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27. Farewell, O day misspent; Thy feeting hours were lent In vain to my endeavor.
In shade and sun
Thy race is run
The sand falls in the glass,
The dying minutes pass.—Mackay. 28. Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Wind of the western sea !
Blow him again to mc; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.— Tennyson. 29. Under my window, under my window,
All in the midsummer weather,
Flit to and fro together :-
And Kate with her scarlet feather.- Westwood.
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band,
As well as the weary hand.-Hood.
31. I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel ;
For words, like Nature, half reveal,
32. Take her up tenderly.
Lift her with care ;
Young, and so fair!
Staring so blindly !-Hood.
33. By the craggy hillside,
Through the mosses bare,
34. Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling, and decay;
More trifling still than they.-Goldsmith.
35. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
The short and simple annals of the poor.-Gray.
36. Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
Oh, sweet content!
Oh, punishment !
Oh, sweet content !- Dekker.
37. Opinion governs all mankind,
Like the blind's leading of the blind.-Butler.
38. But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Then the bird said, “Nevermore."-Poe.
39. The splendor falls on castle walls,
And snowy summits old in story:
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
40. Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man.
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
Is nearest unto heaven : quiet coves
He furleth close; contented so to look
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
41. I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the sea and the streams;
In their noon-day dreams.
The sweet birds every one,
As she dances about the sun.-Shelley.
Poetic Pauses.-In addition to the pauses required by the sense, two suspensions of the voice—the final and the cæsural pause-belong to verse.
The final pause is a slight suspension of the voice at the end of each line, even when the grammatical sense does not require it.
The cæsural pause is a slight suspension of the voice within the line, and generally, though not always, about the middle of it. Long lines may have two or more cæsural pauses. In these lines the cæsura is marked (II):
Soldier, rest! || thy warfare o'er.
Spreads || undivided, operates || unspent. Much of the harmony of our meters, and of iambic meters especially, depends on the skillful disposition of cæsural pauses. They often correspond, though not always, to pauses required by the sense. Skillful poets aim to construct their lines in such a way that the final and cæsural pauses shall fall where they are required by the meaning, or grammatical construction. The cæsural pause should never be placed so as to injure the sense.
In iambic meters, the most appropriate place for cæsural pauses is after the fourth, or after the sixth syllable. If the pause fall after the fourth syllable, the briskest melody is thereby produced, and the most spirited air given to the line. If the pause fall after the fifth syllable, the verse becomes more smooth, gentle, and flowing; if it follow the sixth syllable, the tenor of the music becomes solemn and grave; if it fall after the seventh syllable, which is the nearest place to the end of the line that it can occupy, the grave, solemn cadence becomes still more sensible.
Poetry may be defined as the product of an excited and a creative imagination, with a primary object to please, and expressed in the form of verse. The most artistic department of literature, it is near akin, in its effects, to music and painting. The poet is a creator—an artist-sensitive to impressions which do not affect ordinary natures; he gives to his fancies a delicacy of form, a warmth of coloring, and a richness of expression alien to prose, the “common drudge between man and man.
Poetry does not confine itself to the language of common life. It selects words for their beauty of sound and association, for their picturesqueness, for their elevation-rare words often, words that are even obsolete in prose.
It uses the transposed order in a degree forbidden in conversation, unpardonable even in impassioned oratory. "Imperfect periods are frequent; elisions are perpetual; and many of the minor words, which would be deemed essential in prose, are dispensed with.'
Poetry admits of a bold use of imagery. Herbert Spencer says: “Metaphors, similes, hyperboles, and personifications are the poet's colors, which he has liberty to employ almost without limit. We characterize as `poetical' the prose which uses these appliances of language with any frequency; and condemn it as 'overflorid' or affected'