Poetry Homework PacketDIRECTIONS: In this packet, you will find the weekly poetry assignment. I would highly suggest that you follow the suggested completion dates. If you wait until the last minute, the homework will take a long time. Homework will be collected on Fridays at the beginning of class. Each homework assignment will be worth 100 points. If you are absent on Friday, the homework will be due when you return. No late work will be accepted.

Homework is broken into Poetry Questions (50 pts) and Vocab (50 pts).

Week One Homework

VocabularyDIRECTIONS: Define the following vocabulary words. On the right margin, draw an image to delineate if the word is positive, negative, or neutral.

Acrmonius—

Circumspect—

Duplicitous—

Fatuous—

Insipid—

Lugubriuos—

Pragmatic—

Stolid—

Apathetic—

Complacent—

Disquieted—

Futile—

Idiosyncratic—

Meticulous—

Pedantic—

Rueful—

Read through the next four poems. Identify five poetic devices per poem. Then, answer the questions accompanying the poem.

The Poet with his Face in his Hands

You want to cry aloud for yourmistakes.  But to tell the truth the worlddoesn’t need any more of that sound.

So if you’re going to do it and can’tstop yourself, if your pretty mouth can’thold it in, at least go by yourself across

the forty fields and the forty dark inclinesof rocks and water to the place wherethe falls are flinging out their white sheets

like crazy, and there is a cave behind all thatjubilation and water fun and you canstand there, under it, and roar all you

want and nothing will be disturbed; you candrip with despair all afternoon and still,on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched

by the passing foil of the water, the thrush,puffing out its spotted breast, will singof the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.

1. Describe the kind of poet the speaker characterizes. What is the speaker’s attitude toward that sort of poet?

2. How is nature contrasted with the poet?

Snapping Beans For Fay Whitt by Lisa ParkerI snapped beans into the silver bowlthat sat on the splintering slatsof the porchswing between my grandma and me.I was home for the weekend,from school, from the North,Grandma hummed “What A Friend We Have In Jesus”as the sun rose, pushing its pink spikesthrough the slant of cornstalks,through the fly-eyed mesh of the screen.We didn’t speak until the sun overcame the feathered tips of the cornfieldand Grandma stopped humming.  I could feelthe soft gray of her stareagainst the side of my face

when she asked, How’s school a-goin?I wanted to tell her about my classes,the revelations by book and lectureas real as any shout of faith,potent as a swig of strychnine.She reached the leather of her handover the bowl and cuppedmy quivering chin;the slick smooth of her palm held my facethe way she held cherry tomatoes under the spigot,                                         careful not to drop them,and I wanted to tell herabout the nights I cried into the familiarheartsick panels of the quilt she made me,wishing myself home on the evening star.I wanted to tell her the evening star was a planet,                                                  that my friends wore noserings and wrote poetry                                            about sex, about alcoholism, about Buddha.I wanted to tell herhow my stomach burned acidic holesat the thought of speaking in class,speaking in an accent, speaking out of turn,how I was tearing, splitting myself apartwith the slow-simmering guilt of being happydespite it all.I said, School’s fine.We snapped beans into the silver bowl between usand when a hickory leaf, still summer green,                                       skidded onto the porchfront,                                                                       Grandma said,It’s funny how things blow loose like that.

1. How does the grandmother’s world differ from the speaker’s at school? What details especially reveal those differences?

2. Given that the poem is about how “school[‘s] a-goin,’” why do you think the title is “Snapping Beans”?

Crossing the BarBy Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star,       And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar,       When I put out to sea,

   But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

      Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep       Turns again home.

   Twilight and evening bell,       And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell,       When I embark;

   For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place       The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face       When I have crost the bar.

1. How does Tennyson make clear that this poem is about more than a sea journey?

2. Discuss the purpose of the punctuation (or its absence) at the end of each line.

A Beautiful Girl Combs Her HairBy Li Ho

Awake at dawnshe’s dreamingby cool silk curtainsfragrance of spilling hairhalf sandalwood, half aloeswindlass creaking at the wellsinging jadethe lotus blossom wakes, refreshedher mirrortwo phoenixesa pool of autumn lightstanding on the ivory bedloosening her hairwatching the mirrorone long coil, aromatic silka cloud down to the floordrop the jade comb-no sounddelicate fingerspushing the coils into placecolor of raven feathersshining blue-black stuffthe jeweled comb will hardly hold itspring wind makes me restlessher slovenly beauty upsets me

eighteen and her hair’s so thickshe wears herself out fixing it!she’s finished nowthe whole arrangement in placein a cloud-patterned skirtshe walks with even stepsa wild goose on the sandturns away without a wordwhere is she off to?down the steps to break a spray ofcherry blossoms.

