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Anthology- María Celeste Muttis
Transcript of Anthology- María Celeste Muttis
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. CASEY AT THE BAT The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning left to play;
And then, when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game. THE EAGLE He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls. The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils. By William Wordsworth Lyrical poem Lyrical Poem By Alfred Lord Tennyson A straggling few got up to go, in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which "springs eternal in the human breast;"
They thought, If only Casey could but get a whack at that,
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat. But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a no-good and the latter was a fake;
So, upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat. But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball,
And when the dust had lifted and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second, and Flynn a-hugging third. Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell,
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell,
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face,
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt `twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded as he wiped them on his shirt.
Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there,
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said. From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him; kill the umpire!" shouted someone from the stand;--
And it's likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two." "Fraud," cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered "Fraud,"
But one scornful look from Casey, and the multitude was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold; they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lip; his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has Struck Out. By Ernest Lawrence Thayer Narrative Poem I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD CASEY AT THE BAT THE EAGLE * I have chosen this poem because, in my view, it describes the way in which people are not truly alone if they are able to make use of memories effectively.
It suggests that if you are stricken with melancholy, you can take great comfort and pleasure in knowing that you will always have a memory (in this case of nature) that will fill you with energy, vitality and, above all, that will accompany you forever. I have chosen this poem because I like how the author had turned something so popular as a sport (baseball) into an attractive narrative poem who catches your attention until the end, which surprisingly is not a happy one.
I think it's a perfect illustration of the mistake of overconfidence. Casey doesn't even swing at the first two pitches, he is so sure he'll hit a home run when he does swing. He is a hero brought to a tragic end.
I have selected this poem because it is a short poem, yet the imagery is very vivid. It is full of:
-"He clasps the crag with crooked hands" (an eagle doesn't have hands, but claws)
- ''Close to the sun in lonely lands" (Lands aren't lonely,humans are)
- "The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls" (the sea doesn't get wrinkles and it doesn't crawl)
- "He clasps the crag with crooked hands"
- "lonely lands" "A host, of golden daffodils
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze." "No stranger in the crowd could doubt `twas Casey at the bat" "He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls" " I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills" "The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning left to play"