English Final Study Set

SWEET dreams, form a shade O'er my lovely infant's head; Sweet dreams of pleasant streams By happy, silent, moony beams. Sweet sleep, with soft down 5 Weave thy brows an infant crown. Sweet sleep, Angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child. Sweet smiles, in the night Hover over my delight; 10 Sweet smiles, mother's smiles, All the livelong night beguiles. Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, Chase not slumber from thy eyes. Sweet moans, sweeter smiles, 15 All the dovelike moans beguiles. Sleep, sleep, happy child, All creation slept and smil'd; Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, While o'er thee thy mother weep. 20 Sweet babe, in thy face Holy image I can trace. Sweet babe, once like thee, Thy Maker lay and wept for me, Wept for me, for thee, for all, 25 When He was an infant small. Thou His image ever see, Heavenly face that smiles on thee, Smiles on thee, on me, on all; Who became an infant small. 30 Infant smiles are His own smiles; Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.

A CRADLE SONG (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

Cruelty has a Human Heart And Jealousy a Human Face Terror the Human Form Divine And Secrecy, the Human Dress The Human Dress, is forged Iron The Human Form, a fiery Forge. The Human Face, a Furnace seal'd The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge.

A DIVINE IMAGE (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

Once a dream did weave a shade O'er my angel-guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay. Troubled, wildered, and forlorn, Dark, benighted, travel-worn, Over many a tangle spray, All heart-broke, I heard her say: 'Oh my children! do they cry, Do they hear their father sigh? Now they look abroad to see, Now return and weep for me.' Pitying, I dropped a tear: But I saw a glow-worm near, Who replied, 'What wailing wight Calls the watchman of the night? 'I am set to light the ground, While the beetle goes his round: Follow now the beetle's hum; Little wanderer, hie thee home! '

A Dream (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

'NOUGHT loves another as itself, Nor venerates another so, Nor is it possible to Thought A greater than itself to know: 'And, Father, how can I love you 5 Or any of my brothers more? I love you like the little bird That picks up crumbs around the door.' The Priest sat by and heard the child, In trembling zeal he seiz'd his hair: 10 He led him by his little coat, And all admir'd the priestly care. And standing on the altar high, Lo! what a fiend is here,' said he, 'One who sets reason up for judge 15 Of our most holy Mystery.' The weeping child could not be heard, The weeping parents wept in vain; They stripp'd him to his little shirt, And bound him in an iron chain; 20 And burn'd him in a holy place, Where many had been burn'd before: The weeping parents wept in vain. Are such things done on Albion's shore?

A Little BOY Lost (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

Children of the future age, Reading this indignant page, Know that in a former time, Love, sweet Love, was thought a crime! In the Age of Gold, 5 Free from winter's cold, Youth and maiden bright To the holy light, Naked in the sunny beams delight. Once a youthful pair, 10 Fill'd with softest care, Met in garden bright Where the holy light Had just remov'd the curtains of the night. There, in rising day, 15 On the grass they play; Parents were afar, Strangers came not near, And the maiden soon forgot her fear. Tired with kisses sweet, 20 They agree to meet When the silent sleep Waves o'er heaven's deep, And the weary tired wanderers weep. To her father white 25 Came the maiden bright; But his loving look, Like the holy book, All her tender limbs with terror shook. 'Ona! pale and weak! 30 To thy father speak: O! the trembling fear. O! the dismal care, That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!'

A Little GIRL Lost (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

A narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides - You may have met him? Did you not His notice instant is - The Grass divides as with a Comb, A spotted Shaft is seen, And then it closes at your Feet And opens further on - He likes a Boggy Acre - A Floor too cool for Corn - But when a Boy and Barefoot I more than once at Noon Have passed I thought a Whip Lash Unbraiding in the Sun When stooping to secure it It wrinkled And was gone - Several of Nature's People I know, and they know me I feel for them a transport Of Cordiality But never met this Fellow Attended or alone Without a tighter Breathing And Zero at the Bone.

A Narrow Fellow In The Grass (Emily Dickinson)

I was angry with my friend; I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night. Till it bore an apple bright. And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine. And into my garden stole, When the night had veild the pole; In the morning glad I see; My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

A POISON TREE. (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees.

