Sleep and poetry. Analysis of To Sleep by John Keats 2019-01-14

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Sleep And Poetry

sleep and poetry

More healthful than the leafiness of dales? Yet there are also times where his immaturity takes hold and there also appears to be periods of nothing more than parodies and praise towards Wordsworth and his work. Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life, Where I may find the agonies, the strife Of human hearts: for lo! Light hoverer around our happy pillows! Great Alfred's too, with anxious, pitying eyes, As if he always listen'd to the sighs Of the goaded world; and Kosciusko's, worn By horrid suffrance--mightily forlorn. He really is going to die. Then let us clear away the choking thorns From round its gentle stem; let the young fawns, Yeaned in after times, when we are flown, Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrown With simple flowers: let there nothing be More boisterous than a lover's bended knee; Nought more ungentle than the placid look Of one who leans upon a closed book; Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes Between two hills. From the clear space of ether, to the small Breath of new buds unfolding? But what is higher beyond thought than thee? E’en now all tumult from my bosom fades: I turn full hearted to the friendly aids That smooth the path of honour; brotherhood, And friendliness the nurse of mutual good. All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen, Creep through the shade with jaunty fluttering, Nibble the little cupped flowers and sing.

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John Keats: Sleep and Poetry.

sleep and poetry

The very archings of her eye-lids charm A thousand willing agents to obey, And still she governs with the mildest sway: But strength alone though of the Muses born Is like a fallen angel: trees uptorn, Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs, And thorns of life; forgetting the great end Of poesy, that it should be a friend To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roll'd Its gathering waves--ye felt it not. Furthermore, the action of sleeping represents a new kind of experience that the lyrical voice will evoke and yearn in To Sleep. The vibrant, organic beauties of nature were subjected to dry rules and artificiality. Will not some say that I presumptuously Have spoken? Then let us clear away the choking thorns From round its gentle stem; let the young fawns, Yeaned in after times, when we are flown, Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrown With simple flowers: let there nothing be More boisterous than a lover's bended knee; Nought more ungentle than the placid look Of one who leans upon a closed book; Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes Between two hills. First the realm I'll pass Of Flora, and old Pan: sleep in the grass, Feed upon apples red, and strawberries, And choose each pleasure that my fancy sees; Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places, To woo sweet kisses from averted faces,- Play with their fingers, touch their shoulders white Into a pretty shrinking with a bite As hard as lips can make it: till agreed, A lovely tale of human life we'll read. Then let us clear away the choaking thorns From round its gentle stem; let the young fawns, Yeaned in after times, when we are flown, Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrown With simple flowers: let there nothing be More boisterous than a lover’s bended knee; Nought more ungentle than the placid look Of one who leans upon a closed book; Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes Between two hills.

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John Keats: Sleep and Poetry.

sleep and poetry

Thus I remember all the pleasant flow Of words at opening a portfolio. The third and the fourth stanza are presenting the way of understanding the unique, undying musical voice of the nighthingale, which is the voice of nature, freedom and also of ideal romantic poetry, of the world of art and spirit. All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen, Creep through the shade with jaunty fluttering, Nibble the little cupped flowers and sing. What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing In a green island, far from all men’s knowing? Furthermore, the sleep is evoked here as a metaphor of death. He put his own droves apart and did not put them with Laban's flock. Still downward with capacious whirl they glide; And now I see them on a green-hill's side In breezy rest among the nodding stalks.


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Analysis of To Sleep by John Keats

sleep and poetry

Low murmurer of tender lullabies! In To Sleep, the moment of rest will be similar to a sort of death, which brings a state of pleasure and joy to the lyrical voice. But ye were dead To things ye knew not of;--were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And compass vile: so that ye taught a school Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit, Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit, Their verses tallied. Except reading ready poems, you can add your own, original poems here. Has she not shewn us all? Could all this be forgotten? Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice, And from the heart up-springs, rejoice! The very sense of where I was might well Keep Sleep aloof: but more than that there came Thought after thought to nourish up the flame Within my breast; so that the morning light Surprised me even from a sleepless night; And up I rose refresh'd, and glad, and gay, Resolving to begin that very day These lines; and howsoever they be done, I leave them as a father does his son. He fears for the passage of time, for his condition in the future recognizing that he is no longer free and full of life like the bird, and he wants to come back to that freedom, usefulness and state of innovation. The very archings of her eye-lids charm A thousand willing agents to obey, And still she governs with the mildest sway: But strength alone though of the Muses born Is like a fallen angel: trees uptorn, Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs, And thorns of life; forgetting the great end Of poesy, that it should be a friend To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. It was a poet's house who keeps the keys Of pleasure's temple.

