id,comments,provenance,dictionary,created_at,reviewed_on,work_id,theme,context,updated_at,metaphor,text
16436,"",HDIS,"",2003-09-22 00:00:00 UTC,,6207,"","",2009-09-14 19:46:52 UTC,"Love is a fluttering in the heart or rather a ""Young feather'd tyrant""","The mountaineer
Thus strove by fancies vain and crude to clear
His briar'd path to some tranquillity.
It gave bright gladness to his lady's eye,
And yet the tears she wept were tears of sorrow;
Answering thus, just as the golden morrow
Beam'd upward from the vallies of the east:
""O that the flutter of this heart had ceas'd,
Or the sweet name of love had pass'd away.
Young feather'd tyrant! by a swift decay
Wilt thou devote this body to the earth:
And I do think that at my very birth
I lisp'd thy blooming titles inwardly;
For at the first, first dawn and thought of thee,
With uplift hands I blest the stars of heaven.
Art thou not cruel? Ever have I striven
To think thee kind, but ah, it will not do!
When yet a child, I heard that kisses drew
Favour from thee, and so I gave and gave
To the void air, bidding them find out love:
But when I came to feel how far above
All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood,
All earthly pleasure, all imagin'd good,
Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss,--
Even then, that moment, at the thought of this,
Fainting I fell into a bed of flowers,
And languish'd there three days. Ye milder powers,
Am I not cruelly wrong'd? Believe, believe
Me, dear Endymion, were I to weave
With my own fancies garlands of sweet life,
Thou shouldst be one of all. Ah, bitter strife!
I may not be thy love: I am forbidden--
Indeed I am--thwarted, affrighted, chidden,
By things I trembled at, and gorgon wrath.
Twice hast thou ask'd whither I went: henceforth
Ask me no more! I may not utter it,
Nor may I be thy love. We might commit
Ourselves at once to vengeance; we might die;
We might embrace and die: voluptuous thought!
Enlarge not to my hunger, or I'm caught
In trammels of perverse deliciousness.
No, no, that shall not be: thee will I bless,
And bid a long adieu.""
"
16443,"",HDIS (Poetry),"",2003-09-26 00:00:00 UTC,2009-12-02,6207,"","",2009-12-02 19:40:43 UTC,"""Great Muse, thou know'st what prison, / Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets / Our spirit's wings.""","There came an eastern voice of solemn mood:--
Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,
Apollo's garland:--yet didst thou divine
Such home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,
""Come hither, Sister of the Island!"" Plain
Spake fair Ausonia; and once more she spake
A higher summons:--still didst thou betake
Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won
A full accomplishment! The thing is done,
Which undone, these our latter days had risen
On barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison,
Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets
Our spirit's wings: despondency besets
Our pillows; and the fresh to-morrow morn
Seems to give forth its light in very scorn
Of our dull, uninspired, snail-paced lives.
"
16454,•Ive included the entire poem
•First published in Leigh Hunt's Literary Pocket-Book for 1819 (1818).
•And should each season get an entry? REVISIT.
•I've added this entry for Autumn...
,HDIS,"",2003-09-26 00:00:00 UTC,2009-12-02,6212,"","",2009-12-02 19:42:22 UTC,"""His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings / He furleth close.""","Four seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming nigh
His nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness--to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
(ll. 1-14, p. 176-7)
"
16455,•Ive included the entire poem
•First published in Leigh Hunt's Literary Pocket-Book for 1819 (1818).
•And should each season get an entry? REVISIT.
•And now I've added this entry for summer
,HDIS,"",2003-09-26 00:00:00 UTC,,6212,"","",2009-09-14 19:46:55 UTC,"""He has his Summer, when luxuriously / Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves / To ruminate""","Four seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming nigh
His nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness--to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
(ll. 1-14, p. 176-7)
"
16486,•I am not sure I've read this right. REVISIT.,HDIS,"",2003-09-22 00:00:00 UTC,,6221,"","",2009-09-14 19:47:01 UTC,"""As though a tongueless nightingale should swell / Her throat in vain, and die, heart -stifled, in her dell""","Out went the taper as she hurried in;
Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:
She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin
To spirits of the air, and visions wide:
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!
But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
Paining with eloquence her balmy side;
As though a tongueless nightingale should swell
Her throat in vain, and die, heart -stifled, in her dell.
(ll. 199-207, p. 235)
"
16488,•Revisit. What are break-covert blood-hounds?,HDIS,"",2003-09-26 00:00:00 UTC,,6220,"",Lorenzo murdered by Isabella's two brothers,2009-09-14 19:47:01 UTC,"A soul may be ""as ill at peace as the break-covert bloodhounds of such sin""","There was Lorenzo slain and buried in,
There in that forest did his great love cease;
Ah! when a soul doth thus its freedom win,
It aches in loneliness--is ill at peace
As the break-covert blood-hounds of such sin:
They dipp'd their swords in the water, and did tease
Their horses homeward, with convulsed spur,
Each richer by his being a murderer.
(ll. 217-24, p. 190)
"
16489,"",HDIS,"",2003-09-26 00:00:00 UTC,,6220,"","",2009-09-14 19:47:02 UTC,"The spirit may, like a ""demon-mole,"" work thorugh ""clayey soil and gravel hard""","Who hath not loiter'd in a green church-yard,
And let his spirit, like a demon-mole,
Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard,
To see scull, coffin'd bones, and funeral stole;
Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr'd,
And filling it once more with human soul?
Ah! this is holiday to what was felt
When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt.
(ll. 217-24, p. 190)
"
16618,•See also the mole Conscience in previous entry,HDIS,"",2003-09-26 00:00:00 UTC,,6278,"","",2009-09-14 19:47:28 UTC,"""Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords / Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole""","O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
Or wait the ""Amen,"" ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,--
Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
(ll. 1-14, p. 275)"