Written work English exam final

The Solitary Reaper by Wodsworth

"The Solitary Reaper" opens with the speaker directing our attention to a solitary reaper (someone who cuts down crops—like corn or rye—by hand). She's singing in a field somewhere. She's a highland lass, and she's singing while she works. It's kind of a sad song, but it's definitely more thrilling than a cuckoo's song in the Hebrides (sure, what isn't?) and different than anything you might hear from a nightingale. The speaker loves the song, but he can't understand any of it. He wonders if she's singing about old battles and other sad stuff from forever ago, or if she's singing about something more humble. Either way, he notes that she's singing as if her song will never end. He watches, enraptured, not moving at all. At the end he quietly walks away, keeping the woman's music in his heart for a long time after.

Ulysses by Tennyson

"Ulysses" details Ulysses' intense dissatisfaction and boredom on his island home of Ithaca. The poem is a monologue spoken by him, where he not only expresses his discontent, but also describes his desire to keep sailing. He's getting older and doesn't have a lot of time left, so he wants to get busy living rather than busy dying. The poem concludes with his resolution to "strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

Out, out by Robert Frost

A boy old enough to work labors in his backyard, slicing wood for the stove. His sister calls him for supper, and eager eat, the boy jumps a bit. The saw, almost portrayed as a character in its own right, nearly slices the boy's hand off—grim stuff. The doctor comes to help, and amputates the hand. He puts to boy under with ether (an early, dangerous form of anesthesia), but the boy dies. The rest of his family moves on. Talk about heavy

Neighbors by Carver

A happy couple, Bill and Arlene Miller, live in an apartment across the hall from Harriet and Jim Stone, the neighbors of the title. Bill and Arlene tacitly envy the Stones' lifestyle. The Millers are asked to watch over the Stones' apartment while they are out on a business trip. The night of the Stones' departure, Bill enters the Stones' apartment to feed their cat. After leaving the cat to pick at her food, Bill explores the Stones' medicine cabinet and ends up taking a container of Harriet's pills. After taking one, Bill takes two drinks from a bottle of Chivas Regal taken from the Stones' liquor cabinet. The next day, Bill leaves work early to make love to Arlene. Afterward, he returns to the Stones' apartment to feed the cat. After, Bill becomes sidetracked as he eats the Stones' food, steals their cigarettes, and uses their bathroom. Arlene goes over to see what is taking him so long, and reminds him that he has been there for over an hour. Bill and Arlene return to their own apartment and make love. Bill has Arlene call in for him at work the next morning. Bill goes back over to the Stones' apartment for no apparent reason. He takes more drinks and tries on the Stones' clothes - both Jim's and Harriet's. Afterward, Bill puts everything away and returns to his own apartment. Arlene is the next to go over and feed Kitty. Bill goes to check on her; they talk about the oddness of their situation. They wonder - somewhat hopefully - what will happen if the Stones never return. It is then that they realize they have left the key to the Stones' apartment inside and are now locked out. The story concludes as the Millers' sudden exposure becomes apparent to them.

Birches by Robert Frost

A man is walking through the woods, looking at the top of the tree line. He sees some trees swaying in the wind and he starts to imagine things about the trees. He thinks about how the ice covering the trees cracks when they bend. Then he thinks about how heavy ice and snow will bend thin trees to the ground. This gets him imagining a boy climbing to the top of trees and bending them down until he can let go and fall safely to the ground. He remembers doing this when he was a kid and wishes that when he felt trapped in his adult life he could climb trees. This memory makes him feel like life isn't a trap, because his youthful imagination can free him at any moment.

The Convergence of the Twain by Hardy

Blub, blub, blub... the poem opens with the imagery of the sea that's holding the Titanic deep at the bottom. All of the steel chambers, mirrors, jewels and other pretty things are at the bottom too, only this time they're surrounded by curious fish and sea-worms that are none too impressed. But since they're in the sea now, those jewels aren't as pretty since they're lightless (no light at the bottom of the sea) and of no use to anyone. The speaker then goes on to tell the story of the Titanic's construction that was simultaneously underway while the iceberg was growing too. So the two are kind of cosmically connected, but not in a good way. When the two do eventually meet, these worlds collide with some awfully tragic circumstances.

