ful we] y - warned by thy dremes,
That thilke day was perilous to thee.
Wommennes counseils been ful ofte colde;
Wommennes counseil broghte us first to wo,
And made Adam fro paradys to go,
Ther-as he was ful mery, and wel at ese.
Lo, swich it is for to be recchelees, And necligent, and truste on flaterye. But ye that holden this tale a folye, As of a fox, or of a cok and hen, Taketh the moralitee, good men.
Sin thilke day that she was seven night old,
That trewely she hath the herte in hold
Of Chauntecleer loken in every lith ;
He loved hir so, that wel was him therwith.
His comb was redder than the fyn coral,
And batailed, as it were a castel wal;
His byle was blak, and as the jeet it shoon;
Lyk asur were his legges, and his toon.
"I seye for me, it is a greet disese
Where as men han been in greet welthe
and ese,
To heeren of hire sodeyn fal, alias!
And the contrarie is joye and greet solas."
Madame, the sentence of this Latin is -
Womman is mannes joye and al his bhs.
For whan I fele a-night your softe syde,
Al-be-it that I may nat on you ryde
Block-2 Undertaking A Study of Spenser
Epithalamion
Ye learned sisters which have oftentimes been to me ayding, others to adorne : Whom ye thought worthy of your grace full rymes, That even the greatest did not greathy scorne To heare then names sung in your simple layes. But joyed in theyr prayse.
Ne let the fame of any be enuide,
So orpheus did for his owne bride,
So I vnto my selfe alone will sing,
The woods shall to me answer and my Eccho ring. - II
For that our perche is maad no narwe, alas !
So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this
And cease till then our tymely ioyes to sing,
The woods no more us answer, nor our echo
Ring.
"My love is now awake out of her dreame(s),
And her fayre eyes like stars that
dimmed were
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr
goodly beams
Move bright then Hesperus his head
doth rere."
Ali my deere love why doe ye sleepe thus long, When meeter were that ye should now awake, T'awayt the comming of your joyous make, And hearken to the birds' lovelearned song, The deawy leaves among. (These lines have been taken from Epithalamion by Edmund Spender. Written in 1584, this is an ode in 24 stanzas. )
And thou, glad Genius ! in whose gentle hand
The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine,
Without blemish or staine;
And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves delight
With secret ayde doest succour and supply,
Till they bring forth the fruitfull progeny,
Send us the timely fruit of this same night.
"Wake now my love, awake! for it is time;
The Rosy Morrie long since left Tithones bed,
All ready to her silver coche to clyme;
And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed."
For that our perche is maad no narwe, alas !
So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this
And cease till then our tymely ioyes to sing,
The woods no more us answer, nor our echo - II
There dwels sweet love and constant
chastity
Unspotted fayth and comely womanhood,
Regard of honour and mild modesty,
The vertue raynes as queene in royal throne,
And giveth lawes alone.
Prothalamion
Against the brydale day, which is not long : Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my song. - III
There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side,
A Flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy,
All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby,
With goodly greenish locks all loose untyde.
"At length they all to mery London came,
To mery London, my most kyndly nurse,
That to me gave, this lifes first
native sourse
Though from another place I take
my name,"
Nor Jove himselfe, when he a
Swan would be
For love of Leda, whiter did appeare :
Yet Leda was as white as he,
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare;
So purely white they were,
Nor Joue himselfe when he a swan would be 10
For love of Leda, whiter did appeare;
Yet Leda was they say as white as he
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing nerve:
So purely white they were.
"There, in a meadow, by the rivers side,
A flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy,
All lovely daughters of the flood thereby,
With goodly greenish locks, all loose
Untyde,"
Sonnet 67-
There she beholding me with mylder looke,
Sought not to fly, but fearlesse still did bide :
Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke,
And with her owne goodwill hir fyrmly tyde.