A Slumber did my Spirit Seal (William Wordsworth)

Ballad, hymn, nursery rhyme; ballad meter

A ballad is a form of verse, often a narrative set to music. Ballads were particularly characteristic of the popular poetry and song of the British Isles from the later medieval period until the 19th century. They were widely used across Europe, and later in the Americas, Australia and North Africa. Many ballads were written and sold as single sheet broadsides. The form was often used by poets and composers from the 18th century onwards to produce lyrical ballads, a poetic form that draws on popular culture but is distinct from it. [...] Most northern and west European ballads are written in ballad stanzas or quatrains (four-line stanzas) of alternating lines of iambic (an unstressed followed by a stressed syllable) tetrameter (eight syllables) and iambic trimeter (six syllables), known as ballad meter. Usually, only the second and fourth line of a quatrain are rhymed (in the scheme a, b, c, b), which has been taken to suggest that, originally, ballads consisted of couplets (two lines) of rhymed verse, each of 14 syllables.[8] This can be seen in this stanza from "Lord Thomas and Fair Annet": The horse | fair Ann | et rode | upon | He amb | led like | the wind |, With sil | ver he | was shod | before, With burn | ing gold | behind |.[4] There is considerable variation on this pattern in almost every respect, including length, number of lines and rhyming scheme, making the strict definition of a ballad extremely difficult. Most of Blake's Songs are written in forms that resemble the ballad and the hymn.

Couplet, Quatrain

A couplet is a pair of lines that either rhyme or otherwise belong together. A quatrain is four lines that similarly belong together.

Ah Sun-flower! weary of time, Who countest the steps of the Sun: Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the travellers journey is done. Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow: Arise from their graves and aspire, Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

AH! SUN-FLOWER (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill. The wilderness rose up to it, And sprawled around, no longer wild. The jar was round upon the ground And tall and of a port in air. It took dominion everywhere. The jar was gray and bare. It did not give of bird or bush, Like nothing else in Tennessee.

Anecdote of the Jar (Wallace Stevens)

The unpurged images of day recede; The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed; Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong; A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains All that man is, All mere complexities, The fury and the mire of human veins. Before me floats an image, man or shade, Shade more than man, more image than a shade; For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth May unwind the winding path; A mouth that has no moisture and no breath Breathless mouths may summon; I hail the superhuman; I call it death-in-life and life-in-death. Miracle, bird or golden handiwork, More miracle than bird or handiwork, Planted on the starlit golden bough, Can like the cocks of Hades crow, Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud In glory of changeless metal Common bird or petal And all complexities of mire or blood. At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit Flames that no ****** feeds, nor steel has lit, Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame, Where blood-begotten spirits come And all complexities of fury leave, Dying into a dance, An agony of trance, An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve. Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood, Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood, The golden smithies of the Emperor! Marbles of the dancing floor Break bitter furies of complexity, Those images that yet Fresh images beget, That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.

Byzantium (William Butler Yeats)

Earth rais'd up her head, From the darkness dread & drear. Her light fled: Stony dread! And her locks cover'd with grey despair. Prison'd on watry shore Starry Jealousy does keep my den Cold and hoar Weeping o'er I hear the Father of the ancient men Selfish father of men Cruel, jealous, selfish fear Can delight Chain'd in night The virgins of youth and morning bear. Does spring hide its joy When buds and blossoms grow? Does the sower? Sow by night? Or the plowman in darkness plow? Break this heavy chain, That does freeze my bones around Selfish! vain! Eternal bane! That free Love with bondage bound.

EARTH'S Answer. (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

First fight. Then fiddle. Ply the slipping string A With feathery sorcery; muzzle the note B With hurting love; the music that they wrote B Bewitch, bewilder. Qualify to sing A Threadwise. Devise no salt, no hempen thing A For the dear instrument to bear. Devote B The bow to silks and honey.2 Be remote B A while from malice and from murdering3. A 4But first to arms, to armor. Carry hate C In front of you and harmony behind. D Be deaf to music and to beauty blind. D Win war. Rise bloody, maybe not too late C For having first to civilize a space E Wherein to play your violin with grace5. E

First Fight, Then Fiddle (Gwendolyn Brooks)

Genre

Genre is a literary category based on some set of stylistic criteria. Genres form by conventions that change over time as new genres are invented and the use of old ones is discontinued. Often, works fit into multiple genres by way of borrowing and recombining these conventions. The three major literary genres in ancient Greece were epic, drama, and lyric poetry. Today the novel, or fictional narrative, plays the role of epic in the triad of the major literary genres, to which we also add non-fiction writing. Every genre also has many sub-genres.

Is this a holy thing to see, In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reducd to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty! And their sun does never shine. And their fields are bleak & bare. And their ways are fill'd with thorns. It is eternal winter there. For where-e'er the sun does shine, And where-e'er the rain does fall: Babe can never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall.

