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How do you define Dactyl Poetry Type? What is the definition Shatter'd and sunder'd.
of Dactyl Poetry Type? Then they rode back, but not
The definition of Dactyl Poetry Type and an example of the Not the six hundred.
literary term is as follows:
Haiku Poetry Type is a Japanese poem composed of three He holds him with his glittering eye
unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables. Haiku poetry The Wedding-Guest stood still,
originated in the sixteenth century and reflects on some aspect And listens like a three years' child:
of nature and creates images The Mariner hath his will.
Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, "There passed a weary time. Each throat
The glorious sun uprist: Was parched, and glazed each eye.
Then all averred, I had killed the bird A weary time! a weary time!
That brought the fog and mist. How glazed each weary eye
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, When looking westward, I beheld
That bring the fog and mist. A something in the sky.
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, At first it seemed a little speck,
The furrow followed free; And then it seemed a mist;
We were the first that ever burst It moved and moved, and took at last
Into that silent sea. A certain shape, I wist.
Off shot the spectre-bark.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared: We listened and looked sideways up!
As if it dodged a water-sprite, Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
It plunged and tacked and veered. My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;
We could nor laugh nor wail; From the sails the dew did drip
Through utter drought all dumb we stood! Till clomb above the eastern bar
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, The horned moon, with one bright star
And cried, A sail! a sail! Within the nether tip.
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, One after one, by the star-dogged moon,
Agape they heard me call: Too quick for groan or sigh,
Gramercy! they for joy did grin, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And all at once their breath drew in, And cursed me with his eye.
As they were drinking all.
Four times fifty living men,
See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! (And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
Hither to work us weal; With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
Without a breeze, without a tide, They dropped down one by one.
She steadies with upright keel!
The souls did from their bodies fly,
The western wave was all a-flame, They fled to bliss or woe!
The day was well nigh done! And every soul it passed me by,
Almost upon the western wave Like the whizz of my crossbow!"
Rested the broad bright sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the sun. Part IV
And straight the sun was flecked with bars, 'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!) I fear thy skinny hand!
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
With broad and burning face. As is the ribbed sea-sand.
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
How fast she nears and nears! And thy skinny hand, so brown.'
Are those her sails that glance in the sun, "Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
Like restless gossameres? This body dropped not down.
Are those her ribs through which the sun Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Did peer, as through a grate? Alone on a wide wide sea!
And is that Woman all her crew? And never a saint took pity on
Is that a Death? and are there two? My soul in agony.
Is Death that Woman's mate?
The many men, so beautiful!
Her lips were red, her looks were free, And they all dead did lie;
Her locks were yellow as gold: And a thousand thousand slimy things
Her skin was as white as leprosy, Lived on; and so did I.
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold. I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
The naked hulk alongside came, I looked upon the rotting deck,
And the twain were casting dice; And there the dead men lay.
'The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
Quoth she, and whistles thrice. I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out: A wicked whisper came and made
At one stride comes the dark; My heart as dry as dust.
With far-heard whisper o'er the sea,
I closed my lids, and kept them close, That slid into my soul.
And the balls like pulses beat;
Forthe sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky, The silly buckets on the deck,
Lay like a load on my weary eye, That had so long remained,
And the dead were at my feet. I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they: My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
The look with which they looked on me My garments all were dank;
Had never passed away. Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.
An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high; I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
But oh! more horrible than that I was so lightalmost
Is the curse in a dead man's eye! I thought that I had died in sleep,
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And was a blessed ghost.
And yet I could not die.
And soon I heard a roaring wind:
The moving moon went up the sky, It did not come anear;
And no where did abide: But with its sound it shook the sails,
Softly she was going up, That were so thin and sere.
And a star or two beside
The upper air burst into life!
Her beams bemocked the sultry main, And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
Like April hoar-frost spread; To and fro they were hurried about!
But where the ship's huge shadow lay, And to and fro, and in and out,
The charmed water burnt alway The wan stars danced between.
A still and awful red.
And the coming wind did roar more loud,
Beyond the shadow of the ship And the sails did sigh like sedge;
I watched the water-snakes: And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
They moved in tracks of shining white, The moon was at its edge.
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The moon was at its side:
Within the shadow of the ship Like waters shot from some high crag,
I watched their rich attire: The lightning fell with never a jag,
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, A river steep and wide.
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire. The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
O happy living things! no tongue Beneath the lightning and the moon
Their beauty might declare: The dead men gave a groan.
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware: They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Sure my kind saint took pity on me, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
And I blessed them unaware. It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.
The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
The Albatross fell off, and sank Yet never a breeze up blew;
Like lead into the sea." The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools
Part V We were a ghastly crew.
