Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening


Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

The Tyger by William Blake


Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

The Lamb by William Blake


         Little Lamb, who made thee?
         Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
         Little Lamb, who made thee?
         Dost thou know who made thee?

         Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,
         Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and he is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb.
We are called by his name.
         Little Lamb, God bless thee!
         Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Adrienne Rich’s Aunt Jennifer’s Tigers – finally makes sense


Aunt Jennifer’s tigers prance across a screen,

Bright topaz denizens of a world of green.

They do not fear the men beneath the tree;

They pace in sleek chivalric certainty.

As we will come to know later in the poem, Aunt Jennifer is a very mild woman who lacks self-confidence and is terrified of most things in her life.  She is seen designing a tapestry of tigers in a green forest. The tigers appear to prance around confidently, unafraid of the hunters hiding among the trees. They move around in elegance and certainty. ‘Chivalric’ symbolizes knightly bravery. Using astounding poetry, she describes the tigers as bright topaz denizens – ‘denizens’ meaning inhabitants. The world of green is their home – the forest. A beautiful contrast of colors is sprung. The tigers wander through the forests with a grace that everything around them belongs to them. This gives them a dignity that makes them unafraid of man.

Aunt Jennifer’s fingers fluttering through her wool

Find even the ivory needle hard to pull.

The massive weight of Uncle’s wedding band

Sits heavily upon Aunt Jennifer’s hand.

Aunt Jennifer, as we will see in the last paragraph, is a woman, who is terrified of the marital ordeals in her life. Hence, the wedding band appears to be weighing her down. She appears to be bound to social and marital obligations and the wedding band appears more of a restraint than a symbol of love or joy or freedom. She seems to have lost her freedom of expression in her marriage, and therefore expresses herself through the only way she knows – her art of designing tapestries. Being the mild woman she is, she wishes to channelize her desire of becoming that bold woman who stands up for herself. This she does, by creating tigers who are entirely opposite in nature to herself. Whilst she is terrified of everything in life, the tigers are bold and strong and do not fear anything. Whilst she is meek and unable to express herself, the tigers are elegant and pace with assured certainty. Why, Aunt Jennifer seems frightened even in the making of these bold, elegant beasts! This is seen in the fact that her fingers tremble in pulling the light, weightless ivory needle.

With creativity, it can be seen that like a ringed-in animal at a circus with no freedom, Aunt Jennifer appeared to be ringed in (with her wedding band) with no freedom.

When Aunt is dead, her terrified hands will lie

Still ringed with ordeals she was mastered by.

The tigers in the panel that she made

Will go prancing, proud and unafraid.

The poet has smartly used a synecdoche in which Aunt Jennifer’s hands represent her whole being.

The poet does not show if she sympathizes with Aunt Jennifer or not. This paragraph vaguely indicates that the poet may have expected better from Aunt Jennifer. She might have stood up for herself more and freed herself from all social, marital obligations and restraints. It might be too late; it might not – but when aunt is dead, she will still be imprisoned in her restraints. There will be no freedom for her, even in death. However the tigers that she has crafted will continue to prance around their home – the forest – bold, proud and unafraid.

John Keats’ A thing of Beauty – finally makes sense


A thing of beauty is a joy forever

Its loveliness increases, it will never

Pass into nothingness; but will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Very simply put, yet poetic, Keats describes a thing of beauty as emanating joy forever. Its beauty only increases and it will never cease. The benefits proffered by a thing of beauty are listed as giving sound rest with good dreams and well-being.

Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing

A flowery band to bind us to the earth,

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth

Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,

Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways

Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,

Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits…

The earth minus the beautiful things is a despondent, spiteful place thriving in callous insensitive dearth and is harsh toward human beings. Every day human beings face gloomy days packed with unhealthy spite and darkness. However, in spite of all, a thing of beauty helps remove the dark cloud that burdens our souls. Hence, the poet says that we – human beings – each day create an ornate band, made of all the lovely things we see. This band keeps us bound to the despondent earth – as we would otherwise be hopeless.

… Such the sun, the moon,

Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon

For simple sheep; and such are daffodils

With the green world they live in; and clear rills

That for themselves a cooling covert make

‘Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,

Rich with a sparkling of fair musk-rose blooms;

And such too is the grandeur of the dooms

We have imagined for the mighty dead;

All lovely tales that we have heard or read;

An endless fountain of immortal drink,

Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.

This closing paragraph simply tells us some of the beautiful things on Earth. After all, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder – Everyone can highlight something beautiful in anything. The examples cited by the poet are as such: the sun, the moon, trees, flowers, streams, musk-rose blooms, architectural sepulchers, even fairy tales or heroic legends. The ‘simple sheep’ are human beings – the poet sympathizes with the innocence of human beings. Keats sees the beauty in innocent humans seeking solace in nature, and Mother Nature in its own way sprouts a shady abode of relief and consolation. The expression ‘Lily of the valley’ is quite well known and rouses images of a delicate lone white flower holding up its head amidst a setting of thorns and barbs and everything contrary in nature to delicateness – so too are the daffodils mentioned in the poem.

The poet also sees beauty in the death of martyrs and legends. ‘The mighty dead’ are those martyrs who have died bravely for a cause. We honor them by erecting magnificent, grand sepulchers in which beauty is seen. If one looks around, there are innumerable beautiful things to notice – they seem to flow immortally as a fountain, from the gods above to help the pitiable human beings to cope with the harshness of life.

Robert Frost’s A Roadside Stand – finally makes sense!