HOLY THURSDAY (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean The children walking two & two in red & blue & green Grey-headed beadles walkd before with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow O what a multitude they seemd these flowers of London town Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own The hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambs Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among Beneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poor Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door

Holy Thursday (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

I dwell in Possibility - A fairer House than Prose - More numerous of Windows - Superior - for Doors - Of Chambers as the Cedars - Impregnable of eye - And for an everlasting Roof The Gambrels of the Sky - Of Visitors - the fairest - For Occupation - This - The spreading wide my narrow Hands To gather Paradise -

I dwell in Possibility - (Emily Dickinson)

Iambic Pentameter--Blank Verse, Heroic Couplet

Iambic pentameter is five iambs (unstressed followed by a stressed syllable). It is the verse form used by Chaucer, Milton, Shakespeare, and many other English poets. Wikipedia has a great article on iambic pentameter. An example (most of these lines are fairly regular iambic pentameter): And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd; Blank verse is unrhymed iambic pentameter. Heroic couplet is rhymed pairs of iambic pentameter lines.

Imagery, Figurative Language

Imagery in literature refers to visual and other sensory details that add both concreteness and a sense of metaphorical or metonymic meaning. Figurative language also refers to metaphors and other figures of speech, including metonymy.

Stanza

In poetry, a stanza is a grouped set of lines within a poem, usually set off from other stanzas by a blank line or indentation.[1] Stanzas can have regular rhyme and metrical schemes, though stanzas are not strictly required to have either. There are many unique forms of stanzas. Some stanzaic forms are simple, such as four-line quatrains. Other forms are more complex, such as the Spenserian stanza. Fixed verse poems, such as sestinas, can be defined by the number and form of their stanzas. The term stanza is similar to strophe, though strophe is sometimes used to refer to irregular set of lines, as opposed to regular, rhymed stanzas.[2] The stanza in poetry is analogous with the paragraph that is seen in prose; related thoughts are grouped into units.[3

I have no name I am but two days old.— What shall I call thee? I happy am Joy is my name,— Sweet joy befall thee! Pretty joy! Sweet joy but two days old, Sweet joy I call thee; Thou dost smile. I sing the while Sweet joy befall thee.

Infant Joy (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

My mother groand! my father wept. Into the dangerous world I leapt: Helpless, naked, piping loud; Like a fiend hid in a cloud. Struggling in my fathers hands: Striving against my swaddling bands: Bound and weary I thought best To sulk upon my mothers breast.

Infant Sorrow (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

Intertexuality

Intertextuality is the shaping of a text's meaning by another text. Intertextual figures include: allusion, quotation, calque, plagiarism, translation, pastiche and parody.[1][2][3] Intertextuality is a literary device that creates an 'interrelationship between texts' and generates related understanding in separate works ("Intertextuality", 2015). These references are made to influence the reader and add layers of depth to a text, based on the readers' prior knowledge and understanding. ... Examples of intertextuality are an author's borrowing and transformation of a prior text, and a reader's referencing of one text in reading another.

Piping down the valleys wild Piping songs of pleasant glee On a cloud I saw a child. And he laughing said to me. Pipe a song about a Lamb; So I piped with merry chear, Piper pipe that song again— So I piped, he wept to hear. Drop thy pipe thy happy pipe Sing thy songs of happy chear, So I sung the same again While he wept with joy to hear Piper sit thee down and write In a book that all may read— So he vanish'd from my sight. And I pluck'd a hollow reed. And I made a rural pen, And I stain'd the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear

Introduction (to innocence) (William Blake)

Hear the voice of the Bard! Who Present, Past, & Future sees Whose ears have heard, The Holy Word, That walk'd among the ancient trees. Calling the lapsed Soul And weeping in the evening dew: That might controll, The starry pole; And fallen fallen light renew! O Earth O Earth return! Arise from out the dewy grass; Night is worn, And the morn Rises from the slumberous mass. Turn away no more: Why wilt thou turn away The starry floor The watry shore Is giv'n thee till the break of day.