But soon there breathed a wind on me, But soon I heard the dash of oars,
Nor sound nor motion made: I heard the Pilot's cheer;
Its path was not upon the sea, My head was turned perforce away,
In ripple or in shade. And I saw a boat appear.
It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
Like a meadow-gale of spring I heard them coming fast:
It mingled strangely with my fears, Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy
Yet it felt like a welcoming. The dead men could not blast.
Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, I saw a thirdI heard his voice:
Yet she sailed softly too: It is the Hermit good!
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze He singeth loud his godly hymns
On me alone it blew. That he makes in the wood.
He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The Albatross's blood."
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own country? Part VII
We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, "This Hermit good lives in that wood
And I with sobs did pray Which slopes down to the sea.
O let me be awake, my God! How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
Or let me sleep alway. He loves to talk with marineers
That come from a far country.
The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn! He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve
And on the bay the moonlight lay, He hath a cushion plump:
And the shadow of the moon. It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.
The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock: The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
The moonlight steeped in silentness 'Why, this is strange, I trow!
The steady weathercock. Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?'
And the bay was white with silent light,
'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said What manner of man art thou?'
'And they answered not our cheer!
The planks looked warped! and see those sails, Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
How thin they are and sere! With a woeful agony,
I never saw aught like to them, Which forced me to begin my tale;
Unless perchance it were And then it left me free.
The boat came closer to the ship, What loud uproar bursts from that door!
But I nor spake nor stirred; The wedding-guests are there:
The boat came close beneath the ship, But in the garden-bower the bride
And straight a sound was heard. And bride-maids singing are;
And hark the little vesper bell,
Under the water it rumbled on, Which biddeth me to prayer!
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bay; O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
The ship went down like lead. Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Scarce seemed there to be.
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drowned O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
My body lay afloat; 'Tis sweeter far to me,
But swift as dreams, myself I found To walk together to the kirk
Within the Pilot's boat. With a goodly company!
Upon the whirl where sank the ship To walk together to the kirk,
The boat spun round and round; And all together pray,
And all was still, save that the hill While each to his great Father bends,
Was telling of the sound. Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay!
I moved my lipsthe Pilot shrieked
And fell down in a fit; Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
The holy Hermit raised his eyes, To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
And prayed where he did sit. He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go, He prayeth best, who loveth best
Laughed loud and long, and all the while All things both great and small;
His eyes went to and fro. For the dear God who loveth us,
'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, He made and loveth all."
The Devil knows how to row.'
The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
And now, all in my own country, Whose beard with age is hoar,
I stood on the firm land! Is gone; and now the Wedding-Guest
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, Turned from the bridegroom's door.
And scarcely he could stand.
He went like one that hath been stunned,
O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man! And is of sense forlorn:
The Hermit crossed his brow. A sadder and a wiser man
'Say quick,' quoth he 'I bid thee say He rose the morrow morn.
Definition of Lyric Poetry Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Lyric Poetry consists of a poem, such as a sonnet or an ode, Dance, and Provenal song, and sunburnt mirth!
that expresses the thoughts and feelings of the poet. The term O for a beaker full of the warm South,
lyric is now commonly referred to as the words to a song. Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
Lyric poetry does not tell a story which portrays characters and With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
actions. The lyric poet addresses the reader directly, portraying And purple-stained mouth;
his or her own feeling, state of mind, and perceptions That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Dying
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
by
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
Emily Dickinson
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
I heard a fly buzz when I died; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
The stillness round my form Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Was like the stillness in the air Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
Between the heaves of storm. And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
The eyes beside had wrung them dry, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Be witnessed in his power. Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
I willed my keepsakes, signed away Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
What portion of me I Already with thee! tender is the night,
Could make assignable,-and then And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
There interposed a fly, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Between the light and me; Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
Definition of Odes The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Odes are long poems which are serious in nature and written to Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
a set structure. John Keats's "Ode on a Grecian Urn" and "Ode And mid-May's eldest child,
To A Nightingale" are probably the most famous examples of The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
this type of poem The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Presently my heart grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came Nothing further then he uttered not a feather then he
rapping, fluttered
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown
door, before
That I scarce was sure I heard you" -- here I opened wide On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown
the door; before."
Darkness there, and nothing more. Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
wondering, fearing, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream to Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful
dream before; Disaster
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden
token, bore
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
"Lenore!" Of 'Never-nevermore.'"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word
"Lenore!" But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Merely this and nothing more. Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust
and door;
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
burning, Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's
'Tis the wind and nothing more!" core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light
flutter, gloated o'er,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or o'er,
stayed he; She shall press, ah, nevermore!
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber
door Then, methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door unseen censer
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted
floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels
he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from the memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost
Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe