Category Archives: British Literature

“The Darkling Thrush” by Thomas Hardy [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
Reply 
I leant upon a coppice gate
 When Frost was spectre-grey,
 And Winter's dregs made desolate
 The weakening eye of day.
 The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
 Like strings of broken lyres,
 And all mankind that haunted nigh
 Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
 The Century's corpse outleant,
 His crypt the cloudy canopy,
 The wind his death-lament. 
 The ancient pulse of germ and birth
 Was shrunken hard and dry,
 And every spirit upon earth
 Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
 The bleak twigs overhead
 In a full-hearted evensong
 Of joy illimited;
 An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
 In blast-beruffled plume,
 Had chosen thus to fling his soul
 Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
 Of such ecstatic sound
 Was written in terrestrial things
 Afar or nigh around,
 That I could think there trembled through
 His happy good-night air
 Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
 And I was unaware.

“Sonnets from the Portuguese 43” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
Reply 
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
 I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
 My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
 For the ends of being and ideal grace.
 I love thee to the level of every day's 
 Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
 I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
 I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
 I love thee with the passion put to use
 In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
 I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
 With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
 Smiles, tears, of all my life, and, if God choose,
 I shall but love thee better after death.

“Bright Star” by John Keats [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
3
Source: NASA
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.

“Happy the Man” by Horace; Translated by John Dryden [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
1 
Happy the man, and happy he alone,
 He who can call today his own:
 He who, secure within, can say,
 Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
 Be fair or foul, or rain or shine
 The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.
 Not Heaven itself, upon the past has power,
 But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

Auguries of Innocence by William Blake [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
1 
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
 And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
 Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
 And Eternity in an hour
 A Robin Red breast in a Cage
 Puts all Heaven in a Rage
 A Dove house fill'd with Doves & Pigeons
 Shudders Hell thr' all its regions
 A dog starvd at his Masters Gate
 Predicts the ruin of the State
 A Horse misused upon the Road
 Calls to Heaven for Human Blood
 Each outcry of the hunted Hare
 A fibre from the Brain does tear
 A Skylark wounded in the wing
 A Cherubim does cease to sing
 The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight
 Does the Rising Sun affright
 Every Wolfs & Lions howl 
 Raises from Hell a Human Soul
 The wild deer, wandering here & there
 Keeps the Human Soul from Care
 The Lamb misused breed Public Strife
 And yet forgives the Butchers knife
 The Bat that flits at close of Eve
 Has left the Brain that wont Believe
 The Owl that calls upon the Night
 Speaks the Unbelievers fright
 He who shall hurt the little Wren
 Shall never be beloved by Men
 He who the Ox to wrath is movd
 Shall never be by Woman lovd
 The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
 Shall feel the Spiders enmity
 He who torments the Chafers Sprite
 Weaves a Bower in endless Night
 The Catterpiller on the Leaf
 Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief 
 Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly
 For the Last Judgment draweth nigh
 He who shall train the Horse to War
 Shall never pass the Polar Bar
 The Beggars Dog & Widows Cat
 Feed them & thou wilt grow fat
 The Gnat that sings his Summers Song
 Poison gets from Slanders tongue
 The poison of the Snake & Newt 
 Is the sweat of Envys Foot
 The poison of the Honey Bee
 Is the Artists Jealousy
 The Princes Robes and Beggars Rags
 Are Toadstools on the Misers Bags
 The Truth that's told with bad intent
 Beats all the Lies you can invent
 It is right it should be so
 Man was made for Joy & Woe
 And when this we rightly know
 Thro the World we safely go
 Joy & Woe are woven fine
 A Clothing for the soul divine
 Under every grief & pine
 Runs a joy with silken twine
 The Babe is more than swadling Bands
 Throughout all these Human Lands
 Tools were made & Born were hands
 Every Farmer Understands
 Every Tear from Every Eye
 Becomes a Babe in Eternity
 This is caught by Females bright
 And returnd to its own delight
 The Bleat the Bark Bellow & Roar
 Are Waves that Beat on Heavens Shore
 The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
 Writes Revenge in realms of Death
 The Beggars Rags fluttering in Air
 Does to Rags the Heavens tear
 The Soldier armd with Sword & Gun
 Palsied strikes the Summers Sun
 The poor Mans Farthing is worth more
 Than all the Gold on Africs Shore
 One Mite wrung from the Labrers hands
 Shall buy & sell the Misers Lands
 Or if protected from on high
 Does that whole Nation sell & buy
 He who mocks the Infants Faith
 Shall be mocked in Age & Death
 He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
 The rotting grave shall ne er get out
 He who respects the Infants faith
 Triumphs over Hell & Death
 The Childs Toys & the Old Mans Reasons
 Are the Fruits of the Two seasons
 The Questioner who sits so sly
 Shall never know how to reply
 He who replies to words of Doubt
 Doth put the Light of Knowledge out
 The Strongest Poison ever known
 Came from Caesars Laurel Crown
 Nought can Deform the Human Race
 Like to the Armours iron brace
 When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
 To peaceful Arts shall Envy bow
 A Riddle or the Crickets Cry
 Is to Doubt a fit Reply
 The Emmets Inch & Eagles Mile
 Make Lame Philosophy to smile
 He who Doubts from what he sees
 Will ne er Believe do what you Please
 If the Sun & Moon should Doubt
 Theyd immediately Go out
 To be in a Passion you Good may do
 But no Good if a Passion is in you
 The Whore & Gambler by the State
 Licencd build that Nations Fate
 The Harlots cry from Street to Street
 Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet
 The Winner Shout the Losers Curse
 Dance before dead Englands Hearse
 Every Night & every Morn
 Some to Misery are Born
 Every Morn & every Night
 Some are Born to sweet delight
 Some are Born to sweet delight
 Some are Born to Endless Night
 We are led to Believe a Lie
 When we see not Thro the Eye
 Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night
 When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light
 God Appears & God is Light
 To those poor Souls who dwell in Night
 But does a Human Form Display
 To those who Dwell in Realms of Day

