work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
4712,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2006-12-18 00:00:00 UTC,"Search each his own Breast first, read that with Care,
And mark if no one Crime be written There!
For Thou who, faulty, wrong'st another's Fame,
Howe'er so great and dignify'd thy Name,
The Muse shall drag thee forth to publick Shame;
Pluck the fair Feathers from thy Swan-skin Heart,
And shew thee black and guileful as thou art.",2009-07-31,12430,"•Fascinating: INTEREST, USE in ENTRY. A swan-skin heart is feathered white, balck beneath, I take it.
•I've included twice: Swan and Skin","""For Thou who, faulty, wrong'st another's Fame, / Howe'er so great and dignify'd thy Name, / The Muse shall drag thee forth to publick Shame; / Pluck the fair Feathers from thy Swan-skin Heart, / And shew thee black and guileful as thou art.""","",2009-09-14 19:36:58 UTC,""
7289,"","Searching ""dog"" and ""brain"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-07-03 18:56:04 UTC,"Dear Knight, how great a Drudge is he
Who wou'd excel in Poetry?
And yet how few have learnt the Art,
To inform the Head, or touch the Heart?
Some, with a dry and barren Brain,
Poor Rogues! like costive Lap-Dogs strain;
While others with a Flux of Wit,
The Reader and their Friends besh**t.
Wou'd you (Sir Knight) my Judgment know?
He still writes worst who writes so so.
In this the mighty Secret lies,
To Elevate, and to Surprize:
Thus far my Pen at random run,
The Fire was out, the Clock struck One.",,19851,"","""Some, with a dry and barren Brain, / Poor Rogues! like costive Lap-Dogs strain; / While others with a Flux of Wit, / The Reader and their Friends besh**t.""",Beasts,2012-07-03 18:56:04 UTC,""
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
7411,"",Reading,2013-06-12 19:20:01 UTC,"If so, what words are dark enough to draw
Thy picture true? The darkest are too fair.
Beneath what baleful planet, in what hour
Of desperation, by what Fury's aid,
In what infernal posture of the soul,
All hell invited, and all hell in joy
At such a birth, a birth so near of kin,
Did thy foul fancy whelp so black a scheme
Of hopes abortive, faculties half-blown,
And deities begun, reduced to dust?
(ll. 894-903, pp. 201-2 in CUP edition)",,20580,"","""Beneath what baleful planet, in what hour / Of desperation, by what Fury's aid, / In what infernal posture of the soul, / All hell invited, and all hell in joy / At such a birth, a birth so near of kin, / Did thy foul fancy whelp so black a scheme / Of hopes abortive, faculties half-blown, / And deities begun, reduced to dust?""",Animals,2013-06-12 19:20:01 UTC,Night the Seventh