Introduction. (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

Irony

Irony, in its broadest sense, is a rhetorical device, literary technique, or event in which what appears, on the surface, to be the case, differs radically from what is actually the case. Irony may be divided into categories such as verbal, dramatic, and situational. Henry Watson Fowler, in The King's English, says "any definition of irony—though hundreds might be given, and very few of them would be accepted—must include this, that the surface meaning and the underlying meaning of what is said are not the same." Also, Eric Partridge, in Usage and Abusage, writes that "Irony consists in stating the contrary of what is meant." The American Heritage Dictionary's secondary meaning for irony: "incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs".[6

I wander thro' each charter'd street, Near where the charter'd Thames does flow. And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man, In every Infants cry of fear, In every voice: in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear How the Chimney-sweepers cry Every blackning Church appalls, And the hapless Soldiers sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlots curse Blasts the new-born Infants tear And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

LONDON (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever-dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too. I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful—a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love, And made sweet moan I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery's song. She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna-dew, And sure in language strange she said— 'I love thee true'. She took me to her Elfin grot, And there she wept and sighed full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four. And there she lullèd me asleep, And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!— The latest dream I ever dreamt On the cold hill side. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—'La Belle Dame sans Merci Thee hath in thrall!' I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gapèd wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill's side. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing.

La Belle Dame sans Merci (John Keats)

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it; when the meadows laugh with lively green, And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene, When Mary and Susan and Emily With their sweet round mouths sing "Ha, ha he!" When the painted birds laugh in the shade, Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread: Come live, and be merry, and join with me, To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha, ha, he!"

Laughing Song, (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

Lyric

Lyric poetry is a form of poetry that expresses a subjective, personal point of view

At Dirty Dick's and Sloppy Joe's We drank our liquor straight, Some went upstairs with Margery, And some, alas, with Kate; And two by two like cat and mouse The homeless played at keeping house. There Wealthy Meg, the Sailor's Friend, And Marion, cow-eyed, Opened their arms to me but I Refused to step inside; I was not looking for a cage In which to mope my old age. The nightingales are sobbing in The orchards of our mothers, And hearts that we broke long ago Have long been breaking others; Tears are round, the sea is deep: Roll them overboard and sleep.

Master and Boatswain (W. H. Auden)

Metaphor

Metaphor is a figure of speech that refers, for rhetorical effect, to one thing by mentioning another thing.[1] It may provide clarity or identify hidden similarities between two ideas. Where a simile compares two items, a metaphor directly equates them, and does not use "like" or "as" as does a simile. One of the most commonly cited examples of a metaphor in English literature is the "All the world's a stage" monologue from As You Like It: All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances[...] —William Shakespeare, As You Like It, 2/7[2] This quotation expresses a metaphor because the world is not literally a stage. By asserting that the world is a stage, Shakespeare uses points of comparison between the world and a stage to convey an understanding about the nature of reality and perception.

Metonymy, Synecdoche

Metonymy is a figure of speech in which a thing or concept is called not by its own name but rather by a metonym, the name of something associated in time or space with that thing or concept.[2] The location of a capital is often used as a metonym for a government, for example: Brussels for the government of the European Union, Nairobi for the government of Kenya. A place can represent an entire industry: for instance Wall Street is often used metonymically to describe the entire U.S. financial and corporate banking sector.[4] Common nouns and phrases can also be metonyms: red tape can stand for bureaucracy, whether or not that bureaucracy actually uses red tape to bind documents. In Commonwealth realms, The Crown is a metonym which represents the state in all its aspects. Metonymy and related figures of speech are common in everyday speech and writing. Synecdoche is considered a specific type of metonymy. Both metonymy and metaphor involve the substitution of one term for another. In metaphor, this substitution is based on some specific analogy between two things, whereas in metonymy and synecdoche the substitution is based on some understood association or contiguity.

My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away - And now We roam in Sovreign Woods - And now We hunt the Doe - And every time I speak for Him The Mountains straight reply - And do I smile, such cordial light Opon the Valley glow - It is as a Vesuvian face Had let it's pleasure through - And when at Night - Our good Day done - I guard My Master's Head - 'Tis better than the Eider Duck's Deep Pillow - to have shared - To foe of His - I'm deadly foe - None stir the second time - On whom I lay a Yellow Eye - Or an emphatic Thumb - Though I than He - may longer live He longer must - than I - For I have but the power to kill, Without - the power to die -

My Life Had Stood - A Loaded Gun (Emily Dickinson)

A FLOWER was offer'd to me, Such a flower as May never bore; But I said 'I've a pretty Rose-tree,' And I passèd the sweet flower o'er. Then I went to my pretty Rose-tree, 5 To tend her by day and by night, But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy, And her thorns were my only delight.

