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AP ENGLISH ANTHOLOGY-Arwa Shamiss
Ode on a Grecian Urn
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow
time,Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our
rhyme:What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy
shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What
maidens loth?What mad pursuit? What struggle to
escape? What pipes and timbrels? What
wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst
not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be
bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst
thou kiss,Though winning near the goal yet, do not
grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not
thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she
be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new;More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever
young;All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful
and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a
parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious
priest,Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the
skies, And all her silken flanks with
garlands drest?What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful
citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious
morn?And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er
return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens
overwrought,With forest branches and the trodden
weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation
waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of
other woeThan ours, a friend to man, to whom thou
say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that
is all Ye know on earth, and all ye
need to know."
- JOHN KEATS
SONNET 116 PARAPHRASELet me not to the marriage
of true mindsLet me not declare any reasons why two
Admit impediments. Love is not love
True-minded people should not be married. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Which changes when it finds a change in circumstances,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
Or bends from its firm stand even when a lover is unfaithful:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
Oh no! it is a lighthouse
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
That sees storms but it never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Love is the guiding north star to every lost ship,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be
taken.
Whose value cannot be calculated, although its altitude can be measured.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and
cheeks
Love is not at the mercy of Time, though physical beauty
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Comes within the compass of his sickle.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
Love does not alter with hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
But, rather, it endures until the last day of life.
If this be error and upon me proved,
If I am proved wrong about these thoughts on love
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Then I recant all that I have written, and no man has ever [truly] loved.
-William Shakespeare
Remember Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me; you understandIt will be late to counsel then or pray.Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
-Christina Rossetti
Sweet Rose of Virtue
Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness,delightful lily of wanton loveliness,richest in bounty and in beauty clearand in every virtue that men hold dear―except only that you are merciless.
Into your garden, today, I followed youthrough lustrous flowers of freshest hue,both white and red, delightful to see,and wholesome herbs, waving resplendently―yet nowhere, one leaf or petal of rue.
I fear that March with his last arctic blasthas slain my fair flower of pallid and gentle cast,whose piteous death does my heart such painthat, if I could, I would plant love's root again―so comforting her bowering leaves have been..
Sweet Rois of Vertew SWEIT rois of vertew and of gentilnes, Delytsum lillie of everie lustynes, Richest in bontie and in bewtie cleir, And everie vertew that is deir, Except onlie that ye are mercyles, Into your garthe this day I did persew; Thair saw I flowris that fresche wer of hew; Baithe quhyte and rid, moist lusty wer to seyne, And halesum herbis upone stalkis grene; Yit leif nor flour fynd could I nane of rew.
I dout that Merche, with his cauld blastis keyne, Hes slane this gentill herbe, that I of mene; Quhois petewous deithe dois to my hart sic pane That I wald mak to plant his rute agane,— So confortand his levis unto me bene.
by William Dunbar
Do not stand at my grave and weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep:I am not there; I do not sleep.I am a thousand winds that blow,I am the diamond glints on snow,I am the sun on ripened grain,I am the gentle autumn rain.When you awaken in the morning’s hushI am the swift uplifting rushOf quiet birds in circling flight.I am the soft starshine at night.Do not stand at my grave and cry:I am not there; I did not die.
- Elizabeth Frye Mary
Shushiki
Dead my old fine hopesAnd dry my dreaming but still...
Iris, blue each spring.
IssaMy grumbling wife -
if only she were here!this moon tonight...
A lovely thing to see:through the paper window's hole,
the Galaxy.
The first firefly...
But he got away and I...Air in my fingers.
In this worldwe walk on the roof of hell,
gazing at flowers.
After killinga spider, how lonely I feel
in the cold of night!
Fujiwara no TeikaWaiting for one who does not come,
Like the seaweed burnt for salt
In the evening calm
At Matsuho Bay
My body is smouldering
Do not go gentle into that good night
Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rave at close of
day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas
When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be
When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has gleaned my teeming
brain,Before high-pilèd books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripened
grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows with the magic hand of
chance;And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more,Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love—then on the shoreOf the wide world I stand alone, and thinkTill love and fame to nothingness do sink. - John keats
A Red, Red RoseO my Luve is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve! And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve, Though it were ten thousand mile.
- Robert burns
ONE HAPPY MOMENTO, no, poor suff'ring Heart, no Change endeavour,
Choose to sustain the smart, rather than leave her;
My ravish'd eyes behold such charms about her,
I can die with her, but not live without her:One tender Sigh of hers to see me
languish,Will more than pay the price of my past
anguish:Beware, O cruel Fair, how you smile on
me,'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone
me. Love has in store for me one happy
minute,And She will end my pain who did begin it;Then no day void of bliss, or pleasure
leaving,Ages shall slide away without perceiving:Cupid shall guard the door the more to
please us,And keep out Time and Death, when they
would seize us:Time and Death shall depart, and say in
flying,Love has found out a way to live, by dying
- John Dryden