work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
6242,"",Searching in HDIS (c19 Poetry),2005-12-14 00:00:00 UTC,"River, that rollest by the ancient walls,
Where dwells the Lady of my love, when she
Walks by thy brink, and there perchance recalls
A faint and fleeting memory of me:
What if thy deep and ample stream should be
A mirror of my heart, where she may read
The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee,
Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed!
What do I say--a mirror of my heart?
Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong?
Such as my feelings were and are, thou art;
And such as thou art were my passions long.",,16538,"","""The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee, / Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed""","",2009-09-14 19:47:13 UTC,Opening Stanzas
6242,"","Searching ""thought"" and ""mirror"" in HDIS (c19 Poetry)",2005-12-14 00:00:00 UTC,"River, that rollest by the ancient walls,
Where dwells the Lady of my love, when she
Walks by thy brink, and there perchance recalls
A faint and fleeting memory of me:
What if thy deep and ample stream should be
A mirror of my heart, where she may read
The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee,
Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed!
What do I say--a mirror of my heart?
Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong?
Such as my feelings were and are, thou art;
And such as thou art were my passions long.",,16539,•I've included twice: Mirror and River,"""What do I say--a mirror of my heart? / Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong? / Such as my feelings were and are, thou art; / And such as thou art were my passions long.""","",2009-09-14 19:47:13 UTC,Opening Stanzas
6269,"",HDIS (Poetry),2003-11-24 00:00:00 UTC,"Their only labour was to kill the time;
(And labour dire it is, and weary woe)
They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme;
Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go,
Or saunter forth, with tottering step and slow:
This soon too rude an exercise they find;
Straight on the couch their limbs again they throw,
Where hours on hours they sighing lie reclined,
And court the vapoury god, soft breathing in the wind.
(Canto I, ll. 640-8, p. 196)
[And then, this stanza followed in 1746 edition?]
One nymph there was, methought, in bloom of May,
On whom the idle Fiend glanced many a look,
In hopes to lead her down the slippery way
To taste of Pleasure's deep deceitful brook:
No virtues yet her gentle mind forsook:
No idle whims, no vapours fill'd her brain,
But Prudence for her youthful guide she took,
And Goodness, which no earthly vice could stain,
Dwelt in her mind; she was ne proud I ween or vain.
(Canto I, p. 320)",,16577,"•Sambrook classifies the second as a stanza of doubtful authority. It was first printed by Nicholas (1830), ii 57, with a note explaining that it ""was introduced, in the edition of 1746"" (p. 321).
•Notice also that Goodness may dwell in the mind.",""No idle whims, no vapours fill'd her brain, / But Prudence for her youthful guide she took, / And Goodness, which no earthly vice could stain, / Dwelt in her mind; she was ne proud I ween or vain.""","",2013-06-20 21:01:45 UTC,""
6456,"",Reading in Perkins. Text from HDIS.,2008-05-27 00:00:00 UTC,"Yet must I think less wildly:--I have thought
Too long and darkly, till my brain became,
In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought,
A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame:
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame,
My springs of life were poisoned. 'Tis too late:
Yet am I changed; though still enough the same
In strength to bear what Time can not abate,
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.
(pp. 864-5, ll. 55-63)",,17153,I've included twice: Boiling and Flame,"""Yet must I think less wildly:--I have thought / Too long and darkly, till my brain became, / In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, / A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame.""","",2009-09-14 19:49:14 UTC,Stanza 7
6456,"",Reading in Perkins. Text from HDIS.,2008-05-27 00:00:00 UTC,"To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind:
All are not fit with them to stir and toil,
Nor is it discontent to keep the mind
Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil
In the hot throng, where we become the spoil
Of our infection, till too late and long
We may deplore and struggle with the coil,
In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong
Midst a contentious world, striving where none are strong.
(p. 870, ll. 552-661)",,17163,"","""Nor is it discontent to keep the mind / Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil / In the hot throng, where we become the spoil / Of our infection""","",2009-09-14 19:49:15 UTC,Stanza 69
7405,"","Reading M.H. Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp: Romantic Theory and the Critical Tradition (London: Oxford UP, 1953), 49.",2013-06-06 19:50:03 UTC,"I by no means rank poetry or poets high in the scale of intellect. This may look like affectation, but it is my real opinion. It is the lava of the imagination whose eruptions prevents an earthquake. They say poets never or rarely go mad. Cowper and Collins are instances to the contrary (but Cowper was no poet). It is, however, to be remarked that they rarely do, but are generally so near it that I cannot help thinking rhyme is so far useful in anticipating and preventing the disorder. I prefer the talents of action--of war, of the senate, of even of science,--to all the speculations of those mere dreamers of another existence (I don't mean religiously but fancifully) and spectators of this apathy. Disgust and perhaps incapacity have rendered me now a mere spectator; but I have occasionally mixed in the active and tumultuous departments of existence, and on these alone my recollection rests with any satisfaction, though not the best parts of it.",,20455,"","""I by no means rank poetry or poets high in the scale of intellect. This may look like affectation, but it is my real opinion. It is the lava of the imagination whose eruptions prevents an earthquake.""","",2013-06-06 19:50:03 UTC,""