Sonnet 77-
Exceeding sweet, yet voyd of sinful vice,
That many sought yet none could ever taste,
Sweet fruit of pleasure brought from
paradice ;
By himselfe and in garden plaste.
Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne ?
A goodly table of pure yvory,
All spred with juncats, fit to entertayne
The greatest Prince with pompous roialty.
Block-3 The Metaphysical Poets: Donne, Herbert
John Donne
Veladiction a Forbidding Mourning
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their soules, to goe,
Whilst some of their sad friends doe say,
The breath goes now, and some say, no :
If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if th' other do. -II
Such wilt thou be to mee, who must
Like th' other foot, obliquely runne;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end, where I begunne.
The Extasie-
But 0 alas, so long, so farre
Our bodies why do wee forbeare ?
They are ours, though they are not wee,
Wee are
The intelligences, they the Spheare - II
Twicknham Garden -
Nor can you more judge womans
thoughts by teares,
Than by her shadow, what she weares.
O perverse sexe, where none is true
but shee,
Who's therefore true, because her
truth kills me.
But 0, self traytor, I do bring
The spider love, which transubstantiates all,
And can convert Manna to gall,
And that this place may thoroughly be
thought
Tru Paradise, I have the serpent brought.
To his coy mistress -
The Grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
But at my back I alwaies hear
Times winged Chariot hurrying near
And yonder all before a lye
Desart,s of vast Eternity.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side.
Should'st Rubies find : I by the Tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should if you please refuse
Till the Conversion of the Jews.
The Good Morrow
"I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I
Did, till we lov'd ? Were we not wean'd till
then ?
But suck'd on country pleasures,
childishly ?
Or snorted we in the seaven sleepers den ?" - II
The Garden
"Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
And Innocence, thy sister dear !
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men."
"Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
Let Maps to other, worlds on worlds
have showne,
Let us possesse our world, each hath
one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in
mine appeares,"
The Cannonization
The phoenix ridle hath more wit
By us, we two being one, are it
So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit,
Wee dye and rise the same, and prove
mysterious by this love.
George Herbert
The Pully-
Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness; Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast.
When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by ;
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can :
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.
Reedemption
In heaven at his manour I him sought :
They told me there, that he was lately gone
About some land, which he had
dearly bought
Long since on Earth, to take possession.
Of theeves and murderers; there I him espied,
Who straight, your suit is granted said,& died.
Andrew Marwell
On the death of Oliwer Cromwell
The forward youth that would appear Must now forsake his Muses dear, Nor in the shadows sing His numbers languishing.
The Garden
"When we have run our Passions' heat,
Love hither makes his best retreat.
The Gods, that mortal Beauty chase,
Still in a Tree did end their race :"
Block-4 Studying Milton
On the morning of Christ’s Nativity
‘‘Say Heav’nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein,
Afford a present to the Infant God ?’’
For so the holy sages once did sing, That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
But see the Virgin blest,
Hath laid her Babe to rest.
Time is our tedious Song should here
have ending.
Ring out, ye crystal spheres !
Once bless our human ears,
If ye have power to touch our senses so;
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time;
"With such a horrid clang
As on mount Sinai rang
While the red fire, and smouldering
clouds out brake
The aged Earth agast ...
Lycidas
Where were ye Nymphs when the remorseless deep clos'd o're the head of your lou'd Lycidas ?
Who would not sing for Lycidas ?
he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon his watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
'But not the praise',
Phoebus repli'd, and touch'd my
trembling ears :
'Fame is no plant that grows on
montal soil,
Nor in the glistering foil...