The storm by Kate Chopin

Bobinôt and his four-year-old son, Bibi, are at Friedheimer's store when a particularly violent storm begins. The two decide to remain at the store until the storm passes. Bobinôt then decides to buy a can of shrimp for his wife, Calixta, while he waits with his son for the storm to abate. Meanwhile, back at their house, Bobinôt's wife, Calixta, is so occupied with her sewing that at first she does not notice the incoming storm. Finally she notices that it is growing darker outside, so she decides to shut the windows and retrieve Bobinôt's and Bibi's clothes, which are hanging outside. As she goes outside to retrieve the clothes, she notices Alcée, one of her former beaus who has ridden up to the house in the hopes of riding out the storm with her. As the storm worsens, Calixta invites Alcée into her home; they wait for it to pass by. Alcée then helps Calixta get some clothes off the line. He is reluctant to come in and stays outside until it becomes apparent that the storm is not going to let up. Calixta gathers up the lengths of cotton sheet she had been sewing while Alcée takes a seat in the rocker. Calixta goes over to the window and observes the intensity of the storm, which disturbs her so much she nearly falls. Alcée then attempts to comfort her and in doing so is reminded of the passion they once felt for each other. Alcée reminds Calixta of their time at "Assumption," and she immediately remembers.[3] At first, Calixta is standoffish when Alcée tries to comfort her, but she can't resist him as she too becomes overwhelmed with passion. As the storm increases in intensity, so does the passion of the two former lovers. The sexual encounter between the pair ends at the same time as the storm. Alcée and Calixta go their separate ways once more, and both are left with feelings of rejuvenation and newfound happiness. Bobinôt and Bibi return from the grocery store, and Calixta immediately embraces them. Bobinôt presents his gift of the can of shrimp to his wife, and she remarks that they will feast that night. Meanwhile, Alcée writes a loving letter to his wife, Clarisse, encouraging her to stay in Biloxi with their children as long as she needs. He notes that their well-being is more important than the anxiety from separation that he endures. Clarisse is "charmed" by the letter and is happy in Biloxi because she feels free, as if she were a maiden again. She explains how although she is "devoted" to her husband, she isn't in a rush to go back to her married life. The story ends with the short line, "So the storm passed and every one was happy".[4]

My papas waltz by Roethke

Daddy's had a little too much whiskey, and now he's waltzing around the kitchen with his son. Their waltz is pretty clumsy - the pans are sliding from the shelf, and mom's not too happy about that. The father must be a guy who works with his hands, because his knuckles are rough, and he deals with a lot of dirt. This dance may not be all fun and games for the boy - he keeps scraping his ear on his dad's belt buckle, ouch! And his dad is keeping time, perhaps not so gently, on the boy's head. In the end, the father dances the boy off to bed.

A valediction: forbidding mourning by Donnes

Donne's speaker begins with the very weird metaphor of an old man dying. Romantic, right? He says that the parting between him and his wife should be like the gentle death of an old man—you can't even tell when he's stopped breathing. You had us at 'dead guy,' John. Then he shifts gears and compares shallow love to earthquakes that make a big scene and cause a big fuss, but don't have tremendous lasting effects. On the contrary, his love is like the unnoticed, subtle movements of the stars and planets that control the fates of every person (well, according to popular belief). That super-handsy couple can't stand to be apart because their love is based solely on physical contact, but the love he has can stretch any distance because the pair share one soul. Now he's turning on that old Donne charm. To further prove the greatness of their love, he gives his last metaphor: a mathematical compass—because nothing says sex appeal like mathematical apparatus. But he says that he and his wife are like a compass when drawing a circle. One foot of the compass (Donne) goes way out and travels around, while the other (his wife) stays planted at home and leans after it. But those two compass feet are part of one unit and will always end up back together. And we give props to anyone that can drop the microphone with that as a closing image.

"Dulce et Decorum Est" - Owen

If you're not familiar with Wilfred Owen, don't worry, Shmoop is here to help. Though you may not have heard of Owen, he set the tone for an entire generation of men and women writing and thinking about the events that just rocked the world - World War I.

A Worn Path by Welty

In "A Worn Path", an old woman named Phoenix Jackson is walking through the woods into town.[2] On her way she encounters many obstacles, including thorny bushes, barbed wire, and a large dog, among others. She meets a hunter, pocketing a nickel that he drops, and a lady who ties her shoes. Her reason for going to Natchez is to pick up a supply of medicine for her grandson, who accidentally swallowed lye a few years before. She tells the nurse in the hospital that the damage to his throat never fully heals, and every so often his throat will begin to swell shut. It is Old Phoenix's love for her grandson that causes her to face the trial of the journey to town, every time it is necessary, with no questions asked.

There will come a soft rain

In August of 2026, in California, a fully-automated house announces that it is time to wake up. Yet the house is empty. Breakfast is automatically made, but there is no one to eat it. Outside, where the automatic sprinklers come on, a wall can be seen where the paint has all been burned off except for a few silhouettes. There is a silhouette of a man and woman doing yardwork and of a boy and a girl throwing a ball. The rest of the neighborhood is charred and flattened, and a radioactive glow hangs over the city. A dog enters the house, covered with sores, and dies. The robotic mice that automatically clean the house take the dog away to the incinerator. As evening comes, the house automatically reads the woman's favorite poem, "There Will Come Soft Rains." The poem describes how, once man is utterly destroyed because of a war, nature will go on without man, as if nothing had happened. Later that night, a tree bough falls on the house, causing a fire that consumes all of the house but one wall. In October of 2026, a rocket lands on Mars. It carries a husband and wife and three boys. They have a stockpile of food. They head down a canal in a boat. The Dad has a mysterious smile on his face, and his eldest (but still young) son Timothy tries to understand what is happening. Suddenly, they hear an explosion, as their rocket self-destructs. The Dad explains that he has brought them away from Earth to start a new life on Mars. The next day, the Edwards will arrive with their daughters, and together they will start life anew. The Dad lets his boys pick out a city to live in, and he burns a number of papers he brought from Earth, even a map of Earth. He then takes his boys to see some Martians. He has them look into the canal at their own reflections.