1. Try to paraphrase the poem. What is lost be rewording it?

2. What are the speaker’s feelings toward the girll? Do they remain the same throughout the poem?

VowelsBy Christian Bök

loveless vessels

we vowsolo love

we seelove solve loss

else we seelove sow woe

selves we woowe lose

losses we leveewe owe

we sellloose vows

so we love

less well

so lowso level

wolves evolve

1. What is the author doing in this poem? How is the title related to the lines that follow it?

2. Paraphrase the narrative that the poem tells.

Week Two Homework

Vocabulary

DIRECTIONS: Define the following vocabulary words. On the right margin, draw an image to delineate if the word is positive, negative, or neutral.

Benign—

Didactic—

Hackneyed—

Irascible—

Morose—

Sagacious—

Vapid—

Wry—

Ardent—

Coddled—

Derisive—

Enamored—

Impudent—

Invidious—

Parochial—

Venerable—

Read through the next five poems. Identify five poetic devices per poem. Then, answer the questions accompanying the poem.

The Convergence of the Twain

By Thomas Hardy

(Lines on the loss of the "Titanic")

I

            In a solitude of the sea             Deep from human vanity, And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

II             Steel chambers, late the pyres             Of her salamandrine fires, Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

III             Over the mirrors meant             To glass the opulent The sea-worm crawls — grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

IV             Jewels in joy designed             To ravish the sensuous mind Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

V             Dim moon-eyed fishes near             Gaze at the gilded gear And query: "What does this vaingloriousness down here?" ...

VI             Well: while was fashioning             This creature of cleaving wing, The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything

VII             Prepared a sinister mate             For her — so gaily great — A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate.

VIII             And as the smart ship grew             In stature, grace, and hue, In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

IX             Alien they seemed to be;             No mortal eye could see The intimate welding of their later history,

X             Or sign that they were bent             By paths coincident On being anon twin halves of one august event,

XI             Till the Spinner of the Years             Said "Now!" And each one hears, And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

1. Describe a contemporary disaster comparable to the sinking of the Titanic. How was your response to it similar to or different from the speaker’s response to the fate of the Titanic?

2. How do the words used to describe the ship in this poem reveal the speaker’s attitude toward the Titanic?

3. The diction of the poem suggests that the Titanic and the iceberg participate in something like an arranged marriage. What specific words imply this?

4. Who or what causes the disaster? Does the speaker assign responsibility?

TitanicBy David Slavitt

Who does not love the Titanic?If they sold passage tomorrow for that same crossing,who would not buy?

To go down...We all go down, mostlyalone. But with crowds of people, friends, servants,well fed, with music, with lights!Ah!

And the world, shocked, mourns, as it ought to doand almost never does. There will be the books and moviesto remind our grandchildren who we wereand how we died, and give them a good cry.

Not so bad, after all. The coldwater is anesthetic and very quick.The cries on all sides must be a comfort.

We all go: only a few, first class.

1. What, according to the speaker in ths poem, is so compelling about the Titanic? Do you agree?

2. Discuss the speaker’s tone. Is “Titanic” merely a sarcastic poem?

3. What is the effect of the poem’s final line? What emotions does it elicit?

Untitled By Peter Meinke

This is a poem to my son Peterwhom I have hurt a thousand timeswhose large and vulnerable eyeshave glazed in pain at my ragingsthin wrists and fingers hungboneless in despair, pale freckled backbent in defeat, pillow soaked

by my failure to understand.I have scarred through weaknessand impatience your frail confidence foreverbecause when I needed to strikeyou were there to hurt and becauseI thought you knewyou were beautiful and fairyour bright eyes and hairbut now I see that no one knows thatabout himself, but must be toldand retold until it takes holdbecause I think anything can be killedafter awhile, especially beautyso I write this for life, for love, foryou, my oldest son Peter, age 10,going on 11.

1. How would you characterize the speaker?

2. Why do you think the poem ends with “going on 11?” Would it have made any difference to the tone or meaning if the poem ended with the line “age 10”?

