Poetic Lines
Terms
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- at last he rose and twitched his mantle blue; tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new
- lycidas (Milton)
- i should have been a pair of ragged claws...
- prufrock
- beauty is truth, truth beauty
- ode on a grecian urn (Keats)
- beeth hevy again, or elles moot i die
- complaint to his purse (Chaucer)
- rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
- sonnet 18 (Shakespeare)
- a tattered coat upon a stick
- sailing to byzantium
- a honey tongue, a heart of gall, is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall
- the nymph's reply to the shepherd
- our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown
- at the fishhouses
- whorishly with the psychopomp we play and plead - and say nothing of this later
- hypocrite women
- even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course anyhow in a corner
- musee des beaux arts
- who best bear his mild yoke, they serve him best
- when i consider how my light is spent (Milton)
- what immortal hand or eye did frame thy fearful symmetry?
- The Tyger (songs of experience)
- one by one objects are defined
- spring and all
- for each man kills the thing he loves
- the ballad of reading gaol
- this is the way the world ends / not with a bang but a whimper
- the hollow men
- i would never have believed that death had undone so many
- inferno
- in her is the end of breeding
- the garden
- gather ye rosebud while ye may
- to the virgins, to make much of time (Herrick)
- i always hear time's winged chariot hurrying near
- to his coy mistress (Marvell)
- here we go round the prickly pear prickly pear prickly pear
- the hollow men
- the woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep
- stopping by woods on a snowy evening
- if they be two, they are two so as stiff twin compasses are two
- a valediction: forbidding mourning (Donne)
- oh, my luve's like a red, red rose
- (Robert Burns)
- his soul stretched tight across the skies
- preludes
- that is no country for old men
- sailing to byzantium
- if snow be white, why then her breasts are dun
- sonnet 130 (Shakespeare)
- I am not prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be
- prufrock
- 'twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe
- jabberwocky
- hurry up please its time
- the waste land
- a bracelet of bright hair about the bone
- the relic (Donne)
- things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world
- the second coming
- a terrible beauty is born
- easter 1916
- if there were the sound of water only / not the cicada / and dry grass singing
- the waste land
- season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
- to autumn (Keats)
- and I will make thee beds of roses
- the passionate shepherd to his love
- winter kept us warm, covering earth in forgetful snow
- the waste land
- love is not love which alters when it alteration finds
- sonnet 116 (Shakespeare)
- getting and spending, we lay waste our powers
- the world is too much with us