Enow of such as, for their bellies' sakes
Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth
raise
(That last infirmity of noble minds)
To scorn delights, and live laborious dayes;
But the fair Guerdon when we hope to
find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred
Shears…
For we were nursed upon the self same hill,
Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and
rill,
L’Allegro
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty. lies,
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
"Lap me in soft Lydian Aires,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout"
Hence loathed Melancholy
Of cereberus, and blackest midnight born,
In stygian cave forlorn
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shreiks, and
sights unholy,
Find out som uncouth cell,
Il Penseroso
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Hence vain deluding joyes
The brood of folly without father bred,
How little you bested
Or fill the fixed mind with all your, toyes;
Dwell in som idle brain,
Sonnet 23 - Me thought I saw my late espouse
"Methought I saw my late espoused Saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Whom Joves great son to her glad
Husband gave,
Rescu'd from death by force through
pale and faint."
Her face was vail'd, yet to my fancied sight,
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her
person shin'd
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
Weep no more, woful shepherds weep no
more,
For lycidas your sorrow is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the watry floar,
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet a non repairs his drooping head.
Block-5 The Neoclassical Poets: Dryden and Pope
Dryden - Mc Flecknoe
All human things are subject to decay, And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey.
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall, Strike through and make a lucid interval; But Sh 's genuine night admits no ray, His rising fogs prevail upon the day. - II
With ravished ears
The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.
Near these a Nursery erects its head,
Where Queens are form'd, and
future Hero's bred;
Where unfledg'd Actors learn to
laugh and cry,
Where infant Punks their tender Voices try,
"Besides his goodly fabric fills the eye,
And seems design'd for thoughtless
majesty :
Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade
the plain,
And, spread in solemn state, supinely
Reign."
Sh - alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dullness from his tender years;
Sh - alone of all my sons is he
who stands confirm'd in full stupidity.
"Sinking, he left his drugget robe behind,
Borne upwards by a subterranean wind :
The mantle fell to the young prophet's part,
With double portion of his father's art."
Pope - Epistle to Arbuthnot
Shut, shut the door, good John ! fatigu’d,
I said,
Tye up the knocker, say I’m sick, I’m dead.
The dog-star rages ! nay ’tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out :
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land - II
Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,
And curses wit, and poetry, and PoPe.
"No place is sacred, not the church is free,
Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me.
Then from the Mint walks forth the
man of rhyme,
Happy! to catch me, just at dinner-time."
As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers for the numbers came. I left no calling for this idle trade, No duty broke, no father disobey'd. - II
What walls can guard me, or what
shades can hide ?
They pierce my thickets, thro' my grot
they glide,
By land, by water, they renew the charge;
They stop the chariot, and they board
the barge.
Like cato, give his little senate laws,
And sit attentive to his own applause ;
Born to no pride, inheriting no strife,
Nor marrying discord in a noble wife,
Stranger to civil or religious rage,
The good man walled innoxious thro' his age.
Receiv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race,
Who first his judgment ask'd, and
then a place :
Much they extoll'd his pictures,
much his seat,
And flatter'd ev'ry day, and some days eat :
Block-6 The Romantic Poets: Blake, Wordsworth & Coleridge
Wordsworth - The Prelude
Oh there is blessing in this gentle breeze, A visitant that while it fans my cheek Doth seem half-conscious of the joy it brings From the green fields, and from yon azure sky. - II
Ye Presences of Nature, in the sky
And on the earth ! Ye Visions of the hills !
And Souls of lonely places ! can I think
A vulgar hope was yours when ye employed
Such ministry,
"Keen as a Truant or a Fugitive,
But as a Pilgrim resolute, I took,
Even with the chance equipment of that hour,
The road that pointed toward the
chosen Vale."
No familiar shapes
Remained, no pleasant images of trees,
of sea or sky, no colours of green fields ;
But huge and mighty forms that do not live,
Like living men moved slowly through the
mind
By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.
Nor will it seem to thee, 0 Friend ! so prompt In sympathy, that I have lengthened out With fond and feeble tongue a tedious tale.
While on the perilous ridge I hung alone,
With what strange utterance did
the loud dry wind
Blow through my ears ! the sky
seemed not a sky
Of earth, and with what motion
moved the clouds.