Rhapsody on a Windy Night by T.S. Eliot [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
5 
Twelve o'clock.
 Along the reaches of the street
 Held in a lunar synthesis,
 Whispering lunar incantations
 Dissolve the floors of memory
 And all its clear relations,
 Its divisions and precisions,
 Every street lamp that I pass
 Beats like a fatalistic drum,
 And through the spaces of the dark
 Midnight shakes the memory
 As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Half-past one,
 The street lamp sputtered,
 The street lamp muttered,
 The street lamp said, 'Regard that woman
 Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door
 Which opens on her like a grin.
 You see the border of her dress
 Is torn and stained with sand,
 And you see the corner of her eye
 Twists like a crooked pin.'

The memory throws up high and dry
 A crowd of twisted things;
 A twisted branch upon the beach
 Eaten smooth, and polished
 As if the world gave up
 The secret of its skeleton,
 Stiff and white.
 A broken spring in a factory yard,
 Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
 Hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two,
 The street lamp said,
 'Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
 Slips out its tongue
 And devours a morsel of rancid butter.'
 So the hand of a child, automatic,
 Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
 I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
 I have seen eyes in the street
 Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
 And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
 An old crab with barnacles on his back,
 Gripped the end of a stick which I held him. 

Half-past three,
 The lamp sputtered,
 The lamp muttered in the dark.
 The lamp hummed:
 'Regard the moon,
 La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
 She winks a feeble eye,
 She smiles into corners.
 She smoothes the hair of the grass.
 The moon has lost her memory.
 A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
 Her hand twists a paper rose,
 That smells of dust and old Cologne,
 She is alone
 With all the old nocturnal smells
 That cross and cross across her brain.'
 The reminiscence comes
 Of sunless dry geraniums
 And dust in crevices,
 Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
 And female smells in shuttered rooms,
 And cigarettes in corridors
 And cocktail smells in bars.