My Pretty ROSE TREE (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

WHEN the voices of children are heard on the green And whisp'rings are in the dale, The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, My face turns green and pale. Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, 5 And the dews of night arise; Your spring and your day are wasted in play, And your winter and night in disguise.

NURSES Song (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

THE sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest. And I must seek for mine. The moon, like a flower 5 In heaven's high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night. Farewell, green fields and happy grove, Where flocks have took delight: 10 Where lambs have nibbled, silent move The feet of angels bright; Unseen they pour blessing And joy without ceasing On each bud and blossom, 15 And each sleeping bosom. They look in every thoughtless nest Where birds are cover'd warm; They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm: 20 If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping, They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed. When wolves and tigers howl for prey, 25 They pitying stand and weep, Seeking to drive their thirst away And keep them from the sheep. But, if they rush dreadful, The angels, most heedful, 30 Receive each mild spirit, New worlds to inherit. And there the lion's ruddy eyes Shall flow with tears of gold: And pitying the tender cries, 35 And walking round the fold: Saying, 'Wrath, by His meekness, And, by His health, sickness, Are driven away From our immortal day. 40 'And now beside thee, bleating lamb, I can lie down and sleep, Or think on Him who bore thy name, Graze after thee, and weep. For, wash'd in life's river, 45 My bright mane for ever Shall shine like the gold As I guard o'er the fold.'

Night (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells; And students with their pensive citadels; Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells, Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: In truth the prison, into which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me, In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground; Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, Should find brief solace there, as I have found.

Nuns Fret Not At Their Convent's Narrow Room (William Wordsworth)

WHEN the voices of children are heard on the green, And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast, And everything else is still. 'Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, 5 And the dews of night arise; Come, come, leave off play, and let us away Till the morning appears in the skies.' 'No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, And we cannot go to sleep; 10 Besides, in the sky the little birds fly, And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.' 'Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, And then go home to bed.' The little ones leapèd and shoutèd and laugh'd 15 And all the hills echoèd.

Nurse's Song (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

Ode to a Nightingale (John Keats)

CAN I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief? Can I see a falling tear, 5 And not feel my sorrow's share? Can a father see his child Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd? Can a mother sit and hear An infant groan, an infant fear? 10 No, no! never can it be! Never, never can it be! And can He who smiles on all Hear the wren with sorrows small, Hear the small bird's grief and care, 15 Hear the woes that infants bear, And not sit beside the nest, Pouring pity in their breast; And not sit the cradle near, Weeping tear on infant's tear; 20 And not sit both night and day, Wiping all our tears away? O, no! never can it be! Never, never can it be! He doth give His joy to all; 25 He becomes an infant small; He becomes a man of woe; He doth feel the sorrow too. Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, And thy Maker is not by; 30 Think not thou canst weep a tear, And thy Maker is not near. O! He gives to us His joy That our grief He may destroy; Till our grief is fled and gone 35 He doth sit by us and moan.

On Anothers Sorrow (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

Rhyme: Slant rhyme, off-rhyme, internal rhyme

Rhyme is the repetition of sounds (specifically, the final sounds in a word) in a pattern, typically appearing at the end of lines in a poem. Perfect rhymes repeat the terminal sounds exactly: cat rhymes perfectly with hat. Slant rhyme is a rhyme in which final consonants match but not vowels. Off-rhyme is a general term for rhymes that aren't perfect. Internal rhyme refers to rhyming words within lines, rather than at the end.

I That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees, —Those dying generations—at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect. II An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium. III O sages standing in God's holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity. IV Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

Sailing to Byzantium (William Butler Yeats)

Sound the flute! Now it's mute. Birds delight Day and night. Nightingale In the dale, Lark in the sky, Merrily, Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year. Little boy Full of joy, Little girl Sweet and small. Cock does crow, So do you. Merry voice, Infant noise, Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year. Little lamb Here I am Come and lick My white neck. Let me pull Your soft wool. Let me kiss Your soft face, Merrily, merrily we welcome in the year.

Spring (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

Little fly, Thy summer's play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me? For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath, And the want Of thought is death, Then am I A happy fly, If I live, Or if I die.

THE FLY. (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

THE MODEST Rose puts forth a thorn, The humble Sheep a threat'ning horn; While the Lily white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn, nor a threat, stain her beauty bright.

THE LILLY (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

I dreamt a dream! What can it mean? And that I was a maiden Queen Guarded by an Angel mild: Witless woe was ne'er beguiled! And I wept both night and day, And he wiped my tears away; And I wept both day and night, And hid from him my heart's delight. So he took his wings, and fled; Then the morn blushed rosy red. I dried my tears, and armed my fears With ten-thousand shields and spears. Soon my Angel came again; I was armed, he came in vain; For the time of youth was fled, And grey hairs were on my head.

