Literature Lover

Text of the Poem I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.

    Text of the Poem Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.   No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.   Will no one tell me what she sings?— Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?   Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;— I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted ...

Text of the Poem When I consider how my light is spent,    Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,    And that one Talent which is death to hide    Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present    My true account, lest he returning chide;    “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”    I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need    Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best    Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed    And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:    They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Text of the Poem Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.    

About the author: Eric Arthur Blair, known as George Orwell was (1903-1950) is a novelist, essayist and critic was born in Bengal, and educated in England. He served with the Indian Imperial Police in Burma from 1922 to 1927 but left this job to devote himself to literature. He considered himself a democratic socialist, but he hated totalitarianism and became more and more disillusioned with the aims and methods of Communism. His political satires, Animal Farm (1945) and Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949) are immensely popular. Orwell’s work Orwell was a prolific writer on topics related to contemporary English society and literary criticism, which the British newsweekly 'The Economist' in 2008 declared "perhaps the 20th century's best chronicler of English culture. His non-fiction cultural and political criticism constitutes the majority of his work, but Orwell also wrote in several genres of fictional literature. Orwell used his fiction as well as his journalism to d...

1.       1. Write a note on life and major works of Geoffrey Chaucer.        2.    Sketch the character of ‘Wife of Bath’ as per ‘The Prologue to The Canterbury Tales’. 3.     Sketch the character of ‘Pardoner’s tale’ as per ‘The Prologue to The Canterbury Tales’. 4.     Discuss the theme of imagination in the poem ‘Solitary Reaper’. 5.     Bring out the similes occurring in the poem ‘Our Casuarina Tree’. 6.     Describe the game which is being played in ‘Canto III’ of The Rape of the Lock. 7.     Discuss the central idea of the poem ‘Break, Break, Break’. 8.     Write a short not on life and major works of John Donne. 9.     Write the central theme of the Poem ‘Sita Tree’. 10. Discuss the nostalgic elements in the poetry of Toru Dutt. 11.   Discuss the central idea of the poem “On His Blindness”.        12. Write a short note on following terms: ...

Song 1 Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure.  This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. This little flute of a reed thou hast  carried over hills and dales, and has t  breathed through it melodies eternally new. At the immortal touch of thy hands my  little heart loses its limits in joy and gives  birth to utterance ineffable. Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. Song 2 When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.  All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony—and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the sea.  I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a singer I come before thy presence.  I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of ...

Text  Break, break, break,          On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter          The thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the fisherman's boy,          That he shouts with his sister at play! O, well for the sailor lad,          That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on          To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,          And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break          At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead          Will never come back to me. About Author A...

Phonetics Phonetics is the study of speech sounds which are concerned with the description and classification of these sounds on the basis of how they are produced by our vocal organs and how they are perceived by our hearing mechanism. There are 44 sounds in English. Vowel   Sounds: Short Vowels /ɪ / Sit, Hit,                                                  /e/   Went, intend, send, letter. /æ/   Cat, hand, nap, flat, have. /ʌ/ Fun, love, money, one, London, come. /ʊ /Put, look, should, cook, book, look. /ɒ / Rob, top, watch /ə/ Alive, again, mother. Long Vowels /i:/ Need, beat, team. /ɜ:/ Nurse, heard, third, turn. /ɔ:/ Talk, law, yawn, jaw. /u: /boot, lose, fool /ɑ:/ Fast, car, hard, bath Diphthongs :  Two vowel sound...

Last Ride Together I said---Then, dearest, since 'tis so, Since now at length my fate I know, Since nothing all my love avails, Since all, my life seemed meant for, fails, Since this was written and needs must be--- My whole heart rises up to bless Your name in pride and thankfulness! Take back the hope you gave,---I claim ---Only a memory of the same, ---And this beside, if you will not blame, Your leave for one more last ride with me. My mistress bent that brow of hers; Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs When pity would be softening through, Fixed me, a breathing-while or two, With life or death in the balance: right! The blood replenished me again; My last thought was at least not vain: I and my mistress, side by side Shall be together, breathe and ride, So, one day more am I deified. Who knows but the world may end tonight? Hush! if you saw some western cloud All billowy-bosomed, over-bowed By many benedictions---sun's And moon's and ev...