Marvell NoirBy Ann Lauinger

Sweetheart, if we had the time, A week in bed would be no crime. I'd light your Camels, pour your Jack; You'd do shiatsu on my back. When you got up to scramble eggs, I'd write a sonnet to your legs, And you could watch my stubble grow. Yes, gorgeous, we'd take it slow. I'd hear the whole sad tale again: A roadhouse band; you can't trust men; He set you up; you had to eat, And bitter with the bittersweet Was what they dished you; Ginger lied; You weren't there when Sanchez died; You didn't know the pearls were fake . . . Aw, can it, sport! Make no mistake, You're in it, doll, up to your eyeballs! Tears? Please! You'll dilute our highballs, And make that angel face a mess For the nice Lieutenant. I confess I'm nuts for you—but take the rap? You must think I'm some other sap! And, precious, I kind of wish I was. Well, when they spring you, give a buzz;

Guess I'll get back to Archie's wife, And you'll get twenty-five to life. You'll have time then, more than enough, To reminisce about the stuff That dreams are made of and the men You suckered. Sadly, in the pen Your kind of talent goes to waste. But Irish bars are more my taste Than iron ones: stripes ain't my style. You're going down; I promise I'll Come visit every other year. Now kiss me, sweet—the squad car's here.

1. How does Lauinger’s poem evoke Marvell’s carpe diem poem and the tough-guy tone of a “noir” narrative (a crime story or thriller)?

2. Discuss the ways in which time is a central presence in the poem.

3. What significant similarities and differences do you find between this poem and “To His Coy Mistress”?

Root CellarBy Theodore Roethke

Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch,Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark,Shoots dangled and drooped,Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates,Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes.And what a congress of stinks!—Roots ripe as old bait,Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich,Leaf-mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks.Nothing would give up life:Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.

1. Explain why you think this is a positive or negative rendition of a root cellar.

2. What is the tone of this poem?

3. What single line in the poem suggests a theme?

Week Three Homework

Vocabulary

DIRECTIONS: Define the following vocabulary words. On the right margin, draw an image to delineate if the word is positive, negative, or neutral.

Benevolent—

Churlish—

Dubious—

Fascile—

Manipulated—

Narcissistic—

Repugnant—

Volcanic—

Angsty—

Caustic—

Embittered—

Gullible—

Intrepid—

Nostalgic—

Potent—

Self-effacing—

Read through the next five poems. Identify five poetic devices per poem. Then, answer the questions accompanying the poem.

Dover BeachBy Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm to-night.The tide is full, the moon lies fairUpon the straits; on the French coast the lightGleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!Only, from the long line of sprayWhere the sea meets the moon-blanched land,Listen! you hear the grating roarOf pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,At their return, up the high strand,Begin, and cease, and then again begin,With tremulous cadence slow, and bringThe eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long agoHeard it on the A gaean, and it broughtInto his mind the turbid ebb and flowOf human misery; weFind also in the sound a thought,Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of FaithWas once, too, at the full, and round earth's shoreLay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.But now I only hearIts melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,Retreating, to the breathOf the night-wind, down the vast edges drearAnd naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be trueTo one another! for the world, which seemsTo lie before us like a land of dreams,So various, so beautiful, so new,Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;And we are here as on a darkling plainSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,Where ignorant armies clash by night.

1. Discuss what you consider to be this poem’s central point. How do the speaker’s descriptions of the ocean work toward making that point?

2. What is the cause of the “sadness” in the frst stanza? What is the speaker’s response to the ebbing “Sea of Faith”? Is there anything to replece his sense of loss?

3. What details of the beach seem related to the ideas in the poem? How is the sea used differently at the beginning of the poem and the end of the poem?

Green ChileBy Jimmy Santiago Baca

I prefer red chile over my eggsand potatoes for breakfast.Red chile ristras* decorate my door,dry on my roof, and hang from eaves.They lend open-air vegetable standshistorical grandeur, and gently swingwith an air of festive welcome.I can hear them talking in the wind,haggard, yellowing, crisp, raspingtongues of old men, licking the breeze.

But grandmother loves green chile.When I visit her,she holds the green chile pepperin her wrinkled hands.Ah, voluptuous, masculine,an air of authority and youth simmersfrom its swan-neck stem, tapering to a flowery collar,fermenting resinous spice.A well-dressed gentleman at the doormy grandmother takes sensuously in her hand,rubbing its firm glossed sides,caressing the oily rubbery serpent,with mouth -watering fulfillment,fondling its curves with gentle fingers.Its bearing magnificent and tautas flanks of a tiger in mid-leap,she thrusts her blade intoand cuts it open, with luston her hot mouth, sweating over the stove,bandanna round her forehead,mysterious passion on her faceas she serves me green chile con carnebetween soft warm leaves of corn tortillas,with beans and rice–her sacrificeto here little prince.I slurp form my platewith last bit of tortilla, my mouth burns

and I hiss and drink a tall glass of cold water.