The Angel (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

MERRY, merry sparrow! Under leaves so green, A happy blossom Sees you, swift as arrow, Seek your cradle narrow 5 Near my bosom. Pretty, pretty robin! Under leaves so green, A happy blossom Hears you sobbing, sobbing, 10 Pretty, pretty robin, Near my bosom.

The Blossom (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

"Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair." So sung a little Clod of Clay Trodden with the cattle's feet, But a Pebble of the brook Warbled out these metres meet: "Love seeketh only self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite."

The CLOD & the PEBBLE (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

A little black thing among the snow, Crying "weep! 'weep!" in notes of woe! "Where are thy father and mother? say?" "They are both gone up to the church to pray. Because I was happy upon the heath, And smil'd among the winter's snow, They clothed me in the clothes of death, And taught me to sing the notes of woe. And because I am happy and dance and sing, They think they have done me no injury, And are gone to praise God and his Priest and King, Who make up a heaven of our misery."

The Chimney Sweeper (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!" So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep. There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said, "Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair." And so he was quiet, & that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight! That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins of black; And by came an Angel who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins & set them all free; Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run, And wash in a river and shine in the Sun. Then naked & white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind. And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his father & never want joy. And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark And got with our bags & our brushes to work. Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm; So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

The Chimney Sweeper (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love All pray in their distress; And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness. For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is God, our father dear, And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is Man, his child and care. For Mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face, And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress. Then every man, of every clime, That prays in his distress, Prays to the human form divine, Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. And all must love the human form, In heathen, Turk, or Jew; Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell There God is dwelling too.

The Divine Image. (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

The sun does arise, And make happy the skies. The merry bells ring To welcome the Spring. The sky-lark and thrush, The birds of the bush, Sing louder around, To the bells' cheerful sound. While our sports shall be seen On the Ecchoing Green. Old John, with white hair Does laugh away care, Sitting under the oak, Among the old folk, They laugh at our play, And soon they all say. 'Such, such were the joys. When we all girls & boys, In our youth-time were seen, On the Ecchoing Green.' Till the little ones weary No more can be merry The sun does descend, And our sports have an end: Round the laps of their mothers, Many sisters and brothers, Like birds in their nest, Are ready for rest; And sport no more seen, On the darkening Green.

The Ecchoing Green (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And Thou shalt not. writ over the door; So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds, And binding with briars, my joys & desires.

The GARDEN of LOVE (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

PITY would be no more If we did not make somebody poor; And Mercy no more could be If all were as happy as we. And mutual fear brings peace, 5 Till the selfish loves increase; Then Cruelty knits a snare, And spreads his baits with care. He sits down with holy fears, And waters the ground with tears; 10 Then Humility takes its root Underneath his foot. Soon spreads the dismal shade Of Mystery over his head; And the caterpillar and fly 15 Feed on the Mystery. And it bears the fruit of Deceit, Ruddy and sweet to eat; And the raven his nest has made In its thickest shade. 20 The Gods of the earth and sea Sought thro' Nature to find this tree; But their search was all in vain: There grows one in the Human brain.

The Human Abstract. (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart's core.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree (William Butler Years)

Little Lamb who made thee Dost thou know who made thee Gave thee life & bid thee feed. By the stream & o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing wooly bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice! Little Lamb who made thee Dost thou know who made thee Little Lamb I'll tell thee, Little Lamb I'll tell thee! He is called by thy name, For he calls himself a Lamb: He is meek & he is mild, He became a little child: I a child & thou a lamb, We are called by his name. Little Lamb God bless thee. Little Lamb God bless thee.

The Lamb (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white; White as an angel is the English child: But I am black as if bereav'd of light. My mother taught me underneath a tree And sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And pointing to the east began to say. Look on the rising sun: there God does live And gives his light, and gives his heat away. And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning joy in the noonday. And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love, And these black bodies and this sun-burnt face Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove. For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear The cloud will vanish we shall hear his voice. Saying: come out from the grove my love & care, And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice. Thus did my mother say and kissed me, And thus I say to little English boy. When I from black and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs we joy: Ill shade him from the heat till he can bear, To lean in joy upon our fathers knee. And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him and he will then love me.

