Poem comparison

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SELECTED POEMS

English 8—Dr. Nohrden

The Chimney Sweeper

From Songs of Innocense

by William Blake

When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved: so I said, "Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair." And so he was quiet; and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, - That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins of black. And by came an angel who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins and set them all free; Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run, And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind; And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his father, and never want joy. And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work. Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm; So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.

The Chimney Sweeper

from Songs of Experience

by William Blake

A little black thing in the snow, Crying "weep! weep!" in notes of woe! "Where are thy father and mother? Say!" "They are both gone up to the church to pray.

"Because I was happy upon the heath, And smiled among the winter's snow, They clothed me in the clothes of death, And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

"And because I am happy and dance and sing, They think they have done me no injury, And are gone to praise God and his priest and king, Who make up a heaven of our misery."

Sonnet 116

by William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

     If this be error and upon me proved,

     I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Approach of Winter

By William Carlos Williams

The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go or driven like hail stream bitterly out to one side and fall where the salvias, hard carmine-- like no leaf that ever was-- edge the bare garden.

You Asked

You asked

therefore I answered but you listened not

when I told you there was no dead dog by the back door

and the house was safe from lightening

and the children slept well

sniffling softly sleeping soundly upstairs above us

in their sleep sweet dreams

far from the door and any dead dog

and the weather whether hot whether weather cold

whether tossing under covers while their pillows fall

their dreams dream on

through the window see the storm

rage through the night

erasing shadows from the walk where we walk

where we’ve walked these years together

as our steps fade

as the children dream

as our steps fade

until they walk and we but dream once more

and I answer you not

I’ve Never Seen Quiet Martyrs

I’ve never seen quiet martyrs–

Not the kind that wear the garters–

They’re always screaming through the streets

About their sacrificial feats.

From dawn to dusk we hear their cries,

Battering us with moanful sighs.

They say they can commit no sin,

But their sin is this high-pitched din.

I wish they’d hide their verbal pride

And take the sins of man in stride.

And when their pious bitching stops,

I’d give them back their brooms and mops.

Untitled Poem

by Lu Xun

When the generals kill, Doctors have to save. After most are killed, A few escape the grave. It hardly makes the losses less, Alas.

White Satin

Perfumed air surrounds

this satin luxury

wrapping me in comfort

where I lie

exhausted

So fatigued by my last encounter

all energy spent

too tired to even breathe

I rest hard

Through my pillow’s softness

I hear her sobbing misery

beyond the flowers’

sweeter scent

but these satin sides

prevent my soothing hand

from reaching out

Ballad of the Green Berets

by SSgt. Barry Sadler

Fighting soldiers from the sky Fearless men who jump and die Men who mean just what they say The brave men of the Green Beret Silver wings upon their chest These are men, America's best One hundred men we'll test today But only three win the Green Beret Trained to live, off nature's land Trained in combat, hand to hand Men who fight by night and day Courage deep, from the Green Beret Silver wings upon their chest These are men, America's best One hundred men we'll test today But only three win the Green Beret Back at home a young wife waits Her Green Beret has met his fate He has died for those oppressed Leaving her this last request Put silver wings on my son's chest Make him one of America's best He'll be a man they'll test one day Have him win the Green Beret

I, Too, Sing America

by Langston Hughes

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes,

But I laugh,

And eat well,

And grow strong.

Tomorrow,

I'll be at the table

When company comes.

Nobody'll dare

Say to me,

"Eat in the kitchen,"

Then.

Besides,

They'll see how beautiful I am

And be ashamed--

I, too, am America.

The Road Not Taken

by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back

Of the wind and floats downstream

Till the current ends and dips his wing

In the orange suns rays

And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage

Can seldom see through his bars of rage

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied

So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill

Of things unknown but longed for still

And his tune is heard on the distant hill for

The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

And the trade winds soft through

The sighing trees

And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright

Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams

His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied

So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with

A fearful trill of things unknown

But longed for still and his

Tune is heard on the distant hill

For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Pied Beauty

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Glory be to God for dappled things—

For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;

Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;

And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

Praise him.

Love Sonnet XVII

by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from

where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or

pride;

So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

London, 1802

by William Wordsworth

Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:

England hath need of thee: she is a fen

Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,

Have forfeited their ancient English dower

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;

Oh! raise us up, return to us again;

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,

So didst thou travel on life's common way,

In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart

The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

The Six Strings

by Federico Garcia Lorca

The guitar

makes dreams weep.

The sobbing of lost

souls

escapes through its round

mouth.

And like the tarantula

it spins a large star

to trap the sighs

floating in its black,

wooden water tank.

A Traveler’s Song

by Meng Jiao

The thread in the hands of a fond-hearted mother

Makes clothes for the body of her wayward boy;

Carefully she sews and thoroughly she mends,

Dreading the delays that will keep him late from

home.

But how much love has the inch-long grass

For three spring months of the light of the sun?

The Red Wheelbarrow

By William Carlos Williams

so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens.