text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"Full many a dreary hour have I past,
My brain bewilder'd, and my mind o'ercast
With heaviness; in seasons when I've thought
No spherey strains by me could e'er be caught
From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze
On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays;
Or, on the wavy grass outstretch'd supinely,
Pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely:
That I should never hear Apollo's song,
Though feathery clouds were floating all along
The purple west, and, two bright streaks between,
The golden lyre itself were dimly seen:
That the still murmur of the honey bee
Would never teach a rural song to me:
That the bright glance from beauty's eyelids slanting
Would never make a lay of mine enchanting,
Or warm my breast with ardour to unfold
Some tale of love and arms in time of old.
(ll. 1-18, p. 27)
",2016-04-28 02:38:28 UTC,"""Full many a dreary hour have I past, / My brain bewilder'd, and my mind o'ercast / With heaviness.""",2003-09-19 00:00:00 UTC,Opening stanza,"",,"",•Chock-full of these C18 allegorizations
,HDIS (Poetry),16369,6191
"After dark vapors have oppress'd our plains
For a long dreary season, comes a day
Born of the gentle South, and clears away
From the sick heavens all unseemly stains.
The anxious month, relieved of its pains,
Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May;
The eyelids with the passing coolness play
Like rose leaves with the drip of Summer rains.
The calmest thoughts come round us; as of leaves
Budding--fruit ripening in stillness--Autumn suns
Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves--
Sweet Sappho's cheek--a smiling infant's breath--
The gradual sand that through an hour-glass runs--
A woodland rivulet--a Poet's death.
(ll. 1-14, p. 54)",2009-09-14 19:46:41 UTC,"Thoughts may come round us, ""as of leaves budding--fruit ripening in stillness"" etc.",2003-09-27 00:00:00 UTC,Last stanza,"",,"",•Published in the Examiner on 23 February 1817
•A chain of similes really. REVISIT,HDIS,16375,6194
"But what is higher beyond thought than thee?
Fresher than berries of a mountain tree?
More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal,
Than wings of swans, than doves, than dim-seen eagle?
What is it? And to what shall I compare it?
It has a glory, and nought else can share it:
The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy,
Chacing away all worldliness and folly;
Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder,
Or the low rumblings earth's regions under;
And sometimes like a gentle whispering
Of all the secrets of some wond'rous thing
That breathes about us in the vacant air;
So that we look around with prying stare,
Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning,
And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning;
To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended,
That is to crown our name when life is ended.
Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice,
And from the heart up-springs, rejoice! rejoice!
Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things,
And die away in ardent mutterings.
(ll.19-40, p. 38)",2009-09-14 19:46:48 UTC,"""The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy, / Chacing away all worldliness and folly; / Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder, Or the low rumblings earth's regions under; / And sometimes like a gentle whispering / Of all the secrets of some wond'rous thing / That breathes about us in the vacant air""",2003-09-27 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"",•I've included twice: Thunder and Earthquake,HDIS,16414,6193
"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)
",2009-09-14 19:46:55 UTC,"""There are four seasons in the mind of man""",2003-09-19 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"",•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.
,HDIS,16453,6212
"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)
",2009-12-02 19:42:22 UTC,"""His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings / He furleth close.""",2003-09-26 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2009-12-02,"",•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,16454,6212