work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3353,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-09 00:00:00 UTC,"And as the Grindstone to unpolish'd Steel
Gives Edge, and Lustre: so my Mind, I feel
VVhetted, and glaz'd by Fortunes turning VVheel",,8626,•C-H takes from Poems and Translations(1961).,"""And as the Grindstone to unpolish'd Steel / Gives Edge, and Lustre: so my Mind, I feel / VVhetted, and glaz'd by Fortunes turning VVheel""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:33:40 UTC,Ethica
3377,"","Searching ""soul"" and ""cabinet"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-09-07 00:00:00 UTC,"Must noble Hastings immaturely die,
The honour of his ancient family,
Beauty and learning thus together meet,
To bring a winding for a wedding sheet?
Must virtue prove death's harbinger? must she,
With him expiring, feel mortality?
Is death, sin's wages, grace's now? shall art
Make us more learned, only to depart?
If merit be disease; if virtue, death;
To be good, not to be; who'd then bequeath
Himself to discipline? who'd not esteem
Labour a crime? study self-murder deem?
Our noble youth now have pretence to be
Dunces securely, ignorant healthfully.
Rare linguist, whose worth speaks itself, whose praise,
Though not his own, all tongues besides do raise:
Than whom great Alexander may seem less,
Who conquered men, but not their languages.
In his mouth nations speak; his tongue might be
Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy.
His native soil was the four parts o' the earth;
All Europe was too narrow for his birth.
A young apostle; and,--with reverence may
I speak 't,--inspired with gift of tongues, as they.
Nature gave him, a child, what men in vain
Oft strive, by art though furthered, to obtain.
His body was an orb, his sublime soul
Did move on virtue's and on learning's pole;
Whose regular motions better to our view,
Than Archimedes' sphere, the heavens did shew.
Graces and virtues, languages and arts,
Beauty and learning, filled up all the parts.
Heaven's gifts, which do like falling stars appear
Scattered in others, all, as in their sphere,
Were fixed, and conglobate in's soul, and thence
Shone through his body, with sweet influence;
Letting their glories so on each limb fall,
The whole frame rendered was celestial.
Come, learned Ptolemy, and trial make,
If thou this hero's altitude can'st take:
But that transcends thy skill; thrice happy all,
Could we but prove thus astronomical.
Lived Tycho now, struck with this ray which shone
More bright i' the morn, than others beam at noon,
He'd take his astrolabe, and seek out here
What new star 'twas did gild our hemisphere.
Replenished then with such rare gifts as these,
Where was room left for such a foul disease?
The nation's sin hath drawn that veil, which shrouds
Our day-spring in so sad benighting clouds.
Heaven would no longer trust its pledge, but thus
Recalled it,--rapt its Ganymede from us.
Was there no milder way but the small-pox,
The very filthiness of Pandora's box?
So many spots, like næves, our Venus soil?
One jewel set off with so many a foil;
Blisters with pride swelled, which through's flesh did sprout
Like rosebuds, stuck i' the lily-skin about.
Each little pimple had a tear in it,
To wail the fault its rising did commit;
Which, rebel-like, with its own lord at strife,
Thus made an insurrection 'gainst his life.
Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin,
The cabinet of a richer soul within?
No comet need foretell his change drew on,
Whose corpse might seem a constellation.
Oh had he died of old, how great a strife
Had been, who from his death should draw their life;
Who should, by one rich draught, become whate'er
Seneca, Cato, Numa, Cæsar, were!
Learned, virtuous, pious, great; and have by this
An universal metempsychosis.
Must all these aged sires in one funeral
Expire? all die in one so young, so small?
Who, had he lived his life out, his great fame
Had swoln 'bove any Greek or Roman name.
But hasty winter, with one blast, hath brought
The hopes of autumn, summer, spring, to nought.
Thus fades the oak i' the sprig, i' the blade the corn;
Thus without young, this Phoenix dies, newborn.
Must then old three-legged grey-beards with their gout,
Catarrhs, rheums, aches, live three ages out?
Time's offals, only fit for the hospital!
Or to hang an antiquary's rooms withal!
Must drunkards, lechers, spent with sinning, live
With such helps as broths, possets, physic give?
None live, but such as should die? shall we meet
With none but ghostly fathers in the street?
Grief makes me rail, sorrow will force its way,
And showers of tears tempestuous sighs best lay.
The tongue may fail; but overflowing eyes
Will weep out lasting streams of elegies.",,8654,"","""Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin, / The cabinet of a richer soul within?""",Rooms,2009-09-14 19:33:42 UTC,""
3561,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""impression"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-05-15 00:00:00 UTC,"Let 't not disraste my Lord, that I have heere
Annex'd th'Elegiack raptures of my Deare:
'Tis said that Polo the Tragedian
When hee on Stage to force some passion came,
Had his Sonnes ashes in an Urne enshrin'd
To worke more deepe impressions in his mind.