Death by landscape by Atwood

In Margaret Atwood's short story, "Death by Landscape," widowed mother, Lois, is haunted by the disappearance of her childhood friend, Lucy. At the beginning of the story, Lois has moved into a new waterfront apartment and is hanging her art collection. The paintings—wilderness landscapes—fill her will a sense of unease. Lois recalls her time spent at summer camp between the ages of 11 and 13 and her close friendship with Lucy. By their last year at camp, Lucy seemed to have changed, disillusioned by her parents' divorce and involved in a relationship with the gardener's assistant. During a week-long excursion into the wilderness with their camp counsellor, Cappie, Lois and Lucy separate briefly from the other girls and climb a trail to a lookout point over the lake. Lucy says she has to urinate, but doesn't return, and shortly after Lois hears a scream. The girls, and later the police, find no sign of Lucy or her body. Cappie implies that Lois must have pushed her. Back in her waterfront apartment, closed off from the outside world, Lois struggles to come to terms with Lucy's disappearance but is still unable to overcome her loss and grief.

Hope is the thing with feathers by Dickinson

Our speaker begins by talking about hope. She wants us to know that it's got feathers, it hangs out in the soul, and it never stops singing its wordless song—sounds like one cool bird. Its song sounds the sweetest when the weather is at its worst, in fact. It would have to be a really bad storm to lessen the effects of this bird, which has kept so many people warm. Our speaker has heard this bird a-singing in the coldest lands and on the strangest seas, but not once did this bird ever ask for so much as a crumb in return. Best... bird... ever.

The Road not taken by Robert Frost

Our speaker has come to a fork in a path in the woods. It's fall, and the leaves are turning colors. He's unsure which way to go, and wishes he could go both ways. He looks down one path as far as he can see, but then he decides to take the other. He thinks the path he decides to take is not quite as worn as the other one, but really, the paths are about the same, and the fallen leaves on both look pretty fresh. The speaker reflects on how he plans to take the road that he didn't take another day, but suspects that he probably won't ever come back. Instead, far off in the future, he'll be talking about how his decision was final and life changing.

Stopping by Woods... by Robert Frost

Our speaker is in the woods, but (gasp) he's trespassing. He first wonders who owns these woods. In the same breath, he tells us that he thinks he does know who owns them. The lucky landowner lives in a house in the village. Phew. So, our speaker won't get into trouble for trespassing, because there's no one to catch him trespassing. Surprise! Our speaker has a horse (neigh), and this horse is little. Our speaker psycho-analyzes his little horse and supposes that said little horse must think it's pretty strange for them to be stopping in the middle of nowhere, with no one in sight, with not even a farmhouse close by, and absolutely no sign of hay. Newsflash: the speaker and his little horse are chilling (pun intended) between the woods and a frozen lake. Ice skating? Nope. Also, it happens to be the darkest evening of the year. Little Horse is starting to really lose it. Fortunately, he has some harness bells on his back, and he gives them a little shake in order to get his master's attention. The only other sounds are of a slight wind and of falling snow. Shhhhhh. It's quiet. Our speaker admits to having a hankering for the dark woods, but he tells us he's got things to do, people to see and places to go. He's got a long way to go before he can rest his head on his little pillow, so he had better get going.

Death be not proud by Donnes

Right off the bat, the speaker starts talking smack to Death, whom he treats as a person. He tells Death not to be so proud, because he's really not as scary or powerful as most people think. The speaker starts talking in contradictions, saying that people don't really die when they meet Death - and neither will the speaker. Then, he really tries to burn Death's biscuit by comparing him to "rest and sleep," two things that aren't scary at all. Next, to paraphrase Billy Joel, the speaker claims that "only the good die young," because the best people know that death brings pleasure, not pain. As if this isn't enough trash-talk, the speaker kicks it up a notch, calling Death a "slave" and accusing him of hanging out with those lowlifes "poison, war, and sickness." Besides, we don't need Death - the speaker can just take drugs, and it will have the same effect: falling asleep. So death is just a "short sleep," after which a good Christian will wake up and find himself in Eternity. Once this happens, it will seem like Death has died. How do you like them apples?

My Last Duchess by Browning

The Duke of Ferrara is negotiating with a servant for the hand of a count's daughter in marriage. (We don't know anything about the Count except that he is a count. And that he's not the Count from Sesame Street - different guy.) During the negotiations, the Duke takes the servant upstairs into his private art gallery and shows him several of the objects in his collection. The first of these objects is a portrait of his "last" or former duchess, painted directly on one of the walls of the gallery by a friar named Pandolf. The Duke keeps this portrait behind a curtain that only he is allowed to draw. While the servant sits on a bench looking at the portrait, the Duke describes the circumstances in which it was painted and the fate of his unfortunate former wife. Apparently the Duchess was easily pleased: she smiled at everything, and seemed just as happy when someone brought her a branch of cherries as she did when the Duke decided to marry her. She also blushed easily. The Duchess's genial nature was enough to throw the Duke into a jealous, psychopathic rage, and he "gave commands" (45) that meant "all smiles stopped together" (46). We're guessing this means he had her killed although it's possible that he had her shut up somewhere, such as in a convent. But it's way more exciting if you interpret it as murder, and most critics do. After telling this story to the servant of the family that might provide his next victim - er, sorry, bride - the Duke takes him back downstairs to continue their business. On the way out, the Duke points out one more of his favorite art objects: a bronze statue of Neptune taming a seahorse.

