Romantics 1 Flashcards
The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
The Cloud / Percy Shelley
Much have I travell’d in realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been,
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
On First Look into Chapman’s Homer / John Keats
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infants cry of fear.
In every voice; in every ban
The mind-forged manacles I hear.
London / William Blake
There, by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen
Sitting alone, with that his faithful Dog,
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.
The length of full seven years from time to time
He at the building of this Sheep-fold wrought,
And left the work unfinished when he died.
Michael: A Pastoral Poem / William Wordsworth
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Poorest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
To A Skylark / Percy Shelley
more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.
Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey / William Wordsworth
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
The Sick Rose / William Blake
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!
When I Have Fears That I may Cease to Be / John Keats
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Ode to the West Wind / Percy Shelley
The form is mechanic when on any given material we impress a predetermined form, not necessarily arising out of the properties of the material, as when to a mass of wet clay we give whatever shape we wish it to retain when hardened. The organic form, on the other hand, is innate; it shapes itself as it develops from within, and the fullness of its development is one and the same with the perfection of its outward form.
Mechanic vs. Organic Form / Samuel Coleridge
