Themes Lovers as Microcosms Donne incorporates the Renaissance notion of the human body as a microcosm into his love poetry. During the Renaissance, many people believed that the microcosmic human body mirrored the macrocosmic physical world. According to this belief, the intellect governs the body, much like a king or queen governs the land. But rather than use the analogy to imply that the whole world can be compressed into a small space, Donne uses it to show how lovers become so enraptured with each other that they believe they are the only beings in existence.
Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips, with all their mournful pride, Mournful that no new wonder may betide, Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam, And Usna's children died.
We and the labouring world are passing by: Amid men's souls, that waver and give place Like the pale waters in their wintry race, Under the passing stars, foam of the sky, Lives on this lonely face. Before you were, or any hearts to beat, Weary and kind one lingered by His seat; He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet.
The Land of Faery, Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue. Lines 48—52 Life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age bring the red flare again.
I would mould a world of fire and dew With no one bitter, grave, or over wise, And nothing marred or old to do you wrong. Land of Heart's Desire, Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, But joy is wisdom, time an endless song. Lines — The Wind Among the Reeds [ edit ] I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.
And God stands winding His lonely horn, And time and the world are ever in flight; And love is less kind than the grey twilight, And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn.
I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun. Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with the golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams beneath your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
When I play on my fiddle in Dooney, Folk dance like a wave of the sea. In The Seven Woods [ edit ] Time can but make her beauty over again: Because of that great nobleness of hers The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs, Burns but more clearly.
Everything that's lovely is but a brief, dreamy, kind of delight. O my share of the world, O yellow hair! No one has ever loved but you and I. I have heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods Make their faint thunder, and the garden bees Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put away The unavailing outcries and the old bitterness That empty the heart.
I have forgot awhile Tara uprooted, and new commonness Upon the throne and crying about the streets And hanging its paper flowers from post to post, Because it is alone of all things happy. I am contented, for I know that Quiet Wanders laughing and eating her wild heart Among pigeons and bees, while that Great Archer, Who but awaits His house to shoot, still hands A cloudy quiver over Pairc-na-lee.
I thought of your beauty, and this arrow, Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow. There's no man may look upon her, no man, As when newly grown to be a woman, Tall and noble but with face and bosom Delicate in colour as apple blossom.
This beauty's kinder, yet for a reason I could weep that the old is out of season.Troubadour: Troubadour, lyric poet of southern France, northern Spain, and northern Italy, writing in the langue d’oc of Provence; the troubadours, flourished from the late 11th to the late 13th century.
Their social influence was unprecedented in the history of medieval poetry. Favoured at the courts, they. The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart..
Letter to Frederick J. Gregg (undated, Sligo, late summer, ) This melancholy London. I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually.
English literature - Shakespeare’s works: Above all other dramatists stands William Shakespeare, a supreme genius whom it is impossible to characterize briefly.
Shakespeare is unequaled as poet and intellect, but he remains elusive. His capacity for assimilation—what the poet John Keats called his “negative capability”—means that . The term metaphysical poets was coined by the critic Samuel Johnson to describe a loose group of 17th-century English poets whose work was characterized by the inventive use of conceits, and by a greater emphasis on the spoken rather than lyrical quality of their regardbouddhiste.com poets were not formally affiliated and few were highly regarded until .
Metaphysical poetry is a term applied to many poets who wrote in a rather difficult and abstract style during the 's. John Donne and Andrew Marvell are probably the best known of these poets. THE RENAISSANCE. A golden age of English literature commenced in and lasted until Malory's Le morte d'Arthur was among the first works to be printed by William Caxton, who introduced the printing press to England in