All over New Mexico, sunburned men and womendrive rickety trucks stuffed with gunny sacksof green chile, from Belen, Beguita, Wllard, Estancia,San Antonio y Socorro, from fieldsto roadside stands, you see them roasting green chilein screen-sided homemade barrels, and for a dollar a bag,we relive this old, beautiful ritual again and again.

*A braided string of peppers

1. What is the difference between red and green chiles in this poem? Find the different images the speaker uses to distinguish between the two.

2. What kinds of images are used to describe the grandmother’s preparations of green chile? What is the effect of those images?

London's Summer MorningBy Mary Robinson

Who has not waked to list the busy soundsOf summer's morning, in the sultry smokeOf noisy London? On the pavement hotThe sooty chimney-boy, with dingy faceAnd tatter'd covering, shrilly bawls his trade,Rousing the sleepy housemaid. At the doorThe milk-pail rattles, and the tinkling bellProclaims the dustman's office; while the streetIs lost in clouds impervious. Now beginsThe din of hackney-coaches, waggons, carts;While tinmen's shops, and noisy trunk-makers,Knife-grinders, coopers, squeaking cork-cutters,Fruit barrows, and the hunger-giving criesOf vegetable venders, fill the air.Now every shop displays its varied trade,And the fresh-sprinkled pavement cools the feetOf early walkers. At the private doorThe ruddy housemaid twirls the busy mop,Annoying the smart 'prentice, or neat girl,Tripping with band-box lightly. Now the sunDarts burning splendour on the glittering pane,

Save where the canvas awning throws a shadeOn the day merchandize. Now, spruce and trim,In shops (where beauty smiles with industry),Sits the smart damsel; while the passengerPeeps through the window, watching every charm.Now pastry dainties catch the eye minuteOf humming insects, while the limy snareWaits to enthral them. Now the lamp-lighterMounts the tall ladder, nimbly venturous,To trim the half-fill'd lamp; while at his feetThe pot-boy yells discordant! All alongThe sultry pavement, the old-clothes man criesIn tone monotonous, the side-long viewsThe area for his traffic: now the bagIs slily open'd, and the half-worn suit(Sometimes the pilfer'd treasure of the baseDomestic spoiler), for one half its worth,Sinks in the green abyss. The porter nowBears his huge load along the burning way;And the poor poet wakes from busy dreams,To paint the summer morning.

1. How effective is this picture of a London summer morning? Which images do you find particularly effective?

2. How does the end of the poem bring us full circle to its beginning? What effect does this structure have on your understanding of the poem?

Dulce Et Decorum EstBy Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned our backsAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their bootsBut limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hootsOf disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;But someone still was yelling out and stumblingAnd floundering like a man in fire or lime.--Dim, through the misty panes and thick green lightAs under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.

1. The Latin quotation at the end of the poem is from Horace: “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.” Owen served as a British soldier during World War I and was killed. Is this poem unpatriotic? What is its purpose?

2. Which images in the poem are most vivid? To which senses do they speak?

3. Describe the speaker’s tone.

4. How are the images that appear of the soldiers in this poem different from the images that typically appear in recruiting posters?

To AutumnBy John Keats

1.

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

2.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep, Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

3.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

1. How is autumn made to seem like a person in each stanza of this ode?

2. Which senses are most emphasized in each stanza?

3. How is the progression of time expressed in the ode?

4. How does the imagery convey tone? Which words have especially strong connotative values?

5. What is the speaker’s view of death?

Week Four Homework

Vocabulary

DIRECTIONS: Define the following vocabulary words. On the right margin, draw an image to delineate if the word is positive, negative, or neutral.

Belligerent—

Deferential—

Idolatrous—

Naïve—

Pensive—

Resigned—

Stoical—

Vindictive—

Cynical—

Deluded—

Disdainful—

Inept—

Miffed—

Patronizing—

Stern—

Woeful—

Read through the next seven poems. Identify five poetic devices per poem. Then, answer the questions accompanying the poem.

MirrorBy Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.What ever you see I swallow immediatelyJust as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.I am not cruel, only truthful---The eye of a little god, four-cornered.Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so longI think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.Faces and darkness separate us over and over.Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,Searching my reaches for what she really is.Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.I am important to her. She comes and goes.Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old womanRises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

1. What is the effect of the personification in this poem? How would our view of the aging woman be different if she, rather than the mirror, told her story?

