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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thine happiness, -That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green and shadows numberless,Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,

Dance, and Provenal song, and sunburnt mirth!O for a beaker full of the warm South,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth;That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fretHere, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs,

Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blownThrough verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

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But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endowsThe grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;

And mid-May's eldest child,The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -

To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a pathThrough the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that oft-times hathCharm'd magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so wellAs she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deepIn the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?

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Dejection: an Ode : S.T. ColeridgeDejection: an Ode by S.T. Coleridge has been written to a Lady. Who was the lady?

Sara Hutchinson? In a letter Coleridge said to his friend Poole that the poem was

addressed to him. Later Coleridge told that it was addressed to Wordsworth. However,

according to Coleridge it could be addressed to anybody with joyous mind. The poem is

about the poem himself. Here the poet confessed to one who is just the opposite to him.

The poet considered himself as sad man and the lady is full of joy. Originally the poem

Dejection: an ode had 340 lines. Later Coleridge cut it short to 139 lines.

Substance:

There is the foreboding of a deadly storm in the four-line quoted from the Ballad of Sir

Patrick Spence. The deadly storms, though destructive, will certainly change by a stir in

the soil and make the plants sprout out of seeds. Now the poet is spiritually slumber and

needed an inspiration that arouse him to new poetic life. He has a desire to shake off his

dullness and bring back his imaginative power.

The poet has melancholy. It does not burst into any strong emotion. It is corroding his

mind. He looks around and sees that everything in nature is excellently fair but he is not

deeply touched by anything. He sees, but does not feel.

His spiritual spirit has gone. The beauty of natural objects can no more touch him. He

dreams to gaze at the green light on the western horizon. But his effort to recover his

poetic talent ended in fiasco. The happiness and passion comes from the heart. If the

heart is dried up then external beauty can not revive him. What man gives to nature will

receive the same. Nature is the part of our life. Our mental state is dependable on

nature. Natural objects are lifeless. For lively nature, we must send forth glory and

radiance . Only powerful human feelings enchanted nature with sweet chasm.

The lady possesses pure heart and her heart is full of joy. Consequently to her, nature is

always joyful. The poet expresses his feelings how the mood of the lady contrasted with

his mood.

http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/11/dejection-ode-st-coleridge.htmlhttp://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/11/dejection-ode-st-coleridge.html

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The poet could recollect his joyful past life even in the misfortune. The hope grew

around him like a creeper growing around a tree. He was enchanted by the natural

objects. But he now feels no joy. It is something loss that he has no joy, but it is the great

loss as he has lost his poetic talent. He has the superb power of imagination when he

born but now he has lost the power. He wants to wait and keep patient forgetting the

loss of poetic talent. For that he starts study of metaphysics so that he becomes a

natural man having no pain for the loss. But his study of metaphysics could not help

him. Still he is unable to recover his poetic talent and creativity.

The poet is very sad. He wants to find the means how to get rid of the present situation.

In the wind he hears the scream of agony like the scream of a mad. He thinks that the

wind should go to places where its howling will not sound so discordant as it does here-

to bare crag, mountain , to some blasted tree, some pine grove far away from any

woodmans reach, or some witch-haunted lonely house. It is now causing havoc in this

rainy month of April, creating the atmosphere, of Devils Christmas. The tragic

atmosphere is full of the painful sound of the wind. So the wind is like an actor, or even

a poet. The sound made by the wind at the moment seems to be similar to the one made

by a retreating army, its members groaning in pain and quivering in cold. The sound is

silent and there is a gap. After that another sound is heard, which is less fearful, a bit

pleasant even. He thinks his mother would reach hearing the sound of wind to rescue

him.

The poet can not sleep at night but he desires that his friend will not pass sleepless

nights because sleep is a good anodyne which helps to recover from ailment. Storm may

be destructive or stars may be twinkling but these will not touch his friend as she is in

profound sleep. When she rise up in the morning she starts her life with joy. Her

freshness will spread though the nature. The poet wishes her there will be no dejection

in her life.

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O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While fo

llow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!O the bleeding drops of red,Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise upfor you the flag is flungfor you the bugle trills;

For you bouquets and ribboned wreathsfor you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father!This arm beneath your head;It is some dream that on the deck,

Youve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!But I, with mournful tread,Walk the deck my Captain lies,Fallen cold and dead

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THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER

by: Robert Browning (1812-1889)

SAID--Then, dearest, since 'tis so,

Since now at length my fate I know,

Since nothing all my love avails,

Since all, my life seem'd meant for, fails,

Since this was written and needs must be--

My whole heart rises up to bless

Your name in pride and thankfulness!