Death of the ball turrent gunner

The action in this poem is pretty straightforward. A soldier goes into battle in the ball turret of a WWII bomber. (Technical note: a ball turret is a rotating ball with mounted machine guns located underneath the aircraft. The gunner sits inside the ball). He is killed. The poem is written in the voice of the dead pilot. Kind of creepy? Yes. Effective in the context of the poem? Very.

When I consider how my light is spent by Milton

The first seven and a half lines of this poem are one big, long, confusing sentence. Here's our summary: "When I think of how I have lost my vision even before middle age, and how I am unable to use my best talent to serve God, I want to ask if God requires his servants to work for him even if they don't have vision." But before he can speak up, a figure called Patience answers his question. Patience is like, "You think God needs your work? No, man. His best servants are the ones who bear life's burden the best. He already has thousands of people running around across land and sea to serve him. You can just stand right there and wait on him, and that's enough."

One need not to be a chamber

The general consensus of the research I have found on Emily Dickinson's poem, "One need not be a chamber to be haunted," is that the images she presents compare the threat of material things to the threat of the workings of our minds and/or hearts.

Richard Cory by Robinson

The poem begins by introducing us to Richard Cory. He's a total gentleman; he's good-looking, slim, and admired by all of the people of the nearby town. The poem then keeps on describing Mr. Cory. He's modestly dressed and friendly, he practically glitters when he walks down the street, and—naturally—everyone is excited to see him. Also, this dude is rich. Everyone in the town thinks that they want to be like Richard Cory. But then, the unthinkable happens. Richard Cory, despite his money, good looks, and his high status in society, goes home and shoots himself in the head. No one saw it coming—no one.

London, 1802 by Wordsworth

The poem begins with a plaintive call to John Milton (1608-1674), a much-loved and respected English poet, and one of Wordsworth's great influences. The speaker laments the fact that Milton isn't around anymore, since, as he sees it, England needs a guiding voice. The speaker flat-out condemns the state of the nation, saying that it's a stagnant swamp (gross!), and that the English people have forgotten all the things that used to make them so glorious, including religion, military might, and literature. The speaker worries that the Englishmen of his day are too selfish and debased, and wishes Milton could return and give the nation a good old-fashioned pep talk. The poet is certain that Milton could inspire England to greatness once again, and mold its inhabitants into more noble creatures. The second half of the poem dwells on Milton's high points; the speaker gets all swoony about Milton's writing, and uses celestial imagery to show us just how divine it is. Not only is Milton's writing admirable, apparently, so was his character. The man could do no wrong. The speaker goes gaga over the all-around loveliness that was Milton, and ends the poem by praising the deceased poet's humility.

I heard a fly buzz when I died by Dickinson

The poem describes the scene and the atmosphere at the moment when someone dies, with a weird surprise thrown in. The speaker starts by mentioning the sound of a fly, which cuts across the heavy, silent air around her deathbed. Then the speaker leaves that image behind, and begins to talk about the room where she is dying. She tells us about the people standing around her, who are calmly preparing themselves for her final moment. She even tells us about giving away the last of her possessions, to show us that everything is truly ready. Then, just when everything is in place and as it should be, here comes that fly. It's an intruder, a weird, unnecessary, kind of gross little bug. This wasn't exactly a happy poem to start with, but it was sort of peaceful. When that fly shows up, everything changes, and things get stranger and a lot less quiet and comfortable.

Nothing Gold can stay by Robert Frost

The poem starts by talking about the colors of spring, saying that nature is first gold, then green. Leaves, the poem says, start out as flower buds. But these golden flowers don't stick around for long—they turn green and become leaves. According to our speaker, this natural process is related to the fall of the Garden of Eden, as well as the change of dawn to day. Then the poem wraps itself up, reminding us that the beauty of gold is only fleeting.

Because I can not stop for death by Emily Dickinson

The poem was published posthumously in 1890 in Poems: Series 1, a collection of Dickinson's poems assembled and edited by her friends Mabel Loomis Todd and Thomas Wentworth Higginson. The poem was published under the title "The Chariot". It is composed in six quatrains with the meter alternating between iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter. Stanzas 1, 2, 4, and 6 employ end rhyme in their second and fourth lines, but some of these are only close rhyme or eye rhyme. In the third stanza, there is no end rhyme, but "ring" in line 2 rhymes with "gazing" and "setting" in lines 3 and 4 respectively. Internal rhyme is scattered throughout. Figures of speech include alliteration, anaphora, paradox, and personification. The poem personifies Death as a gentleman caller who takes a leisurely carriage ride with the poet to her grave. She also personifies immortality.[1] The volta (turn) happens in the fourth quatrain. Structurally, the syllables shift from its constant 8-6-8-6 scheme to 6-8-8-6. This parallels with the undertones of the sixth quatrain. The personification of death changes from one of pleasantry to one of ambiguity and morbidity: "Or rather--He passed Us-- / The Dews drew quivering and chill--" (13-14). The imagery changes from its original nostalgic form of children playing and setting suns to Death's real concern of taking the speaker to afterlife.