The Little Black Boy. (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

THE LITTLE boy lost in the lonely fen, Led by the wand'ring light, Began to cry; but God, ever nigh, Appear'd like his father, in white. He kissèd the child, and by the hand led, 5 And to his mother brought, Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale, Her little boy weeping sought.

The Little Boy found (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

Father, father, where are you going O do not walk so fast. Speak father, speak to your little boy Or else I shall be lost, The night was dark no father was there The child was wet with dew. The mire was deep, & the child did weep And away the vapour flew.

The Little Boy lost (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

ALL the night in woe Lyca's parents go Over valleys deep, While the deserts weep. Tired and woe-begone, 5 Hoarse with making moan, Arm in arm seven days They trac'd the desert ways. Seven nights they sleep Among shadows deep, 10 And dream they see their child Starv'd in desert wild. Pale, thro' pathless ways The fancied image strays Famish'd, weeping, weak, 15 With hollow piteous shriek. Rising from unrest, The trembling woman prest With feet of weary woe: She could no further go. 20 In his arms he bore Her, arm'd with sorrow sore; Till before their way A couching lion lay. Turning back was vain: 25 Soon his heavy mane Bore them to the ground. Then he stalk'd around, Smelling to his prey; But their fears allay 30 When he licks their hands, And silent by them stands. They look upon his eyes Fill'd with deep surprise; And wondering behold 35 A spirit arm'd in gold. On his head a crown; On his shoulders down Flow'd his golden hair. Gone was all their care. 40 'Follow me,' he said; 'Weep not for the maid; In my palace deep Lyca lies asleep.' Then they followèd 45 Where the vision led, And saw their sleeping child Among tigers wild. To this day they dwell In a lonely dell; 50 Nor fear the wolfish howl Nor the lions' growl.

The Little Girl Found (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

In futurity I prophesy That the earth from sleep (Grave the sentence deep) Shall arise, and seek For her Maker meek; And the desert wild Become a garden mild. In the southern clime, Where the summer's prime Never fades away, Lovely Lyca lay. Seven summers old Lovely Lyca told. She had wandered long, Hearing wild birds' song. 'Sweet sleep, come to me, Underneath this tree; Do father, mother, weep? Where can Lyca sleep? 'Lost in desert wild Is your little child. How can Lyca sleep If her mother weep? 'If her heart does ache, Then let Lyca wake; If my mother sleep, Lyca shall not weep. 'Frowning, frowning night, O'er this desert bright Let thy moon arise, While I close my eyes.' Sleeping Lyca lay, While the beasts of prey, Come from caverns deep, Viewed the maid asleep. The kingly lion stood, And the virgin viewed: Then he gambolled round O'er the hallowed ground. Leopards, tigers, play Round her as she lay; While the lion old Bowed his mane of gold, And her bosom lick, And upon her neck, From his eyes of flame, Ruby tears there came; While the lioness Loosed her slender dress, And naked they conveyed To caves the sleeping maid.

The Little Girl Lost (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold, But the Ale-house is healthy & pleasant & warm; Besides I can tell where I am use'd well, Such usage in heaven will never do well. But if at the Church they would give us some Ale. And a pleasant fire, our souls to regale; We'd sing and we'd pray, all the live-long day; Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray, Then the Parson might preach & drink & sing. And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring: And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church, Would not have bandy children nor fasting nor birch. And God like a father rejoicing to see, His children as pleasant and happy as he: Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the Barrel But kiss him & give him both drink and apparel.

The Little Vagabond (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

O Rose thou art sick. 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) (Songs of Experience)

I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me: O what sweet company! But to go to school in a summer morn, - O it drives all joy away! Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour; Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learning's bower, Worn through with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child, when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring! O father and mother if buds are nipped, And blossoms blown away; And if the tender plants are stripped Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and care's dismay, - How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy, Or bless the mellowing year, When the blasts of winter appear?

The School-Boy (William Blake) (The Songs of Experience)

How sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he strays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise. For he hears the lambs' innocent call, And he hears the ewes' tender reply; He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their shepherd is nigh.

The Shepherd (William Blake) (Songs of Innocence)

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp! When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

The Tyger (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

YOUTH of delight, come hither, And see the opening morn, Image of truth new-born. Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason, Dark disputes and artful teasing. 5 Folly is an endless maze, Tangled roots perplex her ways. How many have fallen there! They stumble all night over bones of the dead, And feel they know not what but care, 10 And wish to lead others, when they should be led.