Take back the hope you gave,--I claim

Only a memory of the same,

--And this beside, if you will not blame;

Your leave for one more last ride with me.

My mistress bent that brow of hers,

Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs

When pity would be softening through,

Fix'd me a breathing-while or two

With life or death in the balance: right!

The blood replenish'd me again;

My last thought was at least not vain:

I and my mistress, side by side

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Shall be together, breathe and ride,

So, one day more am I deified.

Who knows but the world may end to-night?

Hush! if you saw some western cloud

All billowy-bosom'd, over-bow'd

By many benedictions--sun's

And moon's and evening-star's at once--

And so, you, looking and loving best,

Conscious grew, your passion drew

Cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too,

Down on you, near and yet more near,

Till flesh must fade for heaven was here!--

Thus leant she and linger'd--joy and fear!

Thus lay she a moment on my breast.

Then we began to ride. My soul

Smooth'd itself out, a long-cramp'd scroll

Freshening and fluttering in the wind.

Past hopes already lay behind.

What need to strive with a life awry?

Had I said that, had I done this,

So might I gain, so might I miss.

Might she have loved me? just as well

She might have hated, who can tell!

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Where had I been now if the worst befell?

And here we are riding, she and I.

Fail I alone, in words and deeds?

Why, all men strive and who succeeds?

We rode; it seem'd my spirit flew,

Saw other regions, cities new,

As the world rush'd by on either side.

I thought,--All labour, yet no less

Bear up beneath their unsuccess.

Look at the end of work, contrast

The petty done, the undone vast,

This present of theirs with the hopeful past!

I hoped she would love me; here we ride.

What hand and brain went ever pair'd?

What heart alike conceived and dared?

What act proved all its thought had been?

What will but felt the fleshly screen?

We ride and I see her bosom heave.

There's many a crown for who can reach.

Ten lines, a statesman's life in each!

The flag stuck on a heap of bones,

A soldier's doing! what atones?

They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones.

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My riding is better, by their leave.

What does it all mean, poet? Well,

Your brains beat into rhythm, you tell

What we felt only; you express'd

You hold things beautiful the best,

And pace them in rhyme so, side by side.

'Tis something, nay 'tis much: but then,

Have you yourself what's best for men?

Are you--poor, sick, old ere your time--

Nearer one whit your own sublime

Than we who never have turn'd a rhyme?

Sing, riding's a joy! For me, I ride.

And you, great sculptor--so, you gave

A score of years to Art, her slave,

And that's your Venus, whence we turn

To yonder girl that fords the burn!

You acquiesce, and shall I repine?

What, man of music, you grown gray

With notes and nothing else to say,

Is this your sole praise from a friend?--

'Greatly his opera's strains intend,

But in music we know how fashions end!'

I gave my youth: but we ride, in fine.

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Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate

Proposed bliss here should sublimate

My being--had I sign'd the bond--

Still one must lead some life beyond,

Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried.

This foot once planted on the goal,

This glory-garland round my soul,

Could I descry such? Try and test!

I sink back shuddering from the quest.

Earth being so good, would heaven seem best?

Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride.

And yet--she has not spoke so long!

What if heaven be that, fair and strong

At life's best, with our eyes upturn'd

Whither life's flower is first discern'd,

We, fix'd so, ever should so abide?

What if we still ride on, we two

With life for ever old yet new,

Changed not in kind but in degree,

The instant made eternity,--

And heaven just prove that I and she

Ride, ride together, for ever ride?

MORE POEMS

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Brahma

If the red slayer think he slays,Or if the slain think he is slain,

They know not well the subtle waysI keep, and pass, and turn again.

Far or forgot to me is near,Shadow and sunlight are the same,

The vanished gods to me appear,And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;When me they fly, I am the wings;I am the doubter and the doubt,And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,

And pine in vain the sacred Seven;But thou, meek lover of the good!Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.

1856 [1857]

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The Emperor of Ice Cream

Call the roller of big cigars,The muscular one, and bid him whip

In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.

Let the wenches dawdle in such dress

As they are used to wear, and let the boys

Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.

Let be be finale of seem.

The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal.

Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet

On which she embroidered fantails onceAnd spread it so as to cover her face.

If her horny feet protrude, they come

To show how cold she is, and dumb.

Let the lamp affix its beam.

