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Poems

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Ana Pleitez

on 20 September 2012

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Transcript of Poems

Anne Bradstreet Edgar Allan Poe Langston Hughes She was born in Northampton, England in 1612. At the age of 16 she was married to Simon Bradstreet. Anne and her husband were immigrants. They had 8 children. The trip was diffult and the living conditions were horrible. Dieseases were everywhere but her and her husband managed to make it home and raise a family. Her brother-in-law one day made a copy and published it. That's how her writing career started. Unfortuntly, she passed away September 16, 1672 in Andover, Massachesettts, at the age of 60. They emigrated to America in 1630 on a ship called Arabella. Since her husband was always away on political duties that when her poetry started to immerge. Too me, it sounds like a young women who lost all her precious belongings in one day. Her house was destroyed in a fire that burned her inside emotionally seeing everything she owned turn to dust He was born January 19, 1809, in Boston, Massachusetts. He never knew his parents. His father left the family early on and his mother passed away when he was three. He was separted from his sibling and he went on to live with John and Frances Allan. They were tobacco merchants. He published his first book "Tamerlano and Other Poems" in 1827. He captured the imagination and interest of readers around the world which led him to nickname "Father of the Dectective Story" . Around that time he had also joined the army. Where his 2nd collection of poems were published in 1829. They got married in 1836 when she was only around 14 years old. He then started working at a magzine but got kicked out. Part of the reason was because of his acohol problem. In 1843 he won a literay prize then in 1845 he published "The Raven" which become one of the best. Sadly, in Octuber 7 he died. Noone knows excatly the cause of death but his last words were "Lord, help my poor soul" Too me, it's about a man who lived alone in sorrow for a recent loss he had. Then an unexpected knock on the door changes everything. It reminds him of his loss Lenore He was born February 1, 1902 in Joplin, Missouri. After publishing his first poem "The Negro Speaks of Rivers" in 1912. He went to Columbia University but after a year he lefted to work in a ship that traveled to Africa then living in Paris and Rome. He started supporting himself with odd jobs. When his poetry got promoted by Vachel Linday, he then went on to attend Lincoln University and there his first book of poems was published. He also was part of theatre and musicals. He made the lyrics for the musical "Street Scene" in 1947. Also for the play that inspired the opera "Troubled Island" in the 1949. By the 1980s he was appreciated as an important voice of African-American. He died in May 22, 1967. Too me, it sounds like the voice of African-Americans speaking through the poem. It's about a guy who is told to eat in the kitchen when guest come, but he knows one day that things will change. So he laughs when his sent to the kitchen because one day he will get the respect he deserves, and people will notice what a great person he was. In silent night when rest I took,
For sorrow neer I did not look,
I waken'd was with thundring nois
And Piteous shreiks of dreadfull voice.
That fearfull sound of fire and fire,
Let no man know is my Desire.
I, starting up, the light did spye,
And to my God my heart did cry
To strengthen me in my Distresse
And not to leave me succourlesse.
Then coming out beheld a space,
The flame consume my dwelling place. The Poem "Upon the Burning of our House"
And, when I could no longer look,
I blest his Name that gave and took,
That layd my goods now in the dust:
Yea so it was, and so 'twas just.
It was his own: it was not mine;
Far be it that I should repine. He might of All justly bereft,
But yet sufficient for us left.
When by the Ruines oft I past,
My sorrowing eyes aside did cast,
And here and there the places spye
Where oft I sate, and long did lye.

Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest;
There lay that store I counted best:
My pleasant things in ashes lye,
And them behold no more shall I.
Under thy roof no guest shall sitt,
Nor at thy Table eat a bitt.

No pleasant tale shall 'ere be told,
Nor things recounted done of old.
No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee,
Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee.
In silence ever shalt thou lye;
Adieu, Adeiu; All's vanity.

