work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
6192,"",HDIS,2003-09-19 00:00:00 UTC,"How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy,--I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store;
The songs of birds--the whisp'ring of the leaves--
The voice of waters--the great bell that heaves
With solemn sound,--and thousand others more,
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.
(ll. 1-14, p. 33-4)
",,16370,•Ive included the entire poem
•See also fancy' food. The fancy must then eat?
,"""These will in throngs before my mind intrude.""",Inhabitants,2009-09-14 19:46:40 UTC,""
6207,"",HDIS,2003-09-22 00:00:00 UTC,"Well then, I see there is no little bird,
Tender soever, but is Jove's own care.
Long have I sought for rest, and, unaware,
Behold I find it! so exalted too!
So after my own heart! I knew, I knew
There was a place untenanted in it:
In that same void white Chastity shall sit,
And monitor me nightly to lone slumber.
With sanest lips I vow me to the number
Of Dian's sisterhood; and, kind lady,
With thy good help, this very night shall see
My future days to her fane consecrate.""
",,16437,•I've included twice: Container and Tenant,"""I knew, I knew / There was a place untenanted in it: / In that same void white Chastity shall sit, / And monitor me nightly to lone slumber""","",2009-09-14 19:46:52 UTC,""
6757,"",Reading John Berryman's Dream Songs,2010-09-26 20:27:04 UTC,"... I am glad you take any pleasure in my poor Poem; -- which I would willingly take the trouble to unwrite, if possible, did I care so much as I have done about Reputation. I received a copy of the Cenci, as from yourself from Hunt. There is only one part of it I am judge of; the Poetry, and dramatic effect, which by many spirits now a days is considered the mammon. A modern work it is said must have a purpose, which may be the God--an artist must serve Mammon--he must have ""self concentration"" selfishness perhaps. You I am sure will forgive me for sincerely remarking that you might curb your magnanimity and be more of an artist, and ""load every rift"" of your subject with ore. The thought of such discipline must fall like cold chains upon you, who perhaps never sat with your wings furl'd for six Months together. And is not this extraordina[r]y talk for the writer of Endymion? whose mind was like a pack of scattered cards--I am pick'd up and sorted to a pip. My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk--you must explain my metapcs to yourself. I am in expectation of Prometheus every day. Could I have my own wish for its interest effected you would have it still in manuscript--or be but now putting an end to the second act. I remember you advising me not to publish my first-blights, on Hampstead heath--I am returning advice upon your hands. Most of the Poems in the volume I send you have been written above two years, and would never have been publish'd but from a hope of gain; so you see I am inclined to take your advice now. I must exp[r]ess once more my deep sense of your kindness, adding my sincere thanks and respects for Mrs. Shelley.
(pp. 389-90)
",,17988,"","""My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk--you must explain my metapcs to yourself.""","",2010-09-26 20:27:04 UTC,""