The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Wallace Stevens

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T h e T i g e r a n d t h e

D e e r 1 Brilliant, crouching, slouching, what crept through the green

heart of the forest,

Gleaming eyes and mighty chest and soft soundless paws ofgrandeur and murder?

The wind slipped through the leaves as if afraid lest its voice

and the noise

of its steps perturb the pitiless Splendour,

Hardly daring to breathe. But the great beast crouched and

crept, and crept

and crouched a last time, noiseless, fatal,

Till suddenly death leaped on the beautiful wild deer as it

drankUnsuspecting from the great pool in the forest's coolness and

shadow,

And it fell and, torn, died remembering its mate left sole in

the deep woodland,

Destroyed, the mild harmless beauty by the strong cruel

beauty in Nature.

But a day may yet come when the tiger crouches and leaps

no more in the

dangerous heart of the forest,

As the mammoth shakes no more the plains of Asia;Still then shall the beautiful wild deer drink from the

coolness of great pools

in the leaves' shadow.

The mighty perish in their might;

The slain survive the slayer.

http://ww1.aurobindo.ru/workings/sa/05/0206_e.htm#1_http://ww1.aurobindo.ru/workings/sa/05/0206_e.htm#1_http://ww1.aurobindo.ru/workings/sa/05/0206_e.htm#1_http://ww1.aurobindo.ru/workings/sa/05/0206_e.htm#1_

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O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is don

The ship has weathered every rack, the prize

we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people a

exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel

grim and daring;

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the

bells;

Rise up--for you the flag is flung for you the

bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for

you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eag

faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head!

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale

and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pu

nor will;

The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyag

closed and done;

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with

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object won;

Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

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Ice cream is a blatant symbol in this peom. It is sweet and we buy it at fun times for something nice to

munch, but it doesn't take us long to devour that cone before it's completely gone. Since concupiscent

means a strong desire, especially sexual desire; lust, one can determine this poem involves sex of a sort,

and since it notes the dresser is made of deal, which is extremely cheap wood, and connotates poverty,

it could be that this house is a whore-house (sex with a whore is fun for a moment and sweet at the

time, but then you pay for it and it's done, like ice cream - good for the few minutes it lasts and then

over). It notes pulling a sheet over a woman whose feet stick out, much the way they do for people

who've died, especially when they are found and tagged, so one can determine that a death has occured

also. People who roll big cigars could be a reference to many things, but with these two facts taken into

account, it seems it must be a reference to a pimp or something of the like, so combined with the death,

it can be determined that perhaps she tried to leave, which obviously didn't work. It would then make

sense to say "Let be be the finale of seem." - let be the end of this illusion (the house would have to

seem to be an ordinary house but because of this death the pimp would not be able to cover the fact

that it was a harlotry so the rest of the buisness would have to move). The lines about flowers and

wenches in their clothes are them letting the girl's customers bring flowers to her death and letting the

harlots take the day off because of it and presumably the move they will have to endure. *It says "Let

the wenches dawdle in such dress as they are used to wear." and not what would be correct

grammmatically 'Let the wenches dawdle in such dress(es) as they are used to wearing.' This should

draw a reader's attention to the discrepancy in grammar and the only way that it makes sense is if the

wenches (who by the way are not 'girls' as someone would call them to be respectful - wenches were

servant / slave girls) were used while wearing those clothes, implying that these women not only have

specific clothes for one thing only but that these women are used for one purpose only too.

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Setting and Summary

The time is the early 20th Century. (The poem was published in 1922). The place is the residence of a

deceased woman in an American city. It is uncertain whether the residence is a house or an apartment.Apparently people of Latin-American ancestry live in the neighborhood and roll cigars (wrap curedtobacco in a cigar leaf) to earn money. The narrator (speaker/persona) calls for a muscular cigar roller tomake ice cream to be served to visitors attending the wake (viewing) for the deceased woman. In earliertimes, a wake frequently took place in the home of the deceased. Besides paying their last respects to thedead person, visitors often ate, drank, and told stories. Thus, a wake was sometimes a festive occasion.In "The Emperor of Ice Cream," the narrator tells what will happen before and during the wake. There willbe the ice cream, and men from the neighborhood will bring flowers. The male and female visitors willprobably flirt and make eyes. The dead woman will lie in her bedroom under a bedsheet that covers herface and body but exposes her callused feet. The visitors will occupy themselves mainly with socializingand having fun, not with mourning the loss of a neighbor.

