work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
7399,"",Reading,2013-06-05 19:42:15 UTC,"Where falls this censure? It o'erwhelms myself.
How was my heart incrusted by the world!
O how self-fetter'd was my grovelling soul!
How, like a worm, was I wrapt round and round
In silken thought, which reptile Fancy spun,
Till darken'd Reason lay quite clouded o'er
With soft conceit of endless comfort here,
Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies!
(ll. 155-162, p. 41 in CUP edition)",,20390,"","""How was my heart incrusted by the world!""","",2013-06-05 19:42:15 UTC,Night the First
7399,"",Reading,2013-06-05 19:54:37 UTC,"And why? Because he thinks himself immortal.
All men think all men mortal but themselves;
Themselves, when some alarming shock of Fate
Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread.
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air,
Soon close; where pass'd the shaft, no trace is found.
As from the wing no scar the sky retains,
The parted wave no furrow from the keel,
So dies in human hearts the thought of death.
E'en with the tender tear which Nature sheds
O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave.
Can I forget Philander? That were strange.
O my full heart!--But should I give it vent,
The longest night, though longer far, would fail,
And the lark listen to my midnight song.
(ll. 423-437, pp. 47-8 in CUP edition)",,20396,"","""But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, / Soon close; where pass'd the shaft, no trace is found. / As from the wing no scar the sky retains, / The parted wave no furrow from the keel, / So dies in human hearts the thought of death.""",Animals,2013-06-11 14:45:55 UTC,Night the First
7401,"",Reading,2013-06-06 14:11:53 UTC,"Lorenzo! no; the thought of death indulge;
Give it its wholesome empire! let it reign,
That kind chastiser of thy soul in joy!
Its reign will spread thy glorious conquests far,
And still the tumults of thy ruffled breast:
Auspicious era! golden days, begin!
The thought of death shall, like a god, inspire.
And why not think on death? Is life the theme
Of every thought, and wish of every hour,
And song of every joy? Surprising truth!
The beaten spaniel's fondness not so strange.
To wave the numerous ills that seize on life
As their own property, their lawful prey;
Ere man has measured half his weary stage,
His luxuries have left him no reserve,
No maiden relishes, unbroach'd delights;
On cold-served repetitions he subsists,
And in the tasteless present chews the past;
Disgusted chews, and scarce can swallow down.
Like lavish ancestors, his earlier years
Have disinherited his future hours,
Which starve on orts, and glean their former field.
(ll. 303-324, p. 81)",,20426,"","""The thought of death shall, like a god, inspire.""","",2013-06-06 14:11:53 UTC,Night the Third
7401,"",Reading,2013-06-06 14:17:13 UTC,"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)",,20429,"","""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.""",Eye,2013-06-06 14:17:35 UTC,Night the Third
7402,"",Reading,2013-06-06 15:12:23 UTC,"Why start at Death? Where is he? Death arrived
Is past; not come, or gone, he's never here.
Ere hope, sensation fails; black-boding man
Receives, not suffers, Death's tremendous blow.
The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave;
The deep, damp vault, the darkness, and the worm:---
These are the bugbears of a winter's eve,
The terrors of the living, not the dead.
Imagination's fool, and Error's wretch,
Man makes a Death which Nature never made;
Then on the point of his own fancy falls,
And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
(ll. , p. 91 in CUP edition)",,20432,"","""Imagination's fool, and Error's wretch, / Man makes a Death which Nature never made; / Then on the point of his own fancy falls, / And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.""","",2013-06-06 15:12:23 UTC,Night the Fourth
7402,"",Reading,2013-06-06 15:16:32 UTC,"Though Nature's terrors thus may be repress'd,
Still frowns grim Death; guilt points the tyrant's spear.
And whence all human guilt? From Death forgot.
Ah me! too long I set at nought the swarm
Of friendly warnings which around me flew;
And smiled unsmitten. Small my cause to smile!
Death's admonitions, like shafts upwards shot,
More dreadful by delay,--the longer ere
They strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound.
O think how deep, Lorenzo! here it stings:
Who can appease its anguish? How it burns!
What hand the barb'd, envenom'd thought can draw?
What healing hand can pour the balm of peace,
And turn my sight undaunted on the tomb?
