My eyes strive to get up, and a little light comes through the window and hit my face. I crawl under the duvet, but understand that I have to get up.
On First Looking into A piece of writing about love Homer Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific--and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
On the Grasshopper and Cricket The poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; That is the Grasshopper's--he takes the lead In summer luxury,--he has never done With his delights; for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never: On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
The above sonnet was written in competition with Leigh Hunt. Fair plumed Syren, Queen of far-away! Leave melodizing on this wintry day, Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute: When through the old oak Forest I am gone, Let me not wander in a barren dream, But, when I am consumed in the fire, Give me new Phoenix wings to fly at my desire.
On Seeing the Elgin Marbles My spirit is too weak--mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagin'd pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship, tells me I must die Like a sick Eagle looking at the sky.
Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep That I have not the cloudy winds to keep, Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye. Such dim-conceived glories of the brain Bring round the heart an undescribable feud; So do these wonders a most dizzy pain, That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude Wasting of old Time--with a billowy main-- A sun--a shadow of a magnitude.
No voice will tell" Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell. Then to my human heart I turn at once. Thou and I are here sad and alone; I say, why did I laugh! Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease, My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads; Yet would I on this very midnight cease, And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds; Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed, But Death intenser--Death is Life's high meed.
When I Have Fears When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd 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 shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
Bright Star Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon to death.Relationship Building: Writing a Letter to your Child.
By: Susan Merrill. The most important thing is to make sure your child knows your love for him is unconditional and not based on what his grades are, or how nice he is to you, or whether or not he makes captain of the softball team.
All good things must come to an end The time that I knew was borrowed must be given back soon, so it seems. The conversation I never wanted to have has been said.
I love San Francisco because you can discover something behind each corner of this city. And I love New Mexico because I feel at home in the desert there. And I love France because I love the French language and culture.
Aug 18, · Expert Reviewed. How to Write a Love Poem. Three Parts: Brainstorming Ideas for the Love Poem Writing the Love Poem Polishing the Love Poem Community Q&A Writing a love poem can be a challenge, as you want to avoid being too sappy or sentimental, but still yunusemremert.com: M.
The Knight. Another piece for Cornerstone Christian school in Granbury, TX. The Knight is their school mascot.
Read more. Writing short stories means beginning as close to the climax as possible — everything else is a distraction.
A novel can take a more meandering path, but should still start with a scene that sets the tone for the whole book. A short story conserves characters and scenes, typically by focusing on.