Interpreting the Poem

"The Emperor of Ice Cream" is open to interpretation. Although the poem suggests meanings behind thewords, it does not not explicitly state the meanings. Whereas one reader may regard the planned festivityat the wake as disrespectful to the deceased woman, another reader may regard it as a positive responseto the woman's death. After all, life must go on. The point is that perceptions of the world differ fromperson to person. They are like images on the canvases of painters from different schools of art, painterswho have unique perceptions of reality even within their own school. All of the painters could paint thesame scene--a field of flowers, for example--and all the paintings would be different in some way. Theinterpretations of the poem presented on this page are certainly not definitive or absolute. They are onlyone person's interpretation of what the author presents

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Summary

The poem begins with the speaker asking a fearsome tiger what kind of divine being could have created it:

What immortal hand or eye/ Could frame they fearful symmetry? Each subsequent stanza contains further

questions, all of which refine this first one. From what part of the cosmos could the tigers fiery eyes have

come, and who would have dared to handle that fire? What sort of physical presence, and what kind of dark

craftsmanship, would have been required to twist the sinews of the tigers heart? The speaker wonders how,

once that horrible heart began to beat, its creator would have had the courage to continue the job. Comparing

the creator to a blacksmith, he ponderss about the anvil and the furnace that the project would have required

and the smith who could have wielded them. And when the job was done, the speaker wonders, how would the

creator have felt? Did he smile his work to see? Could this possibly be the same being who made the lamb?

Form

The poem is comprised of six quatrains in rhymed couplets. The meter is regular and rhythmic, its hammeringbeat suggestive of the smithy that is the poems central image. The simplicity and neat proportions of the

poems form perfectly suit its regular structure, in which a string of questions all contribute to the articulation of a

single, central idea.

Commentary

The opening question enacts what will be the single dramatic gesture of the poem, and each subsequent

stanza elaborates on this conception. Blake is building on the conventional idea that nature, like a work of art,

must in some way contain a reflection of its creator. The tiger is strikingly beautiful yet also horrific in its

capacity for violence. What kind of a God, then, could or would design such a terrifying beast as the tiger? In

more general terms, what does the undeniable existence of evil and violence in the world tell us about the

nature of God, and what does it mean to live in a world where a being can at once contain both beauty and

horror?

The tiger initially appears as a strikingly sensuous image. However, as the poem progresses, it takes on a

symbolic character, and comes to embody the spiritual and moral problem the poem explores: perfectly

beautiful and yet perfectly destructive, Blakes tiger becomes the symbolic center for an investigation into the

presence of evil in the world. Since the tigers remarkable nature exists both in physical and moral terms, the

speakers questions about its origin must also encompass both physical and moral dimensions. The poems

series of questions repeatedly ask what sort of physical creative capacity the fearful symmetry of the tiger

bespeaks; assumedly only a very strong and powerful being could be capable of such a creation.

The smithy represents a traditional image of artistic creation; here Blake applies it to the divine creation of the

natural world. The forging of the tiger suggests a very physical, laborious, and deliberate kind of making; it

emphasizes the awesome physical presence of the tiger and precludes the idea that such a creation could

have been in any way accidentally or haphazardly produced. It also continues from the first description of the

tiger the imagery of fire with its simultaneous connotations of creation, purification, and destruction. The

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speaker stands in awe of the tiger as a sheer physical and aesthetic achievement, even as he recoils in horror

from the moral implications of such a creation; for the poem addresses not only the question of who could

make such a creature as the tiger, but who wouldperform this act. This is a question of creative responsibility

and of will, and the poet carefully includes this moral question with the consideration of physical power. Note, in

the third stanza, the parallelism of shoulder and art, as well as the fact that it is not just the body but also the

heart of the tiger that is being forged. The repeated use of word the dare to replace the could of the first

stanza introduces a dimension of aspiration and willfulness into the sheer might of the creative act.

The reference to the lamb in the penultimate stanza reminds the reader that a tiger and a lamb have been

created by the same God, and raises questions about the implications of this. It also invites a contrast between

the perspectives of experience and innocence represented here and in the poemThe Lamb.The Tyger

consists entirely of unanswered questions, and the poet leaves us to awe at the complexity of creation, the

sheer magnitude of Gods power, and the inscrutability of divine will. The perspective of experience in this

poem involves a sophisticated acknowledgment of what is unexplainable in the universe, presenting evil as the

prime example of something that cannot be denied, but will not withstand facile explanation, either. The open

awe of The Tyger contrasts with the easy confidence, in The Lamb, of a childs innocent faith in a

benevolent universe.

