work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
6162,Ruling Passion,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-10-23 00:00:00 UTC,"'Twere vain to paint to what his feelings grew--
It even were doubtful if their victim knew.
There is a war, a chaos of the mind,
When all its elements convulsed, combined
Lie dark and jarring with perturbéd force,
And gnashing with impenitent Remorse--
That juggling fiend, who never spake before,
But cries ""I warned thee!"" when the deed is o'er.
Vain voice! the spirit burning but unbent,
May writhe--rebel--the weak alone repent!
Even in that lonely hour when most it feels,
And, to itself, all--all that self reveals,--
No single passion, and no ruling thought
That leaves the rest, as once, unseen, unsought,
But the wild prospect when the Soul reviews,
All rushing through their thousand avenues--
Ambition's dreams expiring, Love's regret,
Endangered Glory, Life itself beset;
The joy untasted, the contempt or hate
'Gainst those who fain would triumph in our fate;
The hopeless past, the hasting future driven
Too quickly on to guess if Hell or Heaven;
Deeds--thoughts--and words, perhaps remembered not
So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot;
Things light or lovely in their acted time,
But now to stern Reflection each a crime;
The withering sense of Evil unrevealed,
Not cankering less because the more concealed;
All, in a word, from which all eyes must start,
That opening sepulchre, the naked heart
Bares with its buried woes--till Pride awake,
To snatch the mirror from the soul, and break.
Aye, Pride can veil, and Courage brave it all--
All--all--before--beyond--the deadliest fall.
Each hath some fear, and he who least betrays,
The only hypocrite deserving praise:
Not the loud recreant wretch who boasts and flies;
But he who looks on Death--and silent dies:
So, steeled by pondering o'er his far career,
He half-way meets Him should He menace near!",,16244,•I've included twice: Rule of Thought and Avenue.,"""No single passion, and no ruling thought / That leaves the rest, as once, unseen, unsought, / But the wild prospect when the Soul reviews, / All rushing through their thousand avenues""","",2013-11-02 15:22:31 UTC,Stanza X
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,""