work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
6060,"","Searching ""soul"" and ""seal"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again ""window""",2005-04-19 00:00:00 UTC,"Oblivion horrible! to know no change;
Nor light from darkness! nor the human form,
The image of perfection infinite!
To fashion various phantoms of the brain,
By each amus'd, and yet by each deceiv'd!
To roll the aching eye, alas! in vain,
And still to find a melancholy blank
Of years, and months, and days, and ling'ring hours,
All dark alike, eternally obscure!
To such a wretch! whose brightest sense of bliss
Is but the shadow of a waking dream,
The sleep of death, with all its startling fears,
Must teem with prospects of Elysium!
For what is sleep, but temporary death;
Sealing up all the windows of the soul,
And binding ev'ry thought in torpid chains?
Yet, only for a time the spell controuls,
And soothing visions gild the transient gloom;
For every active faculty of mind
Springs from the numbing apathy of sleep
With renovated lustre and delight!
But he who knows one unenlighten'd void,
One dreary night, unbless'd with cheerful dreams,
Lives in the midst of Death; and, when he sleeps,
Feeds a perpetual solitude of woe,
Without one ray to dissipate its gloom.
(pp. 2-3 in 1793 ed., pp. 29-30 in 1806)",2011-05-23,16057,•I've included twice: Window and Fetters.,"""For what is sleep, but temporary death; / Sealing up all the windows of the soul, / And binding ev'ry thought in torpid chains?""",Fetters and Rooms,2011-07-19 19:39:34 UTC,""
5795,"","Reading; found again in G.J. Barker-Benfield's The Culture of Sensibility (Chicago and London: U of Chicago Press, 1996), 18, where the metaphor is wrongly attributed to Akenside. ",2012-08-16 14:27:51 UTC,"Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain,
Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain.
Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise!
Each stamps its image as the other flies.
Each, as the various avenues of sense
Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense,
Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art,
Control the latent fibres of the heart.
As studious Prospero's mysterious spell
Drew every subject-spirit to his cell;
Each, at thy call, advances or retires,
As judgment dictates or the scene inspires.
Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred source
Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course,
And thro' the frame invisibly convey
The subtle, quick vibrations as they play;
Man's little universe at once o'ercast,
At once illumined when the cloud is past.",,19923,REVISIT AND REREAD POEM. get the rest of these metaphors....,"""Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, / Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain.""",Rooms and Fetters,2012-08-16 14:27:51 UTC,""