work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
6168,"",Searching HDIS (Poetry),2004-06-15 00:00:00 UTC,"Philosophy, in all its Pride,
Cannot defend the Suicide,
By any Law, by any rule
In Reason's or Religion's school:
Life's the peculiar gift of Heav'n,
And He alone by whom 'tis given,
Can have alone the power to give
The stroke by which we cease to live.
Is Man to say--I've reach'd the goal,
I'll now dismiss th'imprison'd soul;
With my own hand I'll ope the way
From its base tenement of clay
Tir'd of its suff'rings here below,
I'll loose it from this scene of woe;
I'll prune its wings and let it fly,
To seek again its native sky:
Yes, I will quench my mortal breath,
I'll be the judge of Life and Death.--
But should, in its immortal sphere,
Say, should th'unsummon'd soul appear
What, what may be the sentence there!
Stay then thy hand, e'er 'tis too late,
Nor madly rush upon thy Fate!
Thou shudd'rest at the horrid mood,
When Murder drinks a brother's blood;
And dare you hope for Virtue's crown,
When your arm'd hand draws forth your own!",2010-03-23,16335,•I've included twice in Architecture: in prison and tenement of clay
•I still am not quite sure what to do with this personification: the soul is a prisoner.,"""Is Man to say--I've reach'd the goal, / I'll now dismiss th'imprison'd soul; / With my own hand I'll ope the way / From its base tenement of clay.""","",2010-03-24 03:03:52 UTC,""
6168,"",Searching HDIS (Poetry),2004-06-15 00:00:00 UTC,"Philosophy, in all its Pride,
Cannot defend the Suicide,
By any Law, by any rule
In Reason's or Religion's school:
Life's the peculiar gift of Heav'n,
And He alone by whom 'tis given,
Can have alone the power to give
The stroke by which we cease to live.
Is Man to say--I've reach'd the goal,
I'll now dismiss th'imprison'd soul;
With my own hand I'll ope the way
From its base tenement of clay;
Tir'd of its suff'rings here below,
I'll loose it from this scene of woe;
I'll prune its wings and let it fly,
To seek again its native sky:
Yes, I will quench my mortal breath,
I'll be the judge of Life and Death.--
But should, in its immortal sphere,
Say, should th'unsummon'd soul appear
What, what may be the sentence there!
Stay then thy hand, e'er 'tis too late,
Nor madly rush upon thy Fate!
Thou shudd'rest at the horrid mood,
When Murder drinks a brother's blood;
And dare you hope for Virtue's crown,
When your arm'd hand draws forth your own!",2009-12-02,16337,"","""With my own hand I'll ope the way / From its base tenement of clay; / Tir'd of its suff'rings here below, / I'll loose it from this scene of woe; / I'll prune its wings and let it fly, / To seek again its native sky.""","",2009-12-02 19:39:19 UTC,""
6175,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"Come,--for the sun yet hangs above the bay,--
And whilst our time may brook a brief delay
With other thoughts, and, haply with a tear,
An old man's tale of sorrow thou shalt hear.
I wished not to reveal it;--thoughts that dwell
Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell
Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake,
And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake,
When, starting from our slumberous apathy,
We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by.
Yet, if a moment's irritating flush,
Darkens thy cheek, as thoughts conflicting rush,
When I disclose my hidden griefs, the tale
May more than wisdom or reproof prevail.
Oh, may it teach thee, till all trials cease,
To hold thy course, though sorrowing, yet in peace;
Still looking up to Him, the soul's best stay,
Who Faith and Hope shall crown, when worlds are swept away!
",,16345,"•I've included thrice: Cell, Dwelling, Tempest","There are ""thoughts that dwell /Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell / Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake, / And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake, / When, starting from our slumberous apathy, / We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by.""",Rooms,2009-09-14 19:46:35 UTC,""
6176,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2006-01-18 00:00:00 UTC,"Not thus had Isabel her love
Murmur'd to the laughing grove.
Strait to her chamber, yester-eve,
Had she retreated from the cave,
And, wildering in a maze of thought,
Fear'd every hour with danger fraught.
Nor could she from that maze escape,
Pursu'd by many a hideous shape;
When Jesse, fast as words could speak,
Told eager, how a fair young Greek,
A Palmer, and a reverend Friar
Had thither come in strange attire;
Said, she had seldom seen resort
To old Cotehele, from far or near,
A guest of such a noble port
As he who did the turban wear!
But little had poor Isabel
Heeded what flippant tongue would tell.
",,16348,"","""Strait to her chamber, yester-eve, / Had she retreated from the cave, / And, wildering in a maze of thought, / Fear'd every hour with danger fraught""","",2009-09-14 19:46:36 UTC,""