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Sleep Poems

sleep and poetry

That whining boyhood should with reverence bow Ere the dread thunderbolt could? An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an isle, Spreads awfully before me. Could all this be forgotten? Light hoverer around our happy pillows! Round about were hung The glorious features of the bards who sung In other ages—cold and sacred busts Smiled at each other. Could all this be forgotten? If I do hide myself, it sure shall be In the very fane, the light of Poesy: If I do fall, at least I will be laid Beneath the silence of a poplar shade; And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven; And there shall be a kind memorial graven. For sweet relief I'll dwell On humbler thoughts, and let this strange assay Begun in gentleness die so away. And with these airs come forms of elegance Stooping their shoulders o'er a horse's prance, Careless, and grand-fingers soft and round Parting luxuriant curls;- and the swift bound Of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly. Whose congregated majesty so fills My boundly reverence, that I cannot trace Your hallowed names, in this unholy place, So near those common folk; did not their shames Affright you? Beautiful poetry added to an ecard can be a lovely surprise for the addressee. It was a poet's house who keeps the keys Of pleasure's temple.

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Poems about Dreams & Sleep

sleep and poetry

Why were ye not awake? Why were ye not awake? Men were thought wise who could not understand His glories: with a puling infant's force They sway'd about upon a rocking horse, And thought it Pegasus. Or did ye stay to give a welcoming To some lone spirits who could proudly sing Their youth away, and die? Did our old lamenting Thames Delight you? I see afar, O'er sailing the blue cragginess, a car And steeds with streamy manes — the charioteer Looks out upon the winds with glorious fear: And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly Wheel downward come they into fresher skies, Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes. If you have a different interpretation, please share in the comments. This is just one example of a way to complete an analysis. Yes, a schism Nurtured by foppery and barbarism, Made great Apollo blush for this his land. It has a glory, and nought else can share it: The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy, Chacing away all worldliness and folly; Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder, Or the low rumblings earth’s regions under; And sometimes like a gentle whispering Of all the secrets of some wond’rous thing That breathes about us in the vacant air; So that we look around with prying stare, Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning, And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning; To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended, That is to crown our name when life is ended.

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SparkNotes: Keats’s Odes: Themes, Motifs & Symbols

sleep and poetry

The very archings of her eye-lids charm A thousand willing agents to obey, And still she governs with the mildest sway: But strength alone though of the Muses born Is like a fallen angel: trees uptorn, Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs, And thorns of life; forgetting the great end 245 Of poesy, that it should be a friend To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. Both poems use nature as a symbol to mark. Then the events of this wide world I'd seize Like a strong giant, and my spirit teaze, Till at its shoulders it should proudly see Wings to find out an immortality. Pegasus: Keats satirises the repetitive rocking motion of heroic couplets, used by many Augustan poets, who believed they were recreating the majesty of the winged horse of the gods,. Then save me, or the passed day will shine Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,- Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; In this third stanza, notice how the invocation to sleep is more direct and more dramatic.

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SparkNotes: Keats’s Odes: Themes, Motifs & Symbols

sleep and poetry

Happy he who trusts To clear Futurity his darling fame! His view is that poetry was at its greatest in the Elizabethan era and in the seventeenth century, the years which produced his beloved Spenser, Shakespeare and Milton. Could all this be forgotten? These things are doubtless: yet in truth we've had Strange thunders from the potency of song; Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong, From majesty: but in clear truth the themes Are ugly clubs, the Poets' Polyphemes Disturbing the grand sea. Soft closer of our eyes! Happy he who trusts To clear Futurity his darling fame! From the meaning Of Jove's large eye-brow, to the tender greening Of April meadows? If I do hide myself, it sure shall be In the very fane, the light of Poesy: If I do fall, at least I will be laid Beneath the silence of a poplar shade; And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven; And there shall be a kind memorial graven. Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life, Where I may find the agonies, the strife Of human hearts: for lo! Only by confronting painful reality can it console humanity and celebrate all that it means to be a human being. Easy was the task: A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask Of Poesy.

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