apenglishlounge.files.wordpress.com€¦ · Web viewShe cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot

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