British Culture · English Literature · Excerpt · Fragment · Lyricism · Ode · Poetry · Romanticism · Victorian

John Keats

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. — John Keats, from “Ode… Continue reading John Keats

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British Culture · Classic · English Literature · Epic · Excerpt · Poetry · Romanticism

William Blake

 I was walking among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius; which to Angels look like torment and insanity. ― William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell: A Memorable Fancy. The poetical works of William Blake: including the unpublished French revolution, together with the minor Prophetic books, and selections from The… Continue reading William Blake

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British Culture · Elegy · English Literature · Excerpt · Fragment · Lyricism · Poetry · Romanticism · Victorian

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Oh gentle child, beautiful as thou wert, Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart Dare the unpastured dragon in his den? — Percy Bysshe Shelley, from “Adonais: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats,” Adonaïs: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats,… Continue reading Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Generation of '27 · Lyricism · Modernism · Poetry · Qasida · Spanish Culture · Spanish Literature

Federico García Lorca

Qasida of the Woman Prone To see you naked is to remember the Earth, the smoooth Earth, clean of horses, the Earth without reeds, pure form, closed to the future, confine of silver. To see you naked is to understand the desire of rain that looks for the delicate waist, or the fever of the… Continue reading Federico García Lorca

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American Civil War · American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Excerpt · Historical Fiction · Modernism · Paraphrase · Quote · Southern Gothic · Southern Literature · Southern Renaissance · Stream of Consciousness

William Faulkner

She smelled like trees. In the corner it was dark, but I could see the window. I squatted there, holding the slipper. I couldn’t see it but my hands saw it, and I could hear it getting night, and my hands saw the slipper but I couldn’t see myself, but my hands could see the… Continue reading William Faulkner

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