text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose
I wake: how happy they who wake no more!
Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave.
I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams
Tumultuous; where my wreck'd desponding thought,
From wave to wave of fancied misery,
At random drove, her helm of reason lost:
Though now restored, 'tis only change of pain,
(A bitter change!) severer for severe.
The Day too short for my distress; and Night,
E'en in the zenith of her dark domain,
Is sunshine to the colour of my fate.
(ll. 6-17, pp. 37 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 19:33:39 UTC,"""I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams / Tumultuous; where my wreck'd desponding thought, / From wave to wave of fancied misery, / At random drove, her helm of reason lost.""",2013-06-05 19:33:39 UTC,Night The First,"",,"","",Reading,20385,7399
"How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful is man!
How passing wonder He who made him such!
Who centred in our make such strange extremes!
From different natures marvellously mix'd,
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam ethereal, sullied and absorb'd!
Though sullied and dishonour'd, still divine!
Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
Helpless immortal! insect infinite !
A worm! a god!--I tremble at myself,
And in myself am lost! At home a stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast,
And wondering at her own. How reason reels!
O what a miracle to man is man,
Triumphantly distress'd! what joy! what dread!
Alternately transported and alarm'd!
What can preserve my life? or what destroy?
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave;
Legions of angels can't confine me there.
(ll. 68-90, pp. 38-9 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 19:35:05 UTC,"""At home a stranger, / Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, / And wondering at her own.""",2013-06-05 19:35:05 UTC,Night the First,"",,Inhabitants,"",Reading,20386,7399
"'Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof:
While o'er my limbs Sleep's soft dominion spread,
What though my soul fantastic measures trod
O'er fairy fields; or mourn'd along the gloom
Of pathless woods; or, down the craggy steep
Hurl'd headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool;
Or scaled the cliff; or danced on hollow winds,
With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain?
Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature
Of subtler essence than the trodden clod;
Active, aƫrial, towering, unconfined,
Unfetter'd with her gross companion's fall.
E'en silent Night proclaims my soul immortal:
E'en silent Night proclaims eternal day.
For human weal, Heaven husbands all events;
Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain.
(ll. 91-106, p. 39 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 19:37:37 UTC,"""While o'er my limbs Sleep's soft dominion spread, / What though my soul fantastic measures trod / O'er fairy fields; or mourn'd along the gloom / Of pathless woods; or, down the craggy steep / Hurl'd headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool; / Or scaled the cliff; or danced on hollow winds, / With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain?""",2013-06-05 19:37:37 UTC,Night the First,"",,Inhabitants,"",Reading,20387,7399
"Yet man (fool man!) here buries all his thoughts;
Inters celestial hopes without one sigh;
Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon,
Here pinions all his wishes; wing'd by Heaven
To fly at infinite; and reach it there
Where seraphs gather immortality,
On life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God.
What golden joys ambrosial clustering glow
In His full beam, and ripen for the just,
Where momentary ages are no more!
Where Time, and Pain, and Chance, and Death expire!
And is it in the flight of threescore years
To push eternity from human thought,
And smother souls immortal in the dust?
A soul immortal, spending all her fires,
Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness,
Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarm'd,
At aught this scene can threaten, or indulge,
Resembles ocean into tempest wrought,
To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
(ll. 135-154, pp. 40-1 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 19:39:05 UTC,"""Yet man (fool man!) here buries all his thoughts; / Inters celestial hopes without one sigh.""",2013-06-05 19:39:05 UTC,Night the First,"",,"","",Reading,20388,7399
"Yet man (fool man!) here buries all his thoughts;
Inters celestial hopes without one sigh;
Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon,
Here pinions all his wishes; wing'd by Heaven
To fly at infinite; and reach it there
Where seraphs gather immortality,
On life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God.
What golden joys ambrosial clustering glow
In His full beam, and ripen for the just,
Where momentary ages are no more!
Where Time, and Pain, and Chance, and Death expire!
And is it in the flight of threescore years
To push eternity from human thought,
And smother souls immortal in the dust?
A soul immortal, spending all her fires,
Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness,
Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarm'd,
At aught this scene can threaten, or indulge,
Resembles ocean into tempest wrought,
To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
(ll. 135-154, pp. 40-1 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 19:41:01 UTC,"""A soul immortal, spending all her fires, / Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, / Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarm'd, / At aught this scene can threaten, or indulge, / Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, / To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.""",2013-06-05 19:41:01 UTC,Night the First,"",,"","",Reading,20389,7399
"A languid, leaden iteration reigns,
And ever must, o'er those whose joys are joys
Of sight, smell, taste; the cuckoo-seasons sing
The same dull note to such as nothing prize
But what those seasons, from the teeming earth,
To doting sense indulge. But nobler minds,
Which relish fruits unripen'd by the sun,
Make their days various; various as the dyes
On the dove's neck, which wanton in his rays.