2. In what sense can “candles or the moon” be regarded as “liars”? Explain this metaphor.

3. Explain the effectiveness of the final simile.

A Noiseless Patient SpiderBy Walt Whitman

A noiseless patient spider, I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself; Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them. And you, O my Soul, where you stand, Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the spheres, to connect them; Till the bridge you will need, be form’d—till the ductile anchor hold; Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.

1. Spiders are not usually regarded as pleasant creatures. Why does the speaker in this poem liken his soul to one? What similarities are there in the poem between spider and soul? Are there any significant differences?

2. How do the images of space relate to the connections made between the soul and the spider?

Behind Grandma's House By Gary Soto

At ten I wanted fame. I had a combAnd two coke bottles, a tube of Bryl-creem.I borrowed a dog, one withMismatched eyes and a happy tongue,And wanted to prove I was toughIn the alley kicking over trash cans,A dull chime of tuna cans falling.I hurled light bulbs like grenades,

And men teachers held their heads,Fingers of blood lengthening,On the ground. I flicked rocks at cats,Their goofy faces spurred with foxtails,I kicked fences. I shooed pigeons.I broke a branch from a flowering peachAnd frightened ants with a stream of spit.I said "Chale," "In your face," and "No wayDaddy-O" to an imaginary priestUntil grandma came into the alleyHer apron flapping in a breeze,Her hair mussed, and said, " Let me help you,"And punched me between the eyes.

1. What is the central irony of this poem?

2. How does the speaker characterize himself at ten?

3. Though the “grandma” appears only briefly, she seems, in a sense, fully characterized. How would you descrieb her? Why do you think she says, “Let me help you”?

The CowBy Andrew Hudgins

I love the red cowwith all my heart.She’s gentle when pullingmy cherry-red cart.

We take her rich milkand swallow it down.With nothing, it’s white,with chocolate, brown.

When she grows too feeble,to give us fresh cream,

we’ll slit her red throat,hang her from a beam,

and pull out her insidesto throw to the dogs,just as we dowhen we slaughter the hogs.

We’ve now owned six cowsthat I can remember.We drain them and gut them,skin and dismember,

package and label them,and stock up the freezer.We all love beefsteak—from baby to geezer!

Tossed on the grill,the bloody steaks sputter.As a last, grateful tribute,so humble we stutter,

we offer up thankswith a reverent mutter-then slather her chops with her own creamy butter.

1. Describe the tone of each stanza. How do the rhymes serve to establish the tone?

2. Characterize the speaker. How do you reconclie what is said in the first stanza with the description in the final stanza?

The LambBy William Blake

Little Lamb who made thee Dost thou know who made thee Gave thee life & bid thee feed. By the stream & o'er the mead;Gave thee clothing of delight,Softest clothing wooly bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,Making all the vales rejoice! Little Lamb who made thee Dost thou know who made thee

Little Lamb I'll tell thee, Little Lamb I'll tell thee!He is called by thy name,For he calls himself a Lamb: He is meek & he is mild, He became a little child: I a child & thou a lamb, We are called by his name. Little Lamb God bless thee. Little Lamb God bless thee.

1. This poem is from Blake’s Songs of Innocence. Describe its tone. How do the meter, rhyme, and repetition help to characterize the speaker’s voice?

2. Why is it significant that the animal addressed by the speaker is a lamb? What symbollic value would be lost if the animal were, for example, a doe?

3. How does the second stanza answer the question raised in the first? What is the speaker’s view of the creation?

The TygerBy William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes?On what wings dare he aspire?What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,Could twist the sinews of thy heart?And when thy heart began to beat,What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain?What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see?Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye,Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

1. This poem is from Blake’s Songs of Experience and is often paired with “The Lamb.” Describe the poem’s tone. Is the spaker’s coice the same here as in “The Lamb”? Which words are repeated and how do they contribute to the tone?

2. What is revealed about the nature of the tiger by the words used to describe its creation? What do you think the tiger symbolizes?

3. Unlike in “The Lamb,” more questions are raised in “The Tyger.” What are these questions? Are they answered?

4. Compare the rhythms in “The Lamb” and “The Tyger.” Each basically uses a seven syllable line, but the effects are very different. Why?

5. Using these two poems as the basis of your discussion, describe what distinguishes innocence from experience.