The Voice of the Ancient Bard. (William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

Masque

The masque was a form of festive courtly entertainment that flourished in 16th- and early 17th-century Europe, though it was developed earlier in Italy.... A masque involved music and dancing, singing and acting, within an elaborate stage design, in which the architectural framing and costumes might be designed by a renowned architect, to present a deferential allegory flattering to the patron. Professional actors and musicians were hired for the speaking and singing parts. Often the masquers, who did not speak or sing, were courtiers ... Masques often had mythological story-lines and patterned, formal dances.

There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs And islands of Winander! many a time, At evening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills, Rising or setting, would he stand alone, Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake; And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls That they might answer him.—And they would shout Across the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call,—with quivering peals, And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause Of silence such as baffled his best skill: Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise Has carried far into his heart the voice Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene Would enter unawares into his mind With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received Into the bosom of the steady lake. This boy was taken from his mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale Where he was born and bred: the churchyard hangs Upon a slope above the village-school; And through that churchyard when my way has led On summer-evenings, I believe that there A long half-hour together I have stood Mute—looking at the grave in which he lies!

There Was A Boy (William Wordsworth)

WHATE'ER is born of mortal birth Must be consumèd with the earth, To rise from generation free: Then what have I to do with thee? The sexes sprung from shame and pride, 5 Blow'd in the morn; in evening died; But Mercy chang'd death into sleep; The sexes rose to work and weep. Thou, Mother of my mortal part, With cruelty didst mould my heart, 10 And with false self-deceiving tears Didst bind my nostrils, eyes, and ears; Didst close my tongue in senseless clay, And me to mortal life betray: The death of Jesus set me free: 15 Then what have I to do with thee?

To Tirzah(William Blake) (Songs of Experience)

It is difficult/to get the news from poems /yet men die miserably every day/for lack/of what is found there./Hear me out/for I too am concerned/and every man/who wants to die at peace in his bed/besides. William Carlos Williams, "Asphodel, that Greeny Flower" Move along, you don't belong here. This is what you're thinking. Thinking drives you nuts these days, all that talk about rights and law abidance when you can't even walk your own neighborhood in peace and quiet, get your black ass gone. You're thinking again. Then what? Matlock's on TV and here you are, vigilant, weary, exposed to the elements on a wet winter's evening in Florida when all's not right but no one sees it. Where are they - the law, the enforcers blind as a bunch of lazy bats can be, holsters dangling from coat hooks above their desks as they jaw the news between donuts? Hey! It tastes good, shoving your voice down a throat thinking only of sweetness. Go on, choke on that. Did you say something? Are you thinking again? Stop! - and get your ass gone, your blackness, that casual little red riding hood I'm just on my way home attitude as if this street was his to walk on. Do you do hear me talking to you? Boy. How dare he smile, jiggling his goodies in that tiny shiny bag, his black paw crinkling it, how dare he tinkle their laughter at you. Here's a fine basket of riddles: If a mouth shoots off and no one's around to hear it, who can say which came first - push or shove, bang or whimper? Which is news fit to write home about?

Trayvon, Redux (Rita Dove)

The Pool Players. Seven at the Golden Shovel. We real cool. We Left school. We Lurk late. We Strike straight. We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon.

We Real Cool (Brooks)

Wild nights - Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury! Futile - the winds - To a Heart in port - Done with the Compass - Done with the Chart! Rowing in Eden - Ah - the Sea! Might I but moor - tonight - In thee!

Wild Nights - Wild Nights! (Emily Dickinson)

End-Stopped Line

a line that comes to a strong ending, usually with a period.

Enjambment

a line that flows rapidly to the next line because of its grammatical structure

Novel

a long fictional narrative

Epistolary Novel

a long fictional narrative written in the form of letters

Bildungsroman

a novel that tells the story of one main protagonist, showing the development of the character's inner life from childhood to adulthood, generally leading up to the point when the character could become an author or artist

Comedy

ends with a marriage (in neo-classical tradition and Shakespeare); may or may not be comical

Free Verse

poetry with no regular metrical form

Narrative

story

Point of view

the eyes and filtering consciousness through which a story (written or filmed) is told. Point of view may shift frequently or may be consistent.

Character

the fictional human constructs that are the agents of a story.

Setting

the place where a narrative or drama happens; often has metaphorical meanings.

Narrator

the teller of the tale. Unreliable narrator: storyteller who is not to be trusted, as revealed by hints in the story. First-person narrator: speaks with "I." Third-person: speaks only with he, she, they, and not with I. Second-person: speaks directly to us as "you," sometimes with the implication that the "you" is the speaker of the story.