theme,metaphor,work_id,dictionary,provenance,id,created_at,updated_at,reviewed_on,comments,text,context
"","There are ""thoughts that dwell /Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell / Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake, / And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake, / When, starting from our slumberous apathy, / We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by.""",6175,Rooms,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),16345,2005-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:46:35 UTC,,"•I've included thrice: Cell, Dwelling, Tempest","Come,--for the sun yet hangs above the bay,--
And whilst our time may brook a brief delay
With other thoughts, and, haply with a tear,
An old man's tale of sorrow thou shalt hear.
I wished not to reveal it;--thoughts that dwell
Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell
Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake,
And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake,
When, starting from our slumberous apathy,
We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by.
Yet, if a moment's irritating flush,
Darkens thy cheek, as thoughts conflicting rush,
When I disclose my hidden griefs, the tale
May more than wisdom or reproof prevail.
Oh, may it teach thee, till all trials cease,
To hold thy course, though sorrowing, yet in peace;
Still looking up to Him, the soul's best stay,
Who Faith and Hope shall crown, when worlds are swept away!
",""
"","""Full many a dreary hour have I past, / My brain bewilder'd, and my mind o'ercast / With heaviness.""",6191,"",HDIS (Poetry),16369,2003-09-19 00:00:00 UTC,2016-04-28 02:38:28 UTC,,•Chock-full of these C18 allegorizations
,"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)
",Opening stanza
"","Thoughts may come round us, ""as of leaves budding--fruit ripening in stillness"" etc.",6194,"",HDIS,16375,2003-09-27 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:46:41 UTC,,•Published in the Examiner on 23 February 1817
•A chain of similes really. REVISIT,"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)",Last stanza
"","""Nor should we pass the secret cell, / Where lonely Science loves to dwell, / Pleas'd, from its lamp, to cast the ray / That lights the mind's beclouded day.""",6196,Rooms,"Searching ""breast"" and ""cell"" in HDIS (Poetry)",16399,2005-06-12 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:46:45 UTC,,•I've included twice: Cell and Weather,"But still the higher duties move,
To trace the philosophic grove,
Which Wisdom's sons are known to love:
Where studious thought delights to plan
The happiness of social man;
And, passion's active flame suppress'd,
To plant each virtue in the breast.
Nor should we pass the secret cell,
Where lonely Science loves to dwell,
Pleas'd, from its lamp, to cast the ray
That lights the mind's beclouded day.
Nor can we fail with awe to bless
That certain source of happiness,
The altar's form on which we read
The good man's hope, the Christian's creed;
Tells the best joys to mortals given,
And shews the path that leads to Heaven.",""
"","""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""",6193,"",HDIS,16414,2003-09-27 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:46:48 UTC,,•I've included twice: Thunder and Earthquake,"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)",""
"","""There are four seasons in the mind of man""",6212,"",HDIS,16453,2003-09-19 00:00:00 UTC,2009-09-14 19:46:55 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.
,"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)
",""
"","""His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings / He furleth close.""",6212,"",HDIS,16454,2003-09-26 00:00:00 UTC,2009-12-02 19:42:22 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...
,"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)
",""
"","""Thus a number of writers possess the form, whilst they want the spirit of those whom, it is alleged, they imitate; because the former is the endowment of the age in which they live, and the latter must be the uncommunicated lightning of their own mind.""",7120,"",Reading,19282,2011-10-25 20:49:09 UTC,2011-10-25 20:49:09 UTC,,"","One word is due in candor to the degree in which the study of contemporary writings may have tinged my composition, for such has been a topic of censure with regard to poems far more popular, and indeed more deservedly popular, than mine. It is impossible that any one, who inhabits the same age with such writers as those who stand in the foremost ranks of our own, can conscientiously assure himself that his language and tone of thought may not have been modified by the study of the productions of those extraordinary intellects. It is true that, not the spirit of their genius, but the forms in which it has manifested itself, are due less to the peculiarities of their own minds than to the peculiarity of the moral and intellectual condition of the minds among which they have been produced. Thus a number of writers possess the form, whilst they want the spirit of those whom, it is alleged, they imitate; because the former is the endowment of the age in which they live, and the latter must be the uncommunicated lightning of their own mind.
(pp. x-xi)
",Preface
"","""The cloud of mind is discharging its collected lightning, and the equilibrium between institutions and opinions is now restoring or is about to be restored.""",7120,"",Reading,19283,2011-10-25 20:50:56 UTC,2011-10-25 20:50:56 UTC,,"","The peculiar style of intense and comprehensive imagery which distinguishes the modern literature of England has not been, as a general power, the product of the imitation of any particular writer. The mass of capabilities remains at every period materially the same; the circumstances which awaken it to action perpetually change. If England were divided into forty republics, each equal in population and extent to Athens, there is no reason to suppose but that, under institutions not more perfect than those of Athens, each would produce philosophers and poets equal to those who (if we except Shakespeare) have never been surpassed. We owe the great writers of the golden age of our literature to that fervid awakening of the public mind which shook to dust the oldest and most oppressive form of the Christian religion. We owe Milton to the progress and development of the same spirit: the sacred Milton was, let it ever be remembered, a republican and a bold inquirer into morals and religion. The great writers of our own age are, we have reason to suppose, the companions and forerunners of some unimagined change in our social condition or the opinions which cement it. The cloud of mind is discharging its collected lightning, and the equilibrium between institutions and opinions is now restoring or is about to be restored.
(pp. xi-xii)",Preface
"","""Hark, sister! what a low yet dreadful groan / Quite unsuppressed is tearing up the heart / Of the good Titan, as storms tear the deep, / And beasts hear the sea moan in inland caves.""",7120,"",Reading,19293,2011-10-25 21:12:14 UTC,2011-10-25 21:12:14 UTC,,"","IONE
Hark, sister! what a low yet dreadful groan
Quite unsuppressed is tearing up the heart
Of the good Titan, as storms tear the deep,
And beasts hear the sea moan in inland caves.
Darest thou observe how the fiends torture him?
(I, ll. 578-82)",Act I