work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
5685,"",Searching HDIS (Poetry),2006-11-16 00:00:00 UTC,"So have I gone at night,
When the faint eye of day was hardly clos'd,
And turn'd the grating key which kept the door
Of church or chapel, to enjoy alone
The mournful horrors, which impending night
And painted windows shed along the dark
And scarce to be distinguish'd aisle. My foot
Has stood and paus'd, half startled at the sound
Of its own tip-toe pace. I've held my breath,
And been offended that my nimble heart
Should throb so audibly. I would not hear
Aught else disturb the silent reign of death,
Save the dull ticking of a lazy clock.
That calls me home, and leads the pious soul
Through mazes of reflection, till she feels
For whom and why she lives. Ye timid fair,
I never saw the sheeted ghost steal by,
I never heard th' unprison'd dead complain
And gibber in my ear, though I have lov'd
The yawning time of night, and travell'd round
And round again the mansions of the dead.
Yet have I heard, what fancy well might deem
Sufficient proof of both, the prowling owl
Sweep by, and with a hideous shriek awake
The church-yard echo, and I too have stood
Harrow'd and speechless at the dismal sound.
But here she frays us not. Such scenes as these
No ghost frequents. If any spirits here,
They are as gentle as the eve of day,
And only come to turn our wand'ring steps
From lurking danger. With what easy grace
This footway winds about! Shew me designs
That please us more. What strict geometer
Can carve his yew, his quickset, or his box,
To half its elegance? I would not see
A thousand paces forward, nor be led
Through mazes ever serpentine. Let art
Be hid in nature. Wind the flow'ry path,
But be not bound to follow Hogarth's line.
I grant it beauty; but, too often seen,
That beauty pleases not. I love to meet
A sudden turn like this, which stops me short,
Extravagantly devious, and invites
Or up the hill or down; then winds again,
By reeling drunkard trod, and sudden ends
In a green swarded wain-way, not unlike
Cathedral aisle completely roof'd with boughs,
Which stretching up-hill through the gloomy wood
Displays at either end a giant door
Wide open'd. Travel not the steep, nor tread
With hardly sensible advance the hill
Which baffles expedition. Gaze awhile
At the still view below, the living scene
Inimitable nature has hung up
At the vault's end, then disappear again,
And follow still the flexile path, conceal'd
In shady underwood. Nor sometimes scorn
Under the high majestic oak to sit,
And comment on his leaf, his branch, his arm
Paternally extended, his vast girth,
And ample hoop above. To him who loves
To walk with contemplation, ev'ry leaf
Affords a tale concluding with a moral.
The very hazel has a tongue to teach,
The birch, the maple, horn-beam, beech, and ash.",,15216,
,"""I would not hear / Aught else disturb the silent reign of death, / Save the dull ticking of a lazy clock. / That calls me home, and leads the pious soul / Through mazes of reflection, till she feels / For whom and why she lives""","",2009-09-14 19:43:03 UTC,""
6038,"","Searching ""cell"" and ""brain"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-08-29 00:00:00 UTC,"Here Satan's myrmidons cornuted
Found subjects to their purpose suited;
And fell to work on their worst ends,
Videlicet, their heads (for fiends,
As well as scavengers, may boast
Of sorriest trash they make the most.)
There, as those cells they empty found
Where brains in wiser pates abound,
They fill'd them with mephitic gas
From hell, which downward strove to pass,
But, gaining exit through the throat,
By leave of porter, Epiglott,
Vented itself in fustian storm
Rhetorical. This, in due form
Reduc'd, concentrated, and penn'd,
They, by choice deputation, send
To Consul grand:--which, e'er you read,
Brief Invocation shall precede.",,16022,"","""There, as those cells [Satan's myrmidons] empty found / Where brains in wiser pates abound, / They fill'd them with mephitic gas / From hell, which downward strove to pass, / But, gaining exit through the throat, / By leave of porter, Epiglott, / Vented itself in fustian storm / Rhetorical.""",Rooms,2009-09-14 19:45:26 UTC,""
6126,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""cell"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"Behold that vale, whose sides are cloth'd with wood;
And here and there a pleasurable spot
Of intersected pasture, with its stack,
Cottage and lodge, few sheep, and grazing cow:
Mark how it mellows as it steals away,
And mingles fainter shadows, softer woods.
How gracefully it parts, and winds along,
To leave that rising ground, on whose fresh top
Above the green enclosures stands a Church,
Which smiles with glory in the ev'ning sun,
And seems to love the prospect it adorns.
Behold behind it, as the vale recedes
And falls into a flat the eye scarce sees,
A family of hills, some near, some far,
Withdrawing till their faint expiring tops
Are almost lost, and melted into air.
Is it not lovely? Is it not divine?
And yet, my heart, within thy silent cell
Dwells a fair image which is lovelier still.",,16171,•I've included twice: Cell and Image,"""And yet, my heart, within thy silent cell / Dwells a fair image which is lovelier still.""",Rooms,2009-09-14 19:45:56 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,""