http://www.sparknotes.com/poetry/blake/section1.rhtml#lambhttp://www.sparknotes.com/poetry/blake/section1.rhtml#lambhttp://www.sparknotes.com/poetry/blake/section1.rhtml#lambhttp://www.sparknotes.com/poetry/blake/section1.rhtml#lamb

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Martin Luther King, Jr. (January 15, 1929April 4, 1968) was anAmericanclergyman,activist, and prominent leader in theAfrican American civil rights movement.[1]He is best

known for being an iconic figure in the advancement ofcivil rightsin the United States and

around the world, usingnonviolentmethods following the teachings ofMahatma Gandhi.[2]

Kingis often presented as a heroic leader in the history ofmodern American liberalism.[3]

ABaptistminister, King became acivil rights activistearly in his career.[4]

He led the 1955Montgomery Bus Boycottand helped found theSouthern Christian Leadership Conferencein

1957, serving as its first president. King's efforts led to the 1963March on Washington, where

King delivered his "I Have a Dream" speech. There, he expanded American values to include the

vision of a color blind society, and established his reputation as one of the greatest orators inAmerican history.

In 1964, King became the youngest person to receive theNobel Peace Prizefor his work to endracial segregationandracial discriminationthroughcivil disobedienceand other nonviolent

means. By the time of his death in 1968, he had refocused his efforts on ending poverty and

stopping theVietnam War.

King wasassassinated on April 4, 1968, inMemphis, Tennessee. He was posthumously awarded

thePresidential Medal of Freedomin 1977 andCongressional Gold Medalin 2004;MartinLuther King, Jr. Daywas established as aU.S. federal holidayin 1986.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/People_of_the_United_Stateshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/People_of_the_United_Stateshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pastorhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pastorhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pastorhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African-American_Civil_Rights_Movement_(1955%E2%80%931968)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African-American_Civil_Rights_Movement_(1955%E2%80%931968)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-0http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-0http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-0http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civil_and_political_rightshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civil_and_political_rightshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civil_and_political_rightshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nonviolencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nonviolencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nonviolencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mahatma_Gandhihttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mahatma_Gandhihttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-1http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-1http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-1http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_American_liberalismhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_American_liberalismhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-2http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-2http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-2http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Progressive_National_Baptist_Conventionhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Progressive_National_Baptist_Conventionhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Progressive_National_Baptist_Conventionhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African-American_Civil_Rights_Movement_(1955%E2%80%931968)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African-American_Civil_Rights_Movement_(1955%E2%80%931968)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African-American_Civil_Rights_Movement_(1955%E2%80%931968)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-3http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-3http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-3http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montgomery_Bus_Boycotthttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montgomery_Bus_Boycotthttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_Christian_Leadership_Conferencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_Christian_Leadership_Conferencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_Christian_Leadership_Conferencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/March_on_Washington_for_Jobs_and_Freedomhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/March_on_Washington_for_Jobs_and_Freedomhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/March_on_Washington_for_Jobs_and_Freedomhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Have_a_Dreamhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Have_a_Dreamhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Have_a_Dreamhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nobel_Peace_Prizehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nobel_Peace_Prizehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nobel_Peace_Prizehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racial_segregationhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racial_segregationhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racismhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racismhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racismhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civil_disobediencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civil_disobediencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civil_disobediencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnam_Warhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnam_Warhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnam_Warhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr._assassinationhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr._assassinationhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr._assassinationhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memphis,_Tennesseehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memphis,_Tennesseehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memphis,_Tennesseehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Presidential_Medal_of_Freedomhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Presidential_Medal_of_Freedomhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Presidential_Medal_of_Freedomhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congressional_Gold_Medalhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congressional_Gold_Medalhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congressional_Gold_Medalhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr._Dayhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr._Dayhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr._Dayhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr._Dayhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Federal_holidays_in_the_United_Stateshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Federal_holidays_in_the_United_Stateshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Federal_holidays_in_the_United_Stateshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Federal_holidays_in_the_United_Stateshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr._Dayhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr._Dayhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congressional_Gold_Medalhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Presidential_Medal_of_Freedomhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memphis,_Tennesseehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr._assassinationhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnam_Warhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civil_disobediencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racismhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racial_segregationhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nobel_Peace_Prizehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Have_a_Dreamhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/March_on_Washington_for_Jobs_and_Freedomhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_Christian_Leadership_Conferencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montgomery_Bus_Boycotthttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-3http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African-American_Civil_Rights_Movement_(1955%E2%80%931968)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Progressive_National_Baptist_Conventionhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-2http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_American_liberalismhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-1http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mahatma_Gandhihttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nonviolencehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civil_and_political_rightshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Luther_King,_Jr.#cite_note-0http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African-American_Civil_Rights_Movement_(1955%E2%80%931968)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pastorhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/People_of_the_United_States

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Dejection: An Ode.