The Emblem's good: this Fun'rall pile of ours
Strucke passion in each line address'd to yours.",2011-06-05,9225,"","""'Tis said that Polo the Tragedian / When hee on Stage to force some passion came, / Had his Sonnes ashes in an Urne enshrin'd / To worke more deepe impressions in his mind.""",Impressions,2011-06-06 03:06:52 UTC,I've included the entire poem
3585,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""line"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-05-11 00:00:00 UTC,"""A Prince that in the Cedars top doth build,
""And scornes the Sun, and dallies with the Wind,
""Only a Title hath his care to gild,
""His gay robe's lined with a restlesse mind.
""They that stand high have many blasts to shake them,
""And falling from on high, the more they break them.",2008-12-03,9274,"","""His gay robe's lined with a restlesse mind""","",2009-09-14 19:34:05 UTC,""
3596,"",Reading Ron Cooleys' website. <http://www.usask.ca/english/phoenix/cavendishpoems1.htm>.,2006-12-15 00:00:00 UTC,"Thoughts as a Pen do write upon the Braine;
The Letters which wise Thoughts do write, are plaine.
Fooles Scribble, Scrabble, and make many a Blot,
Which makes them Non-sense speak, they know not what.
Or Thoughts like Pencils draw still to the Life,
And Fancies mixt, as colours give delight.
Sad melancholy Thoughts are for Shadowes plac'd,
By which the lighter Fancies are more grac'd.
As through a dark, and watry Cloud, more bright,
The Sun breakes forth with his Resplendent Light.
Or like to Night's black Mantle, where each Star
Doth clearer seem, so lighter Fancies are.
Some like to Rain-bowes various Colours shew,
So round the Braine Fantastick Fancies grow. ",2007-04-26,9317,"","""Thoughts as a Pen do write upon the Braine; / The Letters which wise Thoughts do write, are plaine.""",Writing,2012-04-26 20:40:58 UTC,I've included the entire poem
3596,"",Reading Ron Cooleys' website. <http://www.usask.ca/english/phoenix/cavendishpoems1.htm>.,2006-12-15 00:00:00 UTC,"Thoughts as a Pen do write upon the Braine;
The Letters which wise Thoughts do write, are plaine.
Fooles Scribble, Scrabble, and make many a Blot,
Which makes them Non-sense speak, they know not what.
Or Thoughts like Pencils draw still to the Life,
And Fancies mixt, as colours give delight.
Sad melancholy Thoughts are for Shadowes plac'd,
By which the lighter Fancies are more grac'd.
As through a dark, and watry Cloud, more bright,
The Sun breakes forth with his Resplendent Light.
Or like to Night's black Mantle, where each Star
Doth clearer seem, so lighter Fancies are.
Some like to Rain-bowes various Colours shew,
So round the Braine Fantastick Fancies grow. ",2007-04-26,9318,"","""Or Thoughts like Pencils draw still to the Life, / And Fancies mixt, as colours give delight.""",Writing,2012-04-26 20:42:30 UTC,I've included the entire poem
6704,"",Reading,2010-05-17 19:36:55 UTC,"Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.
(ll. 1-4)",,17804,"","""Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind, / That from the nunnery / Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind / To war and arms I fly.""","",2010-05-17 19:36:55 UTC,""
3353,"","Searching ""bond"" and ""soul"" in HDIS (Poetry)' found again, ""chain""",2012-01-06 21:44:34 UTC,"'Tis but the Body that blind Fortunes spight
Can chain to Earth; the nobler Soul doth slight
Her servill Bonds, and takes to Heaven her flight.
",,19397,"","""'Tis but the Body that blind Fortunes spight / Can chain to Earth; the nobler Soul doth slight / Her servill Bonds, and takes to Heaven her flight.""",Fetters,2012-01-12 02:55:23 UTC,""
7165,"","Searching ""chain"" and ""soul"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-01-12 03:04:33 UTC,"Why break'st thou not (my Soul) this Chain
Of Flesh? why lett'st thou that restrain
Thy nimble Flight into his Arms,
Whose only Look with gladness charms?
But (alas!) in vain I speak to thee
Poor Soul! already fled from Me;
To seek out him in whose lov'd Brest,
Thy Life, as mine in thee, doth rest.
(p. 165)",,19446,"","""Why break'st thou not (my Soul) this Chain / Of Flesh? why lett'st thou that restrain / Thy nimble Flight into his Arms, / Whose only Look with gladness charms?""",Fetters,2012-01-12 03:26:07 UTC,""
7240,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""bird"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-04-29 19:03:50 UTC,"The Sickness not at first past cure,
By this Relapse despiseth Art:
Now, treacherous Boy, thou hast me sure,
Playing the Wanton with my Heart,
As foolish Children that a Bird have got,
Slacken the Thread, but not unty the knot.",,19738,"","""Now, treacherous Boy, thou hast me sure, / Playing the Wanton with my Heart, / As foolish Children that a Bird have got, / Slacken the Thread, but not unty the knot.""",Beasts,2012-04-29 19:03:50 UTC,""