Then streight I gin my heart to chide,
And didst thy wealth on earth abide?
Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust,
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
Raise up thy thoughts above the skye
That dunghill mists away may flie.
Thou hast an house on high erect
Fram'd by that mighty Architect,
With glory richly furnished,
Stands permanent tho' this bee fled.
It's purchased, and paid for too
By him who hath enough to doe.
A Prise so vast as is unknown,
Yet, by his Gift, is made thine own.
Ther's wealth enough, I need no more;
Farewell my Pelf, farewell my Store.
The world no longer let me Love,
My hope and Treasure lyes Above. The poem "The Raven" I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong. Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--
I, too, am America. Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then. Poem of "I, Too" Biography of Langston Hughes: What does "I, Too" mean to me? Biography of Edgar Allan Poe: What does the "The Raven" mean to me? Biography of Anne Bradstreet: What does "Upon the Burning of our House" mean to me? After the academy he moved in with his aunt, where he ended up marrying his counsin. Shall be lifted - nevermore! Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.' Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,' Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more! Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.' But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.' Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."' But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.' This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore! To finish what's begun, was my intent,
My thoughts and my endeavours thereto bent;
Essays I many made but still gave out,
The more I mus'd, the more I was in doubt:
The subject large my mind and body weak,
With many moe discouragements did speak.
All thoughts of further progress laid aside,
Though oft perswaded, I as oft deny'd,
At length resolv'd, when many years had past,
To prosecute my story to the last;
And for the same, I hours not few did spend,
And weary lines (though lanke) I many pen'd:
But 'fore I could accomplish my desire,
My papers fell a prey to th'raging fire.
And thus my pains (with better things) I lost,
Which none had cause to wail, nor I to boast.
No more I'le do sith I have suffer'd wrack,
Although my Monarchies their legs do lack:
Nor matter is't this last, the world now sees,
Hath many Ages been upon his knees The Poem "An Apology" May 13, 1657.
As spring the winter doth succeed,
And leaues the naked Trees doe dresse,
The earth all black is cloth'd in green;
At svn-shine each their joy expresse.
My Svns returned with healing wings.
My Soul and Body doth rejoice;
My heart exvlts, and praises sings
To him that heard my wailing Voice.
My winters past, my stormes are gone,
And former clowdes seem now all fled;
But, if they mvst eclipse again,
I'le rvn where I was succoured.
I haue a shelter from the storm,
A shadow from the fainting heat;
I haue accesse vnto his Throne,
Who is a God so wondrous great.
O hast thou made my Pilgrimage
Thvs pleasant, fair, and good;
Bless'd me in Youth and elder Age,
My Baca made a springing flood?
I studiovs am what I shall doe,
To show my Duty with delight;
All I can giue is but thine own,
And at the most a simple mite The Poem "As Spring the Winter doth succed" For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure
Divine- a talisman- an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words- the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do The Poem "A Valentine" 'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light. The Poem "Evening Star" I’m all alone in this world, she said,
Ain’t got nobody to share my bed,
Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand—
The truth of the matter’s
I ain’t got no man.
Big Boy opened his mouth and said,
Trouble with you is
You ain’t got no head!
If you had a head and used your mind
You could have me with you
All the time.
She answered, Babe, what must I do?
He said, Share your bed—
And your money, too The Poem "50-50" I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs. The Poem "Ardella" Emily Dickinson Biography of Emily Dickinson: Work Cited Page http://www.online-literature.com/dickinson/ She was born December 10, 1830 in the town of Amherst, Massachusetts. Her family were pillars of the local community. Her father was a lawyer and her mother didnt have any certain job. Their family was very religous. Her father try to protect her from reading because he thought it would joggle her mind. They used their house as a meeting place for distinguished vistors. Even as a young girl she was intelligence and creative. In her college years she enjoyed singing and art. Poetry was first introduced to her by her brother's friend. In 1847 at the age of seventeen she lefted to attend Mount Holyoke Female Seminary. In 1862 she answered a call for poetry submission in Atlanic Monthly. That's when she started writing her poetry. As timed passed a lot of her loved one started to die. Her father suddenly died in 1874 but she still kept writing her poems at her desk. In 1878 her friend Samuel Bowles died. Another of her closed friend Charles Wadsworth died in 1882. A year later her brother's son died. During this time she got affected with Bright's Diease which is an illness in the kidney. She eventually died on May 15, 1886, at the age of 56. http://www.poemhunter.com/anne-bradstreet/biography/ http://www.biography.com/people/edgar-allan-poe-9443160 http://www.biography.com/people/langston-hughes-9346313











Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, splashless, as they swim. A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass. He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad,--
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet head Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home The Poem "A Bird Came Down There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul! The Poem "A Book"







The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He's Sunrise—and I see—
Therefore—Then—
I love Thee— "Why do I love" You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place. Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so— The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk— The Poem "Why do I Love You, Sir?" What does "An Apology" mean too me? Too me it sounds like a lot of time has passes, and it makes things harder for him/her to think straight. All because he/she need to apolgy to someone for something they did. What does "As Spring the Winter doth succeed" too me? Too me it sounded like she was praying for awhile. Then God finally answered her prayers. What does "A Valentine" mean too me? Too me its talking about love and that no matter what you need to stick together through tough times. Whens their is a problem you need to help each other to solve the situation. What does "Evening Star" mean to me? Too me its talking about someone that passed away, but she still feels like shes around. The evening star reminds her of the person that passed away. What does "A Bird Came Down" mean too me? Too me its talking about the natural behaviors of a bird when no one is looking. That its very precaution and fearful. Also they way he reacts to certain things around him. What does "A Book" mean too me? Too me its saying that there are no such things like a book. Books are like movies, it expands your imagination. To where some things cant happen in reality. Nothing can compare to what a book can hold inside it. What does "Why do I Love You, Sir?" mean too me? Too me its about her and this guy she likes. She cant be with him for strong reasons, but they have a bound in a way that words are not spoken. Society is a major reason why they cant be together, for what they may think. He forced her to be with him because he cant live without her. What does "50-50" mean too me? Too me its about a women who was with someone, but his leaving her now. He says that she needs to be smarter with certain things because she's dumb. She then says how she is being left alone. What does "Ardella" mean too me? Too me his comparing women to certain things. One of them was how women are like a spotless night. Which in other words the beauty that thye hold. He also says that women are all entracing. Which means their people that fill others with wonder and delight. She started writing her own poems. http://www.biographyonline.net/poets/emily_dickinson.html http://www.puritansermons.com/poetry/anne13.htm http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/abradstreet/bl-abradstreet-anapology.htm http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/as-spring-the-winter-doth-succeed/ http://www.heise.de/ix/raven/Literature/Lore/TheRaven.html http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-valentine/ http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-star/ http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-bird-came-down/ http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-book/ http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/why-do-i-love-you-sir/ http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/50-50/ http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-too/ http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ardella/
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