Literature Lover

Meaning and Definition of Poetry: Poetry is a form of literary art that uses aesthetic qualities of language to evoke meanings. William Wordsworth describes poetry as "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings".  Carlyle: "Poetry is nothing but musical thought".  Kinds of Poetry: Functions and role of Poetry: Forms of Poetry: Lyric : Lyric is a short poem which expresses a single emotion. The most common emotion in lyric is love, grief, pain etc. It serves as its subjects. The poet reaches the emotional peak and then slowly comes down to his original mood. During the romantic period, nature as well as love became major subjects of Lyric. Example: Wordsworth's The Solitary Reape r   Sonnet : Sonnets were imported into England from Italy by Thomas Wyatt and Earl of Surrey. It is a short poem of 14 lines, expressing single thought or feeling. Italian sonnet has two divisions, the first eight lines are the octave and the last six are the sestet. Milt...

The Necklace Summary Matilda Loisel lives in an apartment with her husband M. Loisel. She is unhappy with her life because of shabby walls and old furniture of her apartment. She dreams of royal dinners but was given only homemade food. She is neither rich nor poor. She had to marry a clerk of the board of education. She also hates visiting her old friend Mme. Jeanne Forestier as she is a rich lady. One day when her husband returns home with an invitation to a party at the house of minister of public instruction. Matilda became angry and threw the card away. Her husband gave her 400 francs to buy a new dress that he had saved to buy a gun. After buying the dress she was sad because she did not have jewelry to make herself look more attractive. Her husband suggests that she can borrow jewelry from her friend. She selects a precious diamond necklace.  In the party all the men admired her as she was looking gorgeous in her new dress and jewelry. When they return home Matilda realize...

  To Marguerite By Matthew Arnold   Yes! in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live  alone. The islands feel the enclasping flow, And then their endless bounds they know.   But when the moon their hollows lights, And they are swept by balms of spring, And in their glens, on starry nights, The nightingales divinely sing; And lovely notes, from shore to shore, Across the sounds and channels pour—   Oh! then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent; For surely once, they feel, we were Parts of a single continent! Now round us spreads the watery plain— Oh might our marges meet again!   Who order'd, that their longing's fire Should be, as soon as kindled, cool'd? Who renders vain their deep desire?— A God, a God their severance ruled! And bade betwixt their shores to be The unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea.   ...

  My Last Duchess By Robert Browning      Ferrara That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said “Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not Her husband’s presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A he...

  Ode to the West Wind by P B Shelley I O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,   Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed   The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow   Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill:   Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!   II Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion, Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,   Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread On the blue surface of thine aëry surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the ...

  Ode to a Nightingale By John Keats   My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains          My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains          One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,          But being too happy in thine happiness,—                 That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees                         In some melodious plot          Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,                 Singest of summer in full-throated ease. ...