Oh there is blessing in this gentle breeze,
A visitant that while it fans my cheek
Doth seem half conscious of the joy it brings
From the green fields, and from yon azure sky.
Free as a bird to settle where I will.
What dwelling shall receive me ?
in what vale
Shall be my harbour ? underneath
what grove
Shall I take up my home ? ..."
WIlliam Blake - Songs of Innocence & experience-
London-
In every cry of every Man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear
The Lamb
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 ? - II
Tyger
Tyger ! Tyger ! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? - II
Coleridge
Kubla Khan
Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !"
"And 'mid these dancing rocks at once
and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a
mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred
river ran,"
Dejection an ode
0 lady! We receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does Nature live !
Block-7 The Second Generation Romantic Poets: Shelley & Keats
Triumph of Life - by P.B. Shelly
'First, who art thou .... Before thy memory, I feared, loved, hated, suffered, did„ and died, And if the spark with which Heaven lit my spirit Had been with purer nutriment supplied, Corruption would not now thus much inherit Of what was once Rousseau,
All but the sacred few who could not tame
Their spirits to the conqueror — but as soon
As they had touched the world with
living flame,
Fled back like eagles to their native noon,
'Whence I am, I partly seem to know,
And how and by what paths
I have been brought
To this dread pass, methink
even thou mayst guess;
Why this should be, my mind
can compass not;
"The chariot rolled, a captive multitude
Was driven; — all those who had
grown old in power
Or misery, — all who had their age subdued
By action or by suffering."
Swift as a spirit hastening to his task of glory and of good, the sun sprang ferth Rejoicing in his splendour, and the mask. of darkness fell from the Awakened Earth
"Under the self same bough, and heard as there
The birds, the fountains and the oceans hold
Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air.
And then a vision on my brain was rolled."
tell me, if this wrinkling brow,
Naked and bare of its great diadem,
Peers like the front of Saturn.
for they of Athens and Jerusalem
Were neither mid the mighty captives seen
Nor mid the ribald crowd that followed them
Structk to the heart by this sad pageantry,
Half to myself I said — And what is life ?
Whose shape is that within the car ? And
why' —
I would have added — is all here amiss ? —
But a voice answered — 'Life' !
That what I thought was an old root which grew
To strange distortion out of the hill side,
Was indeed one of those deluded crew,
Hyperion - Keats -
Upon the sodden ground His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, . Unsceptred, and his realmless eyes were closed;
He enter'd but he enter'd full of wrath;
His flaming robes stream'd out
beyond his heels,
And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire,
That scar'd away the meek ethereal Hours
Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed;
While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth,
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet. - II
She was the Goddess of the infant world,
By her in stature the tall Amazon
Had stood a pigmy's height, she would
have ta'en
Achilles by the hair and bent his neck.
"Then with a slow incline of his broad
breast,
Like to a diver in the pearly seas,
Forward he stoop'd over the airy shore,
And plung'd all noiseless into the deep night."
".... Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless,
listless, dead,
Unsceptred; and his reahnless
eyes were closed;
While his bow'd head seem'd
list'ning to the Earth,"
Instead of sweets, his ample palate took
Savour of poisonous brass and metal sick :
Block-8 The Victorian Poets: Browning, D.G. and Christina Rossetti & Oscar Wilde
Robert Browning - Poriphriya’s Lover
The rain set early in to-night, The sullen wind soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake : I listened with heart fit to break. - II
Porphyria's love ; she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred.
"Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!"
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word !
Child Roland to dark tower came -
My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the workings of his lie
Sordello
Central peace, mother of strength,
Ask those calm - hearted doers what they
do
when they have got their calm ! And is it
true,
Fire rankles at the heart of every globe ?
Bishop orders his tomb at st. praxed’s church
Go dig The white-grape vineyard where the oil-press stood, Drop water gently till the stuface sink, And if ye find ... Ah God, I know not,
As here I lie
In this state-chamber, dying by degrees,
Hours and long hours in the dead
night, I ask
"Do I live, am I dead ?"
