The Indian Serenade
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Hath led me -- who knows how?
To thy chamber window, Sweet!
II.
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream --
The Champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart; --
As I must on thine,
Oh, belovèd as thou art!
III.
Oh lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast; --
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last.
Written early 1820.
Published 1822.
To his Coy Mistress
by Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
John Donne - Elegy XX: To His Mistress Going to Bed.
Come, madam, come, all rest my powers defy;
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glittering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopp'd there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now it is bed-time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th' hill's shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet, and show
The hairy diadems which on you do grow.
Off with your hose and shoes; then softly tread
In this love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
Revealed to men; thou, angel, bring'st with thee
A heaven-like Mahomet's paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these angels from an evil sprite;
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O, my America, my Newfoundland,
My kingdom, safest when with one man mann'd,
My mine of precious stones, my empery;
How am I blest in thus discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee;
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta's ball cast in men's views;
That, when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul might court that, not them.
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus array'd.
Themselves are only mystic books, which we
—Whom their imputed grace will dignify—
Must see reveal'd. Then, since that I may know,
As liberally as to thy midwife show
Thyself; cast all, yea, this white linen hence;
There is no penance due to innocence:
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then,
What needst thou have more covering than a man?
I had such an interesting conversation with ML and then today JG about these last two poems. JG could recite both from memory. He has an amazing recall. Sometimes during our working day it is great to stop and talk about other things.
JG is very well educated in literature and having asked him if he knew Andrew Marvell and him immediately reciting the poem, we discussed the oooh la la! The fun of it and the beautiful lines produced in the metaphysical discipline. It was then that JG talked about John Donne. He recited it then I found it and read it. It was again fun. And attempting to translate the meaning from metaphor after metaphor. I am so uneducated but beginning to be more acceptant that I may not have any education to any depths but I am grabbed by these things when I learn of their existence and then a desire for more knowledge is borne. At least I am inquisitive. I get frustrated with my memory however. I am sort of justifying myself here. Poo!
Anyway I have learnt that at a point in hi life, John Donne changed his lifestyle and adopted a more spiritual journey. Having been romping around the courts (my word romp as it reads like a British romp ha ha). Naughty courtier becomes spiritual. I wonder what it was that brought him to a point of desiring change?
Most people today make changes because the old way has stopped working. Erickson went as far as to say that it is a crisis or crises that brings about a desire to make changes. Of course the word crisis strikes alarm. It sounds very dramatic and even traumatic but crisis can be at any degree enough for someone to review their current behaviours, attitudes, beliefs and so on, enough to want to bring about change. Often people change the things around them but when that doesn't work eventually it is the internal things that need to change. Psychosocial identity. Fascinating. Anyway, John Donne made changes and his poetry altered with his new direction of course. From naughty romps to spiritual, life meaning poetry. But his metaphysical approach seems so very complicated. Apparently " John Donne - Elegy XX: To His Mistress Going to Bed." is one of the easiest to grasp the gist. JG recommended another to read but already I have forgotten the name.
Of course a knowledge of the language at the time and the ability to be able to reference issues at the time seems important. A very intellectual knowledge is required it seems to me.
I had to ask what "Until I labour, I in labour lie" means. JG suggested it was
associated with the labour of love - I interpreted this as arousal and desire. This man fighting his desire perhaps - or rather fighting to get his desire met. Off with her clothes!
And I think his envy for the busk is how the busk sits on her bottom and how he would wish to have his hands on her. Ha ha.
Let down her hair and remove her underwear her shoes and into bed.
Liking the white sheets to heavenly places? How beguiling an idea. Ha ha. I can sense the clean sheets and the fresh smell and how heavenly that can actually feel.
Goose pimples as they touch?
And my how he treasures the nakedness.
..."For laymen, are all women thus array'd." What does this mean? Inexperienced asking if all women are as wonderful as this woman?
Imputed grace will dignify - lovely lovely line (I want to practice grace and dignity more)
Anyway i like this line although not sure what he is saying - the grace ascribed to this woman - will dignify - who him or her?
I smiled at the naughtiness of this poem. It seemed more comical in way than Andrew Marvell. In that it seemed as if he was trying to beguile her without respect just wanting to have sex NOW! And conning her.
Donne seems beguiling but without hiding his truth somehow, not promising anything other than what it is.
Mmmm interesting.
Wish for someone else to read this and share their ideas. But I do not want to promote my Blog either.
It was fun anyway sharing both of these with learned people or one learning to be learned and the other properly learned in such matters - well thinks he is.