On minds of dove-like innocence possess'd,
On lighten'd minds, that bask in Virtue's beams,
Nothing hangs tedious; nothing old revolves
In that for which they long, for which they live.
Their glorious efforts, wing'd with heavenly hope,
Each rising morning sees still higher rise;
Each bounteous dawn its novelty presents,
To worth maturing, new strength, lustre, fame;
While Nature's circle, like a chariot-wheel
Rolling beneath their elevated aims,
Makes their fair prospect fairer every hour;
Advancing virtue in a line to bliss;
Virtue, which Christian motives best inspire!
And bliss, which Christian schemes alone insure!
(ll. 373-395, pp. 82-3 in CUP edition)",2013-06-06 14:13:11 UTC,"""On minds of dove-like innocence possess'd, / On lighten'd minds, that bask in Virtue's beams, / Nothing hangs tedious; nothing old revolves / In that for which they long, for which they live.""",2013-06-06 14:13:11 UTC,Night the Third,"",,Animals,"",Reading,20427,7401
"Life makes the soul dependent on the dust;
Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres.
Through chinks, styled organs, dim Life peeps at light;
Death bursts the' involving cloud, and all is day;
All eye, all ear, the disembodied power.
Death has feign'd evils Nature shall not feel
Life, ills substantial, Wisdom cannot shun.
Is not the mighty mind, that son of heaven,
By tyrant Life dethroned, imprison'd, pain'd?
By Death enlarged, ennobled, deified?
Death but entombs the body; Life, the soul.
(ll. 448-458, pp. 84-5)",2013-06-06 14:14:29 UTC,"""Life makes the soul dependent on the dust; / Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres.""",2013-06-06 14:14:13 UTC,Night the Third,"",,Animals,"",Reading,20428,7401
"Life makes the soul dependent on the dust;
Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres.
Through chinks, styled organs, dim Life peeps at light;
Death bursts the' involving cloud, and all is day;
All eye, all ear, the disembodied power.
Death has feign'd evils Nature shall not feel
Life, ills substantial, Wisdom cannot shun.
Is not the mighty mind, that son of heaven,
By tyrant Life dethroned, imprison'd, pain'd?
By Death enlarged, ennobled, deified?
Death but entombs the body; Life, the soul.
(ll. 448-458, pp. 84-5)",2013-06-06 14:17:35 UTC,"""Through chinks, styled organs, dim Life peeps at light; / Death bursts the' involving cloud, and all is day; / All eye, all ear, the disembodied power.""",2013-06-06 14:17:13 UTC,Night the Third,"",,Eye,"",Reading,20429,7401
"Life makes the soul dependent on the dust;
Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres.
Through chinks, styled organs, dim Life peeps at light;
Death bursts the' involving cloud, and all is day;
All eye, all ear, the disembodied power.
Death has feign'd evils Nature shall not feel
Life, ills substantial, Wisdom cannot shun.
Is not the mighty mind, that son of heaven,
By tyrant Life dethroned, imprison'd, pain'd?
By Death enlarged, ennobled, deified?
Death but entombs the body; Life, the soul.
(ll. 448-458, pp. 84-5)",2013-06-06 14:20:45 UTC,"""Is not the mighty mind, that son of heaven, / By tyrant Life dethroned, imprison'd, pain'd? / By Death enlarged, ennobled, deified? / Death but entombs the body; Life, the soul.""",2013-06-06 14:19:19 UTC,Night the Third,"",,Rooms and Throne,"",Reading,20430,7401
"Then welcome, Death, thy dreaded harbingers,
Age and Disease: Disease, though long my guest,--
That plucks my nerves, those tender strings of life;
Which, pluck'd a little more, will toll the bell
That calls my few friends to my funeral;
Where feeble Nature drops, perhaps, a tear,
While Reason and Religion, better taught,
Congratulate the dead, and crown his tomb
With wreath triumphant. Death is victory;
It binds in chains the raging ills of life:
Lust and Ambition, Wrath and Avarice,
Dragg'd at his chariot-wheel, applaud his power.
That ills corrosive, cares importunate,
Are not immortal too, O Death! is thine.
Our day of dissolution!--name it right;
'Tis our great pay-day; 'tis our harvest, rich
And ripe. What, though the sickle, sometimes keen,
Just scars us as we reap the golden grain?
More than thy balm, O Gilead, heals the wound.
Birth's feeble cry, and Death's deep dismal groan,
Are slender tributes low-tax'd Nature pays
For mighty gain: the gain of each, a life!
But O, the last the former so transcends,
Life dies, compared; Life lives beyond the grave.
(ll. 487-510, p. 85)",2013-06-06 14:22:05 UTC,"""Then welcome, Death, thy dreaded harbingers, / Age and Disease: Disease, though long my guest,-- / That plucks my nerves, those tender strings of life; / Which, pluck'd a little more, will toll the bell / That calls my few friends to my funeral.""",2013-06-06 14:22:05 UTC,Night the Third,"",,"","",Reading,20431,7401