WILLIAM BLAKE
The Tyger
Tyger, Tyger, burning vibrant
Within the forests of the evening,
What immortal hand or eye
May body thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the hearth of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the hearth?
And what shoulder, & what artwork,
May twist the sinews of thy coronary heart?
And when thy coronary heart started to beat,
What the hammer? What the chain?
The Sick Rose
O Rose, thou artwork sick.
The invisible worm.
That flies within the evening
Within the howling storm,
Has came upon thy mattress
Of crimson pleasure;
And his darkish secret love
Does thy life destroy.
Auguries of Innocence
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Maintain Infinity within the palm of your hand
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Sonnet 91: About Love and its Energy
Some glory of their start, some of their ability,
Some of their wealth, some of their physique’s drive,
Some of their clothes, although new-fangled ailing,
Some of their hawks and hounds, some of their horse;
And each humour hath his adjunct pleasure
Whereby it finds a pleasure above the remainder,
However these particulars aren’t my measure: All these I higher in a single common finest.
Thy love is best than excessive start to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than clothes’ price,
Of extra delight than hawks or horses be:
From The Service provider of Venice: Act IV
Scene I: Portia to Shylock
The high quality of mercy just isn’t strained;
It droppeth because the mild rain from heaven
Upon the earth beneath. It’s twice blest;
It blesseth him that offers and him that takes:
Tis mightiest within the mightiest; it turns into
The throned monarch higher than his crown:
His sceptre exhibits the drive of temporal energy,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
whereby doth sit the dread and concern of kings;
However mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It’s enthroned within the hearts of kings,
It’s an attribute to God himself;
And earthly energy doth then present likest God
JOHN KEATS:
Ode On A Grecian UrN
Thou nonetheless unravished bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and sluggish time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus categorical
A flowery story extra sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy form
Of deities or mortals, or of each,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What males or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What battle to flee?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Magnificence is fact; fact magnificence
WB. Yeats: Eire
The Second Coming
Turning and turning within the widening gyre
The falcon can’t hear the falconer;
Issues disintegrate; the centre can’t maintain;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and all over the place
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The perfect lack all conviction, whereas the worst
Are stuffed with passionate depth.
Certainly some revelation is at hand;
Certainly the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are these phrases out
Is there an echo of the above poem in immediately’s troubled world?
What do you suppose?
I’ve discovered 2 photographs that appear to painting the imaginative and prescient of recent man in contrast with “the First Coming”
Which one do you favor?
Do we want a return to the previous or a brand new approach of seeing and behaving?
