http://uwc.utexas.edu/handouts/poetry-analysis
1. The grey beards wag, the bald heads nod,
And gather thick as bees,
To talk electrons, gases, God,
Old nebulae, new fleas.
Each specialist, each dry-as-dust
And professional oaf,
Holds up his little crumb of crust
And cries, "Behold the loaf!"
Eden Phillpotts - The Learned
2.
Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind
I turned to share the transport — O! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind —
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss? — That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
“Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind”
3. Dramatic Monologue
If only she truly spent time
with me, if only she had the
chance to know me! Oh, how
those round tables would turn,
and turn, and soon enough, it'd
be much like the wheel of fortune!
Oh yes! No more long nights in
front of the microwave, waiting on
my single serve Hungry Man Meal,
I'd be cooking from the cookbooks,
were it her I called my lady, and oh, she is.
We'd be two peas in a pod,
dancing under the willows and getting
our pictures taken by the roses. How
lovely companionship will be, (yet I still
must meet her.)
If only she truly spent time
with me, if only she had the
chance to know me! Oh, how
those round tables would turn,
and turn, and soon enough, it'd
be much like the wheel of fortune!
Oh yes! No more long nights in
front of the microwave, waiting on
my single serve Hungry Man Meal,
I'd be cooking from the cookbooks,
were it her I called my lady, and oh, she is.
We'd be two peas in a pod,
dancing under the willows and getting
our pictures taken by the roses. How
lovely companionship will be, (yet I still
must meet her.)
4. "I am two fools, I know,
For loving, and for saying so
In whining poetry ;
But where's that wise man, that would not be I,
If she would not deny ?
Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanes
Do purge sea water's fretful salt away,
I thought, if I could draw my pains
Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay.
Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.
For loving, and for saying so
In whining poetry ;
But where's that wise man, that would not be I,
If she would not deny ?
Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanes
Do purge sea water's fretful salt away,
I thought, if I could draw my pains
Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay.
Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.
But when I have done so,
Some man, his art and voice to show,
Doth set and sing my pain ;
And, by delighting many, frees again
Grief, which verse did restrain.
To love and grief tribute of verse belongs,
But not of such as pleases when 'tis read.
Both are increasèd by such songs,
For both their triumphs so are published,
And I, which was two fools, do so grow three.
Who are a little wise, the best fools be."
Some man, his art and voice to show,
Doth set and sing my pain ;
And, by delighting many, frees again
Grief, which verse did restrain.
To love and grief tribute of verse belongs,
But not of such as pleases when 'tis read.
Both are increasèd by such songs,
For both their triumphs so are published,
And I, which was two fools, do so grow three.
Who are a little wise, the best fools be."
THE TRIPLE FOOL.
by John Donne
by John Donne
5.
Snow
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes–
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of your hands–
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
by Louis MacNeiceSpawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes–
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of your hands–
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
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