But now I only hear Its melancholy long withdrawing roar 25 Retreating to the

But now i only hear its melancholy long withdrawing

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But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, (25) Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems (30) To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain (35) 6 6
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Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night. “I Said to Poetry” by Alice Walker I said to Poetry: "I'm finished with you." Having to almost die before some weird light comes creeping through (5) is no fun. "No thank you, Creation, no muse need apply. I’m out for good times-- at the very least, (10) some painless convention." Poetry laid back and played dead until this morning. I wasn't sad or anything, (15) Poetry said: "You remember the desert, and how glad you were that you have an eye to see it with? You remember (20) that, if ever so slightly?" I said: "I didn't hear that. Besides, it's five o'clock in the a.m. I'm not getting up in the dark (25) to talk to you." Poetry said: "But think about the time you saw the moon over that small canyon that you liked so much better (30) than the grand one--and how surprised you were that the moonlight was green and you still had one good eye to see it with. (35) Think of that!" "I'll join the church!" I said, huffily, turning my face to the wall. "I'll learn how to pray again!" "Let me ask you," said Poetry. (40) "When you pray, what do you think you'll see?" Poetry had me. "There's no paper in this room," I said. (45) "And that new pen I bought makes a funny noise." "Bullshit," said Poetry. "Bullshit," said I. This poem centers on a figurative conversation. What is it the poet is struggling with and how (specifically) is the poet defeated in argument? Alice Walker Poet, essayist, and novelist Alice Walker was born in 1944 in Eatonton, Georgia. She was the eighth child of Willie Lee and Minnie Lou Grant Walker, who were both sharecroppers. She has published both poetry and prose. Her most noted narrative is The Color Purple (1982). 7 7
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“Poeta Fit, Non Nascitur” by Lewis Carroll (1832- 1898) 1 "How shall I be a poet? 2 How shall I write in rhyme? 3 You told me once `the very wish 4 Partook of the sublime.' 5 Then tell me how! Don't put me off 6 With your `another time'!" 7 The old man smiled to see him, 8 To hear his sudden sally; 9 He liked the lad to speak his mind 10 Enthusiastically; 11 And thought "There's no hum-drum in him, 12 Nor any shilly-shally." 13 "And would you be a poet 14 Before you've been to school? 15 Ah, well! I hardly thought you 16 So absolute a fool. 17 First learn to be spasmodic -- 18 A very simple rule. 19 "For first you write a sentence, 20 And then you chop it small; 21 Then mix the bits, and sort them out 22 Just as they chance to fall: 23 The order of the phrases makes 24 No difference at all.
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