The lamp said,
 'Four o'clock,
 Here is the number on the door.
 Memory!
 You have the key,
 The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair;
 Mount.
 The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
 Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.'
 
The last twist of the knife.

BOOKS: Everyday Shakespeare by Ben & David Crystal

Posted on by
Reply
Everyday Shakespeare: Lines for LifeEveryday Shakespeare: Lines for Life by Ben Crystal
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Amazon.in Page

This is like a word-a-day calendar, but with a quotation from Shakespeare for each day (rather than a vocabulary word.) Also, each quote has accompanying text that explains what the quote is from, what it means, why the language says what it does, and the context in which an individual might use Shakespeare’s words today. [Note: while that last bit (i.e. how to employ the Bard’s words today) is a major theme of the book, I wouldn’t recommend it. It will make one look more like a pretentious nincompoop than like a clever wordsmith.] That said, the book still has great value for anyone interested in Shakespeare’s work, specifically, or the evolution of the English language, more generally. In dealing with many phrases that describe workaday activities that were common then as now, the book builds a niche different from books that deal in the grandiose phraseology of war and aristocratic life.

Many people struggle with Shakespeare, and this book helps make clear why some of the statements that were about mundane matters had the meaning they did. I would put people’s difficulties with Shakespeare into three buckets. First, poetic and non-colloquial language in which the reader knows all the words and their meanings, but the poetic / stylistic language and grammar throws them for a loop. This book shouldn’t really need to deal with this one, but it does a little bit. Second, evolutionary language drift, in this case the reader knows the words but is thrown off because they don’t mean what they once did. The book is quite helpful in clarifying these changes. Third, the revolutionary shifts, these involve words and phrases wholly unfamiliar to the reader because they deal in activities and perspectives not present in our daily lives. The book explains these changes, as well, but there aren’t a great deal of them because the selections are supposed to be applicable today.

The book draws from the entire Shakespeare canon, but more heavily from the plays than from the sonnets or long form poems. (Also, not surprisingly, it draws more heavily from the popular plays — i.e. many of the tragedies and the popular comedies — than it does from the more obscure plays (i.e. most histories and a few of the others.) This only makes sense, and I was happy to see references to sonnets, histories, and other Shakespearean poems at all.

All in all, this is an informative book and is recommended for those who are interested in getting into Shakespeare, or who are intrigued by the ever-shifting landscape of the English language.

View all my reviews

St. Crispin’s Day Speech [from HENRY V] by William Shakespeare [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
Reply 
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
 He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
 Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is nam'd,
 And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
 He that shall live this day, and see old age,
 Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
 And say "Tomorrow is Saint Crispian."
 Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
 And say "These wounds I had on Crispian's day."
 Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
 But he'll remember, with advantages,
 What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
 Familiar in his mouth as household words --
 Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
 Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester --
 Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
 This story shall the good man teach his son;
 And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
 From this day to the ending of the world,
 But we in it shall be remembered --
 We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
 For he today that sheds his blood with me
 Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
 This day shall gentle his condition;
 And gentlemen in England now a-bed
 Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
 And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
 That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's Day.

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time by Robert Herrick [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
Reply 
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
   Old Time is still a-flying;
 And this same flower that smiles today
   Tomorrow will be dying. 

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
   The higher he's a-getting,
 The sooner will his race be run,
   And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
   When youth and blood are warmer;
 But being spent, the worse, and worst
   Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
   And while ye may, go marry;
 For having lost but once your prime,
   You may forever tarry.

PROMPT: Historical Figure

Posted on by
Reply

If you could meet a historical figure, who would it be and why?

Assuming no babel fish technology – i.e. that we’d need a common language – I’d say William Blake, Walt Whitman, or Mark Twain. The latter would probably be the most fun, the middle the most uplifting, and the first the most insightful (or perhaps most mystical.)