Story of an Hour by Kate Chopin

The short story describes the series of emotions Louise Mallard endures after hearing of the death of her husband, Brently, who was reported to have died in a railroad accident. Mrs. Mallard suffers from heart problems. Therefore, her sister and her husband's friend, Richard, attempt to inform her of the news in a gentle way. Mrs. Mallard immediately mourns the loss of her husband and makes way to her room upstairs. She sits down and watches out the window. She sees the nature and new life outside. While locked inside, a weird feeling comes over her and confusion follows immediately after. She begins to feel an unexpected sense of exhilaration, yelling, "Free! Body and soul free." She begins to think of all the springs and summers she can enjoy without her husband around. [3] Her sudden rush of exhilaration is what she believes to be a benefit of his death. Along with all the excitement, Mrs. Mallard still grieves for her husband and knows she will cry about it later. Her sister begs Louise to open the door; she is scared that Louise will become ill. As Louise and her sister descend the staircase, Brently enters the house. Louise suffers a heart attack upon receiving the shock that he has not died, and she is stuck in her marriage to him after all. The story ends with doctors blaming Mallard's death of heart disease to a joy that kills. This is ironic as it is implied that she actually died of grief of having her supposed soon to be freedom.

Batter my heart three personed God by Donnes

The speaker begins by asking God (along with Jesus and the Holy Ghost; together, they are the Trinity that makes up the Christian "three-personed God") to attack his heart as if it were the gates of a fortress town. The speaker wants God to enter his heart aggressively and violently, instead of gently. Then, in line 5, the speaker explicitly likens himself to a captured town. He tries to let God enter, but has trouble because the speaker's rational side seems to be in control. At the "turn" of the poem (see the "Form and Meter" section for more on the importance of the sonnet form and, specifically, the "turn"), the speaker admits that he loves God, and wants to be loved, but is tied down to God's unspecified "enemy" instead, whom we can think of as Satan, or possibly "reason." The speaker asks God to break the speaker's ties with the enemy, and to bring the speaker to Him, not letting him go free. He then explains why he wants all of this, reasoning with double meanings: he can't really be free unless God enslaves and excites him, and he can't refrain from sex unless God carries him away and delights him.

Composed upon west minister bridge by Wodsworth

The speaker declares that he has found the most beautiful scene on earth. You'd have to be someone with no spiritual sense, no taste for beauty, to pass over the Westminster Bridge that morning without stopping to marvel at the sights. London is wearing the morning's beauty like a fine shirt or cape. London, you're lookin' good. The time is so early that all is quiet. The various landmarks visible from the bridge, including St. Paul's Cathedral and the Tower of London, stand before him in all their grandeur in the morning light. Fortunately, there happens to be no "London fog" to obscure the view. The speaker compares the sunlight on the buildings to the light that shines on the countryside, and he seems surprised to feel more at peace in the bustling city than he has anywhere else. The River Thames moves slowly beneath him. In a burst of emotion, he pictures the city as blissfully asleep before another busy day.

I felt a funeral, in my brain by Dickinson

The speaker imagines that a funeral is taking place inside her brain, and she can feel the mourners pacing back and forth. The mourners sit down, and the funeral service begins. Unfortunately, this service seems more like a performance of "Stomp" than a religious gathering. The drum-like beating of the service makes her think her mind is going numb. The mourners lift the casket and walk across her "Soul" (10). For some reason, they are wearing heavy lead boots, which isn't very thoughtful of them. At the end of the service, she feels as though a church bell were ringing inside her head. She imagines her mind as the entire universe. She feels like she is "Wrecked" (16) and alone except for Silence, her only companion. The wooden floor of her mind - now called "Reason" (17) - suddenly breaks, and she falls a long way down. She keeps hitting "worlds" on the way down, and we're not sure what this means. Nor do we learn what's at the bottom of her "plunge" (19), because she "Finishe[s] knowing" (20) before she - and we - can find out. The poem ends on an ominous note.

Mending Wall Robert Frost

The speaker immediately tells us that something is amiss in the countryside. Something in the wide blue yonder does not like walls. He and his neighbor must get together every spring to walk the whole length of the stone wall that separates their properties, and to fix places where the wall has crumbled. Then, our speaker begins to question the need for walls. He grows apples and his neighbor grows pine trees. His neighbor says that "good fences make good neighbors." The speaker becomes a bit mischievous in the spring weather, and wonders if he can try to make his neighbor reconsider the wall. His neighbor looks like a menacing caveman as he puts a rock into the wall, and repeats, "Good fences makes good neighbors."

Break, break, break by Tennyson

The speaker is looking at the ocean and wishing he knew how to express his grief. He sees a fisherman's kid hanging out with his sister, and he hears a sailor singing, but they don't cheer him up - they just remind him of the "voice that is still," or the voice of his dead friend that he can't talk to anymore. The ocean waves keep breaking on the beach, and time keeps marching on, but the speaker can't go back in time to when his friend was still alive.