I

Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made

The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,

This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence

Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade

Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,

Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes

Upon the strings of this Aeolian lute,

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Which better far were mute.

For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!

And overspread with phantom light,

(With swimming phantom light o'erspread

But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)

I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling

The coming-on of rain and squally blast.And oh! that even now the gust were swelling,

And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!

Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,

And sent my soul abroad,

Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,

Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!

II

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,

A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,

Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,In word, or sigh, or tear -

O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,

To other thoughts by yonder throstle wooed,

All this long eve, so balmy and serene,

Have I been gazing on the western sky,

And its peculiar tint of yellow green:

And still I gaze -and with how blank an eye!

And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,

That give away their motion to the stars;

Those stars, that glide behind them or between,

Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:

Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grewIn its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;

I see them all so excellently fair,

I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

III

My genial spirits fail;

And what can these avail

To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?

It were a vain endeavour,

Though I should gaze forever

On that green light that lingers in the west:I may not hope from outward forms to win

The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV

O Lady! we receive but what we give,

And in our life alone does Nature live:

Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud!

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And would we aught behold, of higher worth,

Than that inanimate cold world allowed

To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,

Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth

A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud

Enveloping the Earth -

And from the soul itself must there be sentA sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,

Of all sweet sounds the life and element!

V

O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me

What this strong music in the soul may be!

What, and wherein it doth exist,

This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,

This beautiful and beauty-making power.

Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given,

Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower,

Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,

Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower,

A new Earth and new Heaven,

Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud -

Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud -

We in ourselves rejoice!

And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,

All melodies the echoes of that voice,

All colours a suffusion from that light.

VI

There was a time when, though my path was rough,

This joy within me dallied with distress,

And all misfortunes were but as the stuff

Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:

For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,

And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.

But now afflictions bow me down to earth:

Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;

But oh! each visitation

Suspends what Nature gave me at my birth,

My shaping spirit of Imagination.For not to think of what I needs must feel,

But to be still and patient, all I can;

And haply by abstruse research to steal

From my own nature all the natural man -

This was my sole resource, my only plan:

Till that which suits a part infects the whole,

And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

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VII

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,

Reality's dark dream!

I turn from you, and listen to the wind,

Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream

Of agony by torture lengthened outThat lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without,

Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree,

Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,

Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,

Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,

Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,

Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,

Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song,

The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.

Thou actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!

Thou mighty poet, e'en to frenzy bold!

What tell'st thou now about?'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,

With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds -

At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!

But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!

And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,

With groans, and tremulous shudderings -all is over -

It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!

A tale of less affright,

And tempered with delight,

As Otway's self had framed the tender lay -

'Tis of a little child

Upon a lonesome wild,Not far from home, but she hath lost her way:

And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,

And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.

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Summary

The speaker opens with a declaration of his own heartache. He feels numb, as though he had taken a drug

only a moment ago. He is addressing a nightingale he hears singing somewhere in the forest and says that his

drowsy numbness is not from envy of the nightingales happiness, but rather from sharing it too completely;

he is too happy that the nightingale sings the music of summer from amid some unseen plot of green trees

and shadows.

In the second stanza, the speaker longs for the oblivion of alcohol, expressing his wish for wine, a draught of

vintage, that would taste like the country and like peasant dances, and let him leave the world unseen and

disappear into the dim forest with the nightingale. In the third stanza, he explains his desire to fade away,

saying he would like to forget the troubles the nightingale has never known: the weariness, the fever, and the

fret of human life, with its consciousness that everything is mortal and nothing lasts. Youth grows pale, and

spectre-thin, and dies, and beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes.

In the fourth stanza, the speaker tells the nightingale to fly away, and he will follow, not through alcohol (Not

charioted by Bacchus and his pards), but through poetry, which will give him viewless wings. He says he is

already with the nightingale and describes the forest glade, where even the moonlight is hidden by the trees,

except the light that breaks through when the breezes blow the branches. In the f ifth stanza, the speaker says

that he cannot see the flowers in the glade, but can guess them in embalmed darkness: white hawthorne,

eglantine, violets, and the musk-rose, the murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. In the sixth stanza, thespeaker listens in the dark to the nightingale, saying that he has often been half in love with the idea of dying

and called Death soft names in many rhymes. Surrounded by the nightingales song, the speaker thinks that

the idea of death seems richer than ever, and he longs to cease upon the midnight with no pain while the

nightingale pours its soul ecstatically forth. If he were to die, the nightingale would continue to sing, he says,

but he would have ears in vain and be no longer able to hear.