(ll. 152-165, p. 95 in CUP edition)",,20434,"","""Death's admonitions, like shafts upwards shot, / More dreadful by delay,--the longer ere / They strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound.""","",2013-06-06 15:19:22 UTC,Night the Fourth
7402,"",Reading,2013-06-06 15:18:50 UTC,"Though Nature's terrors thus may be repress'd,
Still frowns grim Death; guilt points the tyrant's spear.
And whence all human guilt? From Death forgot.
Ah me! too long I set at nought the swarm
Of friendly warnings which around me flew;
And smiled unsmitten. Small my cause to smile!
Death's admonitions, like shafts upwards shot,
More dreadful by delay,--the longer ere
They strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound.
O think how deep, Lorenzo! here it stings:
Who can appease its anguish? How it burns!
What hand the barb'd, envenom'd thought can draw?
What healing hand can pour the balm of peace,
And turn my sight undaunted on the tomb?
(ll. 152-165, p. 95 in CUP edition)",,20435,"NOT Necessarily an Animal metaphor? — Like a barbed, poisoned arrow?","""O think how deep, Lorenzo! here it stings: / Who can appease its anguish? How it burns! / What hand the barb'd, envenom'd thought can draw?""","",2013-06-06 15:19:08 UTC,Night the Fourth
7402,"",Reading,2013-06-06 15:30:56 UTC,"Fond as we are, and justly fond, of Faith,
Reason, we grant, demands our first regard;
The mother honour'd, as the daughter dear.
Reason the root, fair Faith is but the flower:
The fading flower shall die, but Reason lives
Immortal as her Father in the skies.
When Faith is virtue, Reason makes it so.
Wrong not the Christian: think not Reason yours;
'Tis Reason our great Master holds so dear;
'Tis Reason's injured rights His wrath resents;
'Tis Reason's voice obey'd His glories crown:
To give lost Reason life, He pour'd His own.
Believe, and show the reason of a man;
Believe, and taste the pleasure of a God;
Believe, and look with triumph on the tomb.
Through Reason's wounds alone thy Faith can die;
Which, dying, tenfold terror gives to Death,
And dips in venom his twice-mortal sting.
(ll. 748-765, p. 110 in CUP edition)",,20446,"","""'Tis Reason our great Master holds so dear; / 'Tis Reason's injured rights His wrath resents; / 'Tis Reason's voice obey'd His glories crown.""","",2013-06-06 15:30:56 UTC,Night the Fourth
7407,"",Reading,2013-06-10 19:40:10 UTC,"What awful joy! what mental liberty!
I am not pent in darkness: rather say,
(If not too bold,) in darkness I'm embower'd.
Delightful gloom! the clustering thoughts around
Spontaneous rise, and blossom in the shade;
But droop by day, and sicken in the sun.
Thought borrows light elsewhere; from that first fire,
Fountain of animation, whence descends
Urania, my celestial guest! who deigns
Nightly to visit me, so mean; and now,
Conscious how needful discipline to man,
From pleasing dalliance with the charms of Night,
My wandering thought recalls, to what excites
Far other beat of heart,--Narcissa's tomb!
(ll. 202-215, p. 122 in CUP edition)",,20482,"","""What awful joy! what mental liberty!""","",2013-06-10 19:40:10 UTC,Night the Fifth
7407,"",Reading,2013-06-10 20:05:43 UTC,"What grave prescribes the best? A friend's; and yet
From a friend's grave how soon we disengage!
E'en to the dearest, as his marble, cold.
Why are friends ravish'd from us? 'Tis to bind,
By soft Affection's ties, on human hearts,
The thought of death, which Reason, too supine,
Or misemploy'd, so rarely fastens there.
Nor Reason, nor Affection, no, nor both
Combined, can break the witchcrafts of the world.
Behold the' inexorable hour at hand!
Behold the' inexorable hour forgot!
And to forget it the chief aim of life,
Though well to ponder it is life's chief end.
(ll. 371-383, p. 126 in CUP edition)",,20495,"","""Why are friends ravish'd from us? 'Tis to bind, / By soft Affection's ties, on human hearts, / The thought of death, which Reason, too supine, / Or misemploy'd, so rarely fastens there.""",Inhabitants,2013-06-10 20:05:43 UTC,Night the Fifth