The Flea by Donnes

The speaker notices a flea and points it out to the woman he loves. The flea has bitten them both, and now their blood is mixed inside the flea. He says that no one would consider it a sin or shameful for their bodily fluids to mix inside a bug, so why don't they just swap fluids in bed? Um, something to think about, we guess. Now she (quite rationally) tries to kill the flea, but the speaker stops her. He says the flea represents the joining of their blood, as in marriage. If she squashes the flea, she will be killing herself, the speaker, and, oh-by-the-way, committing sacrilege against the institution of marriage. Let's not get carried away here, Donne. Splat. She kills the poor, innocent flea. She thinks this disproves the earlier claim that killing the flea would kill them both. But Donne, as always, has a comeback ready: the fact that she hasn't suffered from the death of the flea in which their bloods were mixed means that "swapping fluids" isn't so dangerous to her honor as she thinks. In straightforward terms, his point is: "You have nothing to fear from having sex with me."

Acquainted with the night by Frost

The speaker of this poem has walked around at night a lot. He's walked both away and back to somewhere, probably home, in the rain. He's walked in the city, and beyond the lights, perhaps out of the city, and he's looked down lonely, dark streets. He has walked by a watchman, but didn't look at him because he didn't want to explain why he was there, not even with a glance. He's stopped to listen to a voice calling out from another street, falsely hoping that it was calling for him. The speaker looks up at a "luminary clock," which is probably the moon, but was dissatisfied with the time it showed. He ends by referring back to the first line of the poem, emphasizing that he has been acquainted with the night.

Ozymandias by Shelley

The speaker recalls having met a traveler "from an antique land," who told him a story about the ruins of a statue in the desert of his native country. Two vast legs of stone stand without a body, and near them a massive, crumbling stone head lies "half sunk" in the sand. The traveler told the speaker that the frown and "sneer of cold command" on the statue's face indicate that the sculptor understood well the emotions (or "passions") of the statue's subject. The memory of those emotions survives "stamped" on the lifeless statue, even though both the sculptor and his subject are both now dead. On the pedestal of the statue appear the words, "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: / Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" But around the decaying ruin of the statue, nothing remains, only the "lone and level sands," which stretch out around it.

I wandered lonely as a cloud by Wordsworth

The speaker was walking around through the hills and valleys, but he felt all lonely and mopey. Suddenly, as he passed a lake, he noticed a big group of yellow daffodils waving in the breeze. This wasn't just some scattered patch of daffodils. We're talking thousands and thousands around this particular bay. And all these flowers were dancing. Yes, the daffodils danced, and so did the waves of the lake. But the daffodils danced better. The speaker's loneliness was replaced by joy, but he didn't even realize what a gift he has received until later. Now, whenever he's feeling kind of blah, he just thinks of the daffodils, and his heart is happily dancing.

Everyday use by Walker

The story opens on Mama waiting in the yard for her eldest daughter, Dee's, return. She reflects on the differences between Dee and Maggie, her youngest daughter, and knows that Maggie will be anxious around Dee and self-conscious. Maggie was burned in a house fire that happened more than a decade ago, where Mama carried her out in her arms as Dee watched the house burn. The narrator continues to paint a picture of Maggie as helpless and rather awkward, whereas Dee is beautiful and seems to have had an easier time in life. Dee left home to pursue an education in Augusta, afforded to her by Mama and the community's fund raising efforts. Mama never attended school past second grade, and Maggie has a very limited reading ability, so Dee's education is a stark difference and Mama seems to feel that starkness, commenting, "like dimwits, we seemed about to understand". Mama discusses the physical differences between the three: her own manly looks; Maggie's timid disposition; and Dee's own nice hair, full figure, and stylish way of dress. When Dee finally arrives, she has also brought with her a man who Mama refers to as Hakim-a-barber. Dee takes photos of Mama and Maggie in front of the house, and the greetings are stiff and unfamiliar. Dee informs her mother that she has now changed her name to Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo in order to protest the oppression and cultural white washing Black Americans faced. Mama rejects this, telling Dee she was named after her Aunt Dicie, who in turn was named after Grandma Dee, and that the name went on through the generations. Dee gives Mama the option of not using her new name and Mama concludes that Hakim-a-barber must be related to a family of Muslims down the road. Hakim-a-barber says he accepts some of the doctrines of his beef-raising family, but is not interested in farming or herding as a profession. Mama does not know whether Hakim-a-barber and Dee are married, and does not ask. Hakim-a-barber has a special diet to follow, but Dee digs in to the food Mama made. She begins asking for things around the house, like the top of a butter churn, and eventually she asks for a quilt as well. This quilt in particular is one that Mama had promised to Maggie, and Dee's persistence frustrates Mama and they get into an argument. Dee feels that by using the quilt as a normal item, in "everyday use", the quilt will be ruined and the cultural importance lost. Mama would rather the item be used practically by her family and be ruined than have it sit on a shelf, and as Dee readies to leave, she tells Mama that Mama doesn't understand her own heritage. She adds that Mama should try and improve, and that there is a new path for Black Americans to follow. Maggie and Mama sit in the yard after watching them drive off until bedtime.

