Poetry - poems Flashcards
Whoso list to hunt, I know ehere is an hind…
Thomas Wyatt: Whoso List to Hunt. Rennaissance.
Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part; Nay I have done, you get no more of me…
Michael Drayton: Since there’s no help”. Rennaisance.
License my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
John Donne: Going to bed. Rennaisance.
O mistress mine! Where are you roaming: O! Stay and hear; your true love’s coming…
Shakespeare. Trochaic tetrameter.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is a-flying…
Robert Herrick: To virgins make much of time. 1600’s.
Who will fairest book of nature know / How virtue may best lodg’d in beauty be…
Sir Philip Sidney: From Astrophel and Stella (1591). His book of a 100 sonnets.
One day I wrote her name upon the strand, but came the waves and washed it away…
Edmund Spenser: From Amoretti. 1500’s
My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun…
Shakespeare: from Sonnets (1609)
Me-thinks already, from this chymic flame / I see a city of more preciius mold…
John Dryden: from Annus Mirabilis (1666)
All my past life is mine no more / The flying hours are gone….
John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester: Love and Life. Late 1600’s.
As virtous men pass midly away, and whisper to their souls to go…
John Donne: A valediction: forbiddning mourning.
Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime…
Andrew Marvell: To his Coy mistress. Late 1600’s
When I consider how my light is spent / Ere half my days in this dark world and wide…
John Milton, 1600’s
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan; The proper study of mankind is man…
Alexander Pope: An essay on man in four epistles. 1700’s
I wander thro each charter’d street, Near where the charter’d Thames does flow…
William Blake: London. 1794.
Earth has not anything to show more fair: dull would he be of soul who could pass by…
William Wordsworth: Composed upon westminister bridge, 1802.
Much have i travelled in the realms of gold…
John Keats: On first looking into Chapman’s Homer. 1816.
O wild west wind, thou breath of autumn’s being…
Percy Bysshe Shelley. Ode to the West Wind. 1819
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d; on burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode…
Alfred, Lord Tennyson: The lady of shalott (his version of legends about King Arthur). Victorian period.
Half a league, half a leauge / half a league onward, all in the valley of death…
Alfred, Lord Tennysonn: from The charge of light brigade. About a big loss in the Crimean war.
I sometimes hold it half a sin / to put in words the grief I feel…
Alfred, Lord Tennyson: In memoriam A.H.H.
About the loss of his best friend and brother in law Athur Hallam.
Sunset and evening star, / And one clear call for me….
Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Crossing the bar. His final poem.
Will sprawl now that the heat of day is best, flat on his belly in the pit’s much mire…
Robert Browning: Caliban upon Setebos. Victorian. About colonizing.
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe…
Lewis Carroll: Jabberwocky (from through the looking glass). Nonsense verse!
Jenny kissed me when we met, jumping from the chair se sat in…
Leigh Hunt: Rondeau. Victorian.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: Sonnets from the Portugese. Victorian.
That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall…
Robert Browning: My last duchess. Victorian. Dramatic monologue.
Does the road wind uphill all the way? Yes, to the very end…
Christina Rossetti: Uphill. Victorian.
The sea is calm to-night. /The tide is full, the moon lies fair..
Matthew Arnold: Dover beach. Victorian.
If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaiming it on you…
Rudyard Kippling: If.
Victorian
April is the crullest month, breeding lilcas out of the dead land…
T.S Eliot: The waste land (1922)
If I should die, think only this of me: that there’s some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.
Rupert Brooke: The soldier. Written in 1914.
(extract from inferno)
Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky like a patient etherized upon a table.
T.S Eliot: The love song of J. Alfred Prufrock. 1915.
About suffering they were never wrong, the old masters…
W.H. Auden: Musee des beaux arts. 1900’s. Brussels. About the flemish masters.
They fuck you up, your mum an dad….
Philip Larkin: This be the verse. 1971.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks…
Wilfred Owen: Dulce et decorum est. published post mortem in 1920.