Bliss
XX
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Hath led me -- who knows how?
To thy chamber window, Sweet!
II.
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream --
The Champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart; --
As I must on thine,
Oh, belovèd as thou art!
III.
Oh lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast; --
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last.
Written early 1820.
Published 1822.
To his Coy Mistress
by Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
John Donne - Elegy XX: To His Mistress Going to Bed.
Come, madam, come, all rest my powers defy;
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glittering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopp'd there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now it is bed-time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th' hill's shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet, and show
The hairy diadems which on you do grow.
Off with your hose and shoes; then softly tread
In this love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
Revealed to men; thou, angel, bring'st with thee
A heaven-like Mahomet's paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these angels from an evil sprite;
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O, my America, my Newfoundland,
My kingdom, safest when with one man mann'd,
My mine of precious stones, my empery;
How am I blest in thus discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee;
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta's ball cast in men's views;
That, when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul might court that, not them.
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus array'd.
Themselves are only mystic books, which we
—Whom their imputed grace will dignify—
Must see reveal'd. Then, since that I may know,
As liberally as to thy midwife show
Thyself; cast all, yea, this white linen hence;
There is no penance due to innocence:
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then,
What needst thou have more covering than a man?
I had such an interesting conversation with ML and then today JG about these last two poems. JG could recite both from memory. He has an amazing recall. Sometimes during our working day it is great to stop and talk about other things.
JG is very well educated in literature and having asked him if he knew Andrew Marvell and him immediately reciting the poem, we discussed the oooh la la! The fun of it and the beautiful lines produced in the metaphysical discipline. It was then that JG talked about John Donne. He recited it then I found it and read it. It was again fun. And attempting to translate the meaning from metaphor after metaphor. I am so uneducated but beginning to be more acceptant that I may not have any education to any depths but I am grabbed by these things when I learn of their existence and then a desire for more knowledge is borne. At least I am inquisitive. I get frustrated with my memory however. I am sort of justifying myself here. Poo!
Anyway I have learnt that at a point in hi life, John Donne changed his lifestyle and adopted a more spiritual journey. Having been romping around the courts (my word romp as it reads like a British romp ha ha). Naughty courtier becomes spiritual. I wonder what it was that brought him to a point of desiring change?
Most people today make changes because the old way has stopped working. Erickson went as far as to say that it is a crisis or crises that brings about a desire to make changes. Of course the word crisis strikes alarm. It sounds very dramatic and even traumatic but crisis can be at any degree enough for someone to review their current behaviours, attitudes, beliefs and so on, enough to want to bring about change. Often people change the things around them but when that doesn't work eventually it is the internal things that need to change. Psychosocial identity. Fascinating. Anyway, John Donne made changes and his poetry altered with his new direction of course. From naughty romps to spiritual, life meaning poetry. But his metaphysical approach seems so very complicated. Apparently " John Donne - Elegy XX: To His Mistress Going to Bed." is one of the easiest to grasp the gist. JG recommended another to read but already I have forgotten the name.
Of course a knowledge of the language at the time and the ability to be able to reference issues at the time seems important. A very intellectual knowledge is required it seems to me.
I had to ask what "Until I labour, I in labour lie" means. JG suggested it was
associated with the labour of love - I interpreted this as arousal and desire. This man fighting his desire perhaps - or rather fighting to get his desire met. Off with her clothes!
And I think his envy for the busk is how the busk sits on her bottom and how he would wish to have his hands on her. Ha ha.
Let down her hair and remove her underwear her shoes and into bed.
Liking the white sheets to heavenly places? How beguiling an idea. Ha ha. I can sense the clean sheets and the fresh smell and how heavenly that can actually feel.
Goose pimples as they touch?
And my how he treasures the nakedness.
..."For laymen, are all women thus array'd." What does this mean? Inexperienced asking if all women are as wonderful as this woman?
Imputed grace will dignify - lovely lovely line (I want to practice grace and dignity more)
Anyway i like this line although not sure what he is saying - the grace ascribed to this woman - will dignify - who him or her?
I smiled at the naughtiness of this poem. It seemed more comical in way than Andrew Marvell. In that it seemed as if he was trying to beguile her without respect just wanting to have sex NOW! And conning her.
Donne seems beguiling but without hiding his truth somehow, not promising anything other than what it is.
Mmmm interesting.
Wish for someone else to read this and share their ideas. But I do not want to promote my Blog either.
It was fun anyway sharing both of these with learned people or one learning to be learned and the other properly learned in such matters - well thinks he is.
Bliss
XX
No comments:
Post a Comment