In the seventh stanza, the speaker tells the nightingale that it is immortal, that it was not born for death. He

says that the voice he hears singing has always been heard, by ancient emperors and clowns, by homesick

Ruth; he even says the song has often charmed open magic windows looking out over the foam / Of perilous

seas, in faery lands forlorn. In the eighth stanza, the word forlorn tolls like a bell to re store the speaker from his

preoccupation with the nightingale and back into himself. As the nightingale flies farther away from him, he

laments that his imagination has failed him and says that he can no longer recall whether the nightingales

music was avision, or a waking dream. Now that the music is gone, the speaker cannot recall whether he

himself is awake or asleep.

Form

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Thje last Ride together

obert Browning is difficult to a certain extent, demanding a degree of intellectual exertion on the part of the

reader. His poetry is also characterized by a certain deliberate roughness reminiscent of the metaphysical

poets. His poems are greatly concerned with human character and reflect an attraction towards the bizarre,

the unusual and the eccentric. His poems are also dramatic and are concerned with Renaissance themes.

The most important qualities pervading Brownings works are his robust optimism and spiritual courage. The

narrator told his lover the fact of the matter that it is so and now at length he knows his fate, nothing to all

his love avails and his life is meant to accept failure. This was written in his stars and all must need be that

his whole heart rises up to bless her name in pride and thankfulness. He asked her to take back the hope she

gave for he claimed only a memory of the same and besides this if she would not blame her leave for one

more last ride with him. His mistress bent that brow of hers and those dark eyes where pride demurs;

lingers; when pity would be softening through, fixed him with a breathing-while or two with life or death in

the balance.

The blood replenished; revitalized; him again and his last thoughts was at least not in vain. He and his

mistress would sit side by side and together they would breathe and ride. So one more day would he be

deified; become a god, i.e. achieved the supreme goal; who knows but the world may end tonight. If she

would see some western cloud all billowy-bosomed; with gentle curves; over bowed by many benedictions;

blessings; of the suns, the moons and evening stars at once, she would looked and loved best as her

conscious grew, her passion drew closer to the cloud, sunset, moonrise and star-shine too. Right down near

to her, till her flesh must fade for heaven was there. She leant and lingered for joy and fear and she laid for a

moment on his breast. Ultimately they began the ride and his soul smoothed herself out-a long-cramped

scroll; parchment kept rolled up for a long period- freshening and fluttering in the wind. Past hopes were

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already laid behind and there was no need to strive with a lifes awry; gone wrong; had he said that or had he

done this, so might he gain or so might he miss. She might have love or hated him. No one could tell as to

where he had been now if the worst befell but here they are both of them riding together.

As they rode, it seemed that his spirit flew and saw other regions and new cities. As the world rushed on

either side, he thought all labour bore up beneath their failure. Look at the end of work, contrast between the

petty done and the vast undone. This present of theirs with a hopeful past, he hoped that she would love him

as they ride. Their hands and brains went paired as much as their hearts alike conceived and dared. He saw

her bosom heave and the many crowns that were hard to reach. There were ten lines in each of the

statesmans life, the flag that was stuck on a heap of bones or what atones a soldiers doing? They scratch

his name on the Abbey-stones; a memorial tablet at Westminster Abbey. This honour is usually given to

distinguished people like the heroic soldier mentioned earlier in the poem; but the lovers riding was better

than their leave.

His brains beat into rhythm, he spoke what he felt and held things that were beautifully the best. He paced

them in rhyme side by side if he should be poor, sick or old before his time. Nearer one whit his own

sublime; even a little bit nearer to his sublime ideal; than they who had never turned a rhyme as they sangand riding together for joy. She was like a great sculptor; not exactly identifiable since many medieval

sculptors carved out statues of Venus-the ideal of feminine beauty; this a sole praise from a friend which

greatly intends his operas strains. They turn to yonder girl that fords the burn ofher; acquiesce; agree; and

he would repine; express dejection. In music they know how fashions end, he gave his youth but they rode in

fine together.

Fate proposed that bliss should sublimate his being there and one must lead some life beyond. To have bliss

to die with, dim-descried; dimly observed as from afar; whose foot once planted on the goal. The glory-

garland round his soul could he descry yet sunk back shuddering from the quest. Earth would be good but

Heaven would be best for she was beyond this ride. She hardly spoke yet if Heaven would be fair and strong

with their eyes upturned, whither lifes flower is discerned as they headed to eternity, Heaven just provedthat both of them rode together undisturbed.

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Gitanjali: Selected Poems

"Song Offerings"

Translations made by the author from the original Bengali.

Mind Without Fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;

Where knowledge is free;

Where the world has not been broken up

into fragments by narrow domestic walls;

Where words come out from the depth of truth;

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;

Where the clear stream of reason

has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action---

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Little Flute

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail

vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,

and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

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At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in

joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.

Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and sti ll there is room to fill.

Purity

Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing

that thy living touch is upon all my limbs.

I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing

that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind.

I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my

love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart.

And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it

is thy power gives me strength to act.

Moment's Indulgence

I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works

that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.

Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,

Flower

Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it

droop and drop into the dust.

I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of

pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I am

aware, and the time of offering go by.

Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flower

in thy service and pluck it while there is time.

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More About :Review on the Last Ride Together by Robert Browning

O Captain! My Captain is a moving poem in which Whitman expresses his profound sense ofgrief at a tragic end of

a leader of men is addressed to Abraham Lincoln, one of the greatest presidents of the United States of America,

who fought a war (the American Civil War) against the Southern States to give the Negro slaves freedom and human

dignity. The war was won, the slaves were freed, but Lincoln, soon after his election as president for a second term,

fell a victim to an assassins bullet.

The leader is being conceived as the brave captain of a ship who falls dead on the deck just when the journey

is over and the victory is won. Whitman delivers the message to the captain and declares that their fearful and

dangerous trip is done. Their ship had withstood every destructive encounter and their prized reward that they longed

for is won. Their weary ship is drawing near the sea-port, the church bells are ringing to celebrate a victory and the

people are rejoicing. Yet in the midst the celebration, he sees that within the grim and the daring vessel, his heart

would spill profusely with drops of blood of immeasurable sadness to see his captain lying cold and dead.

Whitman pleads desperately to the captain to get up from his bed and see that the people are flying the flag

just for him. The people are blowing their trumpets and bugles and are waiting to present him with bunches of flowers

and decorated garlands to honour him-the victor. The seashores are swaying with crowds of cheering people. All the

faces of the people on the shore are eager to see the captain addressing them from the deck. Yet the captain, a

father to all people of the nation slept still and cold with his arm beneath his head. It is like an unbelievable bad dream

that the leader is dead at the moment of victory.

Yet the captain does not answer still. His lips are extremely pale and not moving. Whitman says that his

father does not feel his arm, and has neither pulse nor movement. The ship has finally reached the shore. It has

dropped its anchor safe and sound. The long tiring voyage is closed and done. The triumph for the achievement is

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worth the effort. Whitman encourages the people on the shores to continue rejoicing and ring those bells as loud as

possible. For him he will walk the heavy steps with deep sadness to the deck where his captain lies absolutely cold

and dead

More About :Summary on Walt Whitman's-'O Captain!My Captain

Brahma is a poem that presents a faithful rendering of a basic idea stressed in the

Bhagawad Gita-the souls immortality. Brahman, according to Hinduism, is the ultimatesoul of the universe-an uncreated, illimitable and timeless essence of being.

Interpreting the central import of this poem to his daughter, Emerson is supposed to

have remarked, Tell them to say Jehovah instead of Brahma. The imagery used in this

poem is partly based on the Vishnu Purana to which Emerson frequently refers to in his

journals. The narrator in this poem is believed to be Brahma himself. According to him, if

the blood-thirsty slayer thinks that he has slayed or if the slain victim thinks that he is

being slayed, then both the slayer and the slain do not know too well of the subtle ways

in which the narrator keeps, pass and turn again.

According to the narrator, to be far and forgotten, are near to him. The shadow and the

sunlight are the same. The vanquished gods appeared to him and he discovered that

fame and shame are of the same weight. Those who leave him become reckoned ill, since

he is the wing and with him they fly. He can be the doubter and the doubt and he is the

hymn that the Brahmin sings. The strong gods pine for his abode and pine in even

greater vain The Sacred Seven; the seven chief saints of the Brahmin Faith; but for

anyone who is a meek lover of the good would find him even if one turns his back on

heaven.

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