And have I not saint Praned's ear to pray
Horses for ye, and brown Greek manuscripts,
And mistresses with great smooth manbly limbs ?
So, let the blue lump poise between my knees,
Like God the father's globe on both his hands.
Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity !
Draw round my bed: is Anselm
keeping back ?
Nephews — sons mine... ah God,
I know not ! Well –
She, men would have to be your
mother once,"
"And leave me in my church, the church
for peace,
That I may watch at leisure if he leers —
Old Gandolf, at me, from his onion-stone,
As still he envied me, so fair she was!"
Fra Lippo Lippi
What, 'tis past midnight, and you go the round
And here you catch me at an alley's end
Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar ?
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave !
You need not clap your torches to my face.
Pre-raphelite brotherhood -
The blessed Damosel-
We two,' she said, 'will seek the groves
Where the lady Mary is
With her five handmaidens, whose names
Are five sweet symphonies.
When round his head the aureole clings,
And he is clothed in white,
I'll take his hand and go with him
To the deep wells of light;
Oscar Wilde - Ballad of the reading Gaol-
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dear woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word, The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword ! - II
Block-9 The Modernist Poets
W.B Yeats -
Lapis Lazuli
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages, And all the drop-scenes drop at once. Upon a hundred thousand stages, It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.
Sailing to Byzantium
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
Easter 1916
"I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses."
The long-legged moov-hens dive,
And hens to moov-cocks call; Minute by
minute they live;
The stone's in the midst of all
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
"Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly :
A terrible beauty is born."
No second Troy
Why, what could she have done, being what
she is ?
Was there another Troy for her to burn ? - III
T.S. Eliot - The Waste land
By the waters of Leman I sat down
and wept ...
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song.
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not
loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of bones, and chuckle spread
from ear to ear.
The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed Car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
"Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many."
These fragments I have shoved against my ruins
Why then lle fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.
"What are the roots that clutch,
what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish ? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images,..."
Gang was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
Unreal city,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn.
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so
many, I had not thought death had undone
so many.
Block-10 Some Modernist and Postmodernist Poets: Dylan Thomas, Philip Larkin & Sylvia Plath
Dylan Thomas
The force that through the green fuse drives-
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
Death shall have no dominion
"Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks, when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break."
"They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they-sink through the
sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;"
And death shall have no dominion
Dead men maked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west
moon ;
When their bones are picked clean and the
clean bones gone.
Fern Hill
And as I was green and carefree,
famous among the barns
About the happy yard and
singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
Philip Larkin
Toads-
Ah were I courageous enough To shout Stuff your pension ! But I know, all too well, that's the stuff That dreams are made on :
Church Going-
A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognized,. and robed as destinies,
And that much can never be obsolete,
Power of some sort or other will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief must die,
And what remains when disbelief
has gone ?
Grass, weedy pavement,
brambles, buttress, sky.
A shape less recognizable each week,
A purpose more obscure.
I remember I remember
"Coming up England by a different line
For once, early in the cold new year,
We stopped, and, watching men
with number plates
Sprint down the platform to familiar gates,
"Why, Coventry !" I exclaimed. "I was
born here."
Was that' my friend smiled,
`where you "have your roots" ?'
No, only where my childhood was unspent.
I wanted to retort, just where I started.
I never ran to when I got depressed.
The boys all biceps and the girls all chest,
Their comic Ford, their farm where I could
be
'Really myself'.
Mr. Bleany
"This was Mr. Bleaney's room. He stayed
The whole time he was at the Bodies, till
They moved him ! Flowered curtains,
thin and frayed,
Fall to within five inches of the sill,"
Plath -
Daddy
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which 1 have lived like a foot
For thirty years.
Lady Lazarus
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
Comments
Post a Comment