The Cask of Amontillado by Poe

The story's narrator, Montresor, tells an unspecified person, who knows him very well, of the day he took his revenge on Fortunato (Italian for "the fortunate one"), a fellow nobleman. Angry over numerous injuries and some unspecified insult, Montresor plots to murder his "friend" during Carnival, while the man is drunk, dizzy, and wearing a jester's motley. Montresor lures Fortunato into a private wine-tasting excursion by telling him he has obtained a pipe (about 130 gallons,[1] 492 litres) of what he believes to be a rare vintage of Amontillado. He proposes obtaining confirmation of the pipe's contents by inviting a fellow wine aficionado, Luchesi, for a private tasting. Montresor knows Fortunato will not be able to resist demonstrating his discerning palate for wine and will insist that he taste the amontillado rather than Luchesi who, as he claims, "cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry". Fortunato goes with Montresor to the wine cellars of the latter's palazzo, where they wander in the catacombs. Montresor offers wine (first Medoc, then De Grave) to Fortunato in order to keep him inebriated. Montresor warns Fortunato, who has a bad cough, of the dampness, and suggests they go back, but Fortunato insists on continuing, claiming that "[he] shall not die of a cough". During their walk, Montresor mentions his family coat of arms: a golden foot in a blue background crushing a snake whose fangs are embedded in the foot's heel, with the motto Nemo me impune lacessit ("No one attacks me with impunity"). At one point, Fortunato makes an elaborate, grotesque gesture with an upraised wine bottle. When Montresor appears not to recognize the gesture, Fortunato asks, "You are not of the masons?" Montresor says he is, and when Fortunato, disbelieving, requests a sign, Montresor displays a trowel he had been hiding. When they come to a niche, Montresor tells his victim that the Amontillado is within. Fortunato enters drunk and unsuspecting and therefore, does not resist as Montresor quickly chains him to the wall. Montresor then declares that, since Fortunato won't go back, Montresor must "positively leave" him there. Montresor reveals brick and mortar, previously hidden among the bones nearby, and proceeds to wall up the niche using his trowel, entombing his friend alive. At first, Fortunato, who sobers up faster than Montresor anticipated, shakes the chains, trying to escape. Fortunato then screams for help, but Montresor mocks his cries, knowing nobody can hear them. Fortunato laughs weakly and tries to pretend that he is the subject of a joke and that people will be waiting for him (including the Lady Fortunato). As Montresor finishes the topmost row of stones, Fortunato wails, "For the love of God, Montresor!" to which Montresor replies, "Yes, for the love of God!" He listens for a reply but hears only the jester's bells ringing. Before placing the last stone, he drops a burning torch through the gap. He claims that he feels sick at heart, but dismisses this reaction as an effect of the dampness of the catacombs. In the last few sentences, Montresor reveals that 50 years later, Fortunato's body still hangs from its chains in the niche where he left it. The murderer concludes: In pace requiescat! ("May he rest in peace!").

Metaphors by Plath

This poem admits it, right off the bat: it's a riddle. Then it presents us with several different metaphors to help us find the solution. We hear about an elephant, a house, a couple of different kinds of fruit, bread rising, newness, fatness, and a cow in calf. By this point in the poem, we figure out that the riddle is about a pregnant woman, thanks to all the images of round things. But these ways of describing a pregnant woman aren't necessarily the images of expecting that we've come to expect—they're less than glowing and even a little bitter. Then, in the last two lines, we start to get even more of a feeling that the speaker is uneasy about this whole pregnancy thing. She describes eating a bag of apples—which we can imagine filling her stomach in the shape of this pregnancy—as if she's done something wrong. She seems to feel stuck in this wild and disproportionate situation and body, and there's no getting off this train.

Much Madness is Divenst Sense by Emily Dickinson

This poem states that what is often declared madness is actually the most profound kind of sanity ("Much Madness is divinest Sense -"), when viewed by someone with "a discerning Eye." What is often called sense or sanity is in fact not just "Madness," but profound madness ("the starkest Madness"). It is only called "Sense" because it is not defined by reason, but by what the majority thinks ("'Tis the Majority / In this, as All, prevail -"). Since the majority rules, the act of agreeing, no matter to what, means that you are, in the public mind, sane ("Assent - and you are sane -"). If you disagree, or even hesitate in your assent, you are not only declared crazy, but dangerously so ("Demur - you're straightway dangerous -"). The act of disagreeing with the majority leads to a loss of freedom ("And handled with a Chain -"), thus one can either be physically free, but ruled by the majority, or imprisoned with their own beliefs.

The world is too much with us by Wordsworth

William Wordsworth was one of the founders of the literary movement we now call Romanticism, a period covering (roughly) the years 1790 to 1824. One of the most prominent features of Romantic poetry - that means poetry from the Romantic period, not that lovey-dovey stuff you see on greeting cards - is an obsession with nature; there are a whole lot of poems about mountains, flowers, birds, you name it. In addition to talking about nature, the Romantics also spent a lot of time on gross inequalities among social classes, industrialization, the government, etc. In many ways, they resemble a lot of our modern-day advocates for the environment and social equality. William Wordsworth, the biggest nature-lover of them all, lived most of his life in a rural part of northern England called the Lake District, a land of beautiful hills, vales, and lakes. If you head over to "Best of the Web," you can see some pictures of Wordsworth's beloved Lake District. Having grown up and lived in one of the most beautiful places in England, it's no surprise that Wordsworth was worried about the potential destruction of that landscape (through deforestation, urbanization, etc.) and about humanity's increasing inability to appreciate it. It is humanity's inability to "feel" nature that most concerns the speaker of "The World is too Much with Us," a poem Wordsworth probably wrote in 1802 but didn't publish until 1807. The speaker claims that our obsession with "getting and spending" has made us insensible to the beauties of nature. "Getting and spending" refers to the consumer culture accompanying the Industrial Revolution that was the devil incarnate for Wordsworth and other "lake poets" like Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Only something as malevolent as that evil red guy with horns and a pitch-fork could make people insensible to something as beautiful as (hold your breath) the wind! But that's just it. Wordsworth's point is that our obsession with "getting and spending" has made it impossible for us to appreciate the simple beauties of the world around us.

Neither out far nor in deep by Frost

X The poem opens with "people along the sand" staring at the sea all day. They're all looking one way and they've got their backs to the land. Occasionally they spot a ship raising its hull on the sea. Beside them stands a solitary gull. Even though the water comes ashore, the people still look out at the sea. Meanwhile, they can't look out far and they can't look in deep. But they keep watching the sea anyway.

To an Athlete dying young by Houseman

You can probably tell from the title that "To an Athlete Dying Young" is a bit of a downer. It is, surprise surprise, about an athlete who dies young. The poem starts off cheerfully enough, with the speaker remembering when the athlete won a big race and everyone in town celebrated by carrying the winner around the marketplace. Sounds like good times, right? We don't get to enjoy it very long, because the second stanza puts us at the athlete's funeral. Bummer. The stanza is basically an extended metaphor for death: the road of life, going "home," moving from the land of the living to the land of the dead—that kind of thing. Things take an unexpected turn starting in stanza 3 and continuing through the poem's last stanza. The speaker starts listing why it's a good thing that the athlete died young. He makes some solid points, but in the end it's tough to argue the merits of a young person dying. Give this one a read and see what you think.

My heart leaps when I behold by Wordsworth

You know, little things can mean a lot. They sure do to William Wordsworth. He loves the simple, often-overlooked things about this world: daffodils, rainbows, the sound of an artfully written poem. Like many of his fellow poets in the Romantic movement, Wordsworth treasured life and nature more than just about anything else. Including television. Sheesh. This love of life and capacity to take pleasure in simple joys—which Wordsworth is more likely to find in a blade of grass than a bank account—comes through like a clap of thunder in this 1807 ditty, "My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold." The speaker uses the image of a rainbow to show that he loves the beautiful small things in nature so much that he would rather die than stop loving them. A day without nature, this poem expresses, is a day not worth living. And if you know anything about Wordsworth, that sounds just right. In fact, if you don't know anything about Wordsworth, this poem is a great place to start, because it's got his joie de vivre written all over it.

A night thought by Wodsworth

about sailing in a ship at night

Hills like White Elephants by Hemingway

opens with a long description of the story's setting in a train station surrounded by hills, fields, and trees in a valley in Spain. A man known simply as the American and his girlfriend sit at a table outside the station, waiting for a train to Madrid. It is hot, and the man orders two beers. The girl remarks that the nearby hills look like white elephants, to which the American responds that he's never seen one. They order more drinks and begin to bicker about the taste of the alcohol. The American chastises her and says that they should try to enjoy themselves. The girl replies that she's merely having fun and then retracts her earlier comment by saying the hills don't actually look like white elephants to her anymore. They order more drinks, and the American mentions that he wants the girl, whom he calls "Jig," to have an operation, although he never actually specifies what kind of operation. He seems agitated and tries to downplay the operation's seriousness. He argues that the operation would be simple, for example, but then says the procedure really isn't even an operation at all. The girl says nothing for a while, but then she asks what will happen after she's had the operation. The man answers that things will be fine afterward, just like they were before, and that it will fix their problems. He says he has known a lot of people who have had the operation and found happiness afterward. The girl dispassionately agrees with him. The American then claims that he won't force her to have the operation but thinks it's the best course of action to take. She tells him that she will have the operation as long as he'll still love her and they'll be able to live happily together afterward. The man then emphasizes how much he cares for the girl, but she claims not to care about what happens to herself. The American weakly says that she shouldn't have the operation if that's really the way she feels. The girl then walks over to the end of the station, looks at the scenery, and wonders aloud whether they really could be happy if she has the operation. They argue for a while until the girl gets tired and makes the American promise to stop talking. The Spanish bartender brings two more beers and tells them that the train is coming in five minutes. The girl smiles at the bartender but has to ask the American what she said because the girl doesn't speak Spanish. After finishing their drinks, the American carries their bags to the platform and then walks back to the bar, noticing all the other people who are also waiting for the train. He asks the girl whether she feels better. She says she feels fine and that there is nothing wrong with her.