The little old house was out with a little new shed

In front at the edge of the road where the traffic sped,

A roadside stand that too pathetically pled,

It would not be fair to say for a dole of bread,

But for some of the money, the cash, whose flow supports

The flower of cities from sinking and withering faint.

 The poem presents an old house where a peasant family probably lives. The peasant has put up a new shed beside the road. The shed has been personified (personification) to plead. The poet, however, stresses that it does not plead for bread or the basic amenities of life i.e. the peasant has not set up the shed as a means of living but rather as a source of additional income apart from his trade. The peasants who live in the countryside yearn for some city money. Note that there is no difference between the money in the countryside and money in the cities – the only difference being their usage. While money in the countryside was fit only for a hand-to mouth lifestyle, the city money, in excess, could bring in luxurious benefits. In the poem, Frost artfully describes the city money as the incentive for the growth and upkeep of the city’s flowers and beauty.

The polished traffic passed with a mind ahead,

Or if ever aside a moment, then out of sorts

At having the landscape marred with the artless paint

Of signs that with N turned wrong and S turned wrong

Offered for sale wild berries in wooden quarts,

Or crook-necked golden squash with silver warts,

Or beauty rest in a beautiful mountain scene,

The polished traffic is the skillful use of a transferred epithet in the depiction of the urban city-dwellers who passed through the countryside with their minds preoccupied in their profession and the related.  The poet states that in their preoccupation, if ever aside remained a moment, they spent it on scrutinizing and judging the destitution of their surroundings. They appear mad at having the beauty of the landscape marred by the presence of the shed and other rustic signs. The poet goes on to mention a few of the produce being sold at the shed.

You have the money, but if you want to be mean,

Why keep your money (this crossly) and go along.

The hurt to the scenery wouldn’t be my complaint

So much as the trusting sorrow of what is unsaid:

Here far from the city we make our roadside stand

And ask for some city money to feel in hand

To try if it will not make our being expand,

And give us the life of the moving-pictures’ promise

That the party in power is said to be keeping from us.

The paragraph is a Dramatic Monologue by the peasant in charge of the shed. The peasant agrees that money indeed belongs to the city dwellers, however, if they were interested in imparting biased judgment and other uninvited observations, they could keep their money to themselves and move along. Their complaint on the marred scenery does not hurt the peasants as much as the sorrow that is left unsaid. ‘Trusting Sorrow’ is a metaphor and refers to the fact that the peasants set up the shed in the hopes (‘trusting’) of attracting city folk to buy their produce, thus providing the additional income to enjoy the luxuries of life. However, they are disappointed (‘sorrow’) in the fact that no one is interested in their sales, but rather on the elimination of the shed that mars the landscape. Once again, the poet stresses on the fact that the peasants do not want the money as the lone source of income but as an additional allowance that will provide them with the lifestyle depicted in the movies. ‘City Money’ is used by the poet as it differs from country money in usage but shares the same source. Using light satire, Frost admonishes the political party in power for keeping the farmers from enjoying an equal lifestyle like the city-dwellers.

It is in the news that all these pitiful kin

Are to be bought out and mercifully gathered in

To live in villages, next to the theatre and the store,

Where they won’t have to think for themselves anymore,

While greedy good-doers, beneficent beasts of prey,

Swarm over their lives enforcing benefits

That are calculated to soothe them out of their wits,

And by teaching them how to sleep they sleep all day,

Destroy their sleeping at night the ancient way.

Farmers tend to live in rustic areas due to the presence of farmlands. The idea behind the paragraph is that real-estate brokers force farmers from the villages into towns promising them riches and benefits. The farmers will indeed be rich for a while after which they will be left scoundrels ultimately resulting in the benefit of the brokers. ‘Greedy good-doers’ and ‘beneficent beasts of prey’ are both oxymoron (and great use of alliteration). They stand for the estate brokers who try to make the farmers leave the land by promising the farmers benefits that make them complacent, so the farmers will not have to think for themselves any longer as they will no longer be in want. Now sluggish, the farmers have learnt to sleep all the day thereby losing their sleep at night. ‘The ancient way’ spoken of over here simply refers to the lifestyle wherein one works and toils during the day, coming home tired in the evening and thereby taking a well-deserved good night’s rest.

Sometimes I feel myself I can hardly bear

The thought of so much childish longing in vain,

The sadness that lurks near the open window there,

That waits all day in almost open prayer

For the squeal of brakes, the sound of a stopping car,

Of all the thousand selfish cars that pass,

Just one to inquire what a farmer’s prices are.

And one did stop, but only to plow up grass

In using the yard to back and turn around;

And another to ask the way to where it was bound;

Using the terms ‘childish longing’ the poet skillfully demonstrates how the wish for a customer becomes almost an obsession with these peasants. However, it still is in vain. Sadness here has been personified again, as lurking near the open window, almost praying for a city-dweller stop by the shed and at least inquire on farmer’s prices, let alone purchase anything! Citing an example, Frost says that a car indeed stopped by, but it had nothing to do with the shed. It merely revved up its engine, plowing up grass in order to turn around. Yet another car did stop, but only to ask for directions. ‘Selfish cars’ is yet another skillful use of a transferred epithet.

And another to ask could they sell it a gallon of gas

They couldn’t (this crossly); they had none, didn’t it see?

Another car stopped by to ask for a gallon of gas. Now enraged at the thoughtlessness of the city-folk, the peasant rebukes the driver, “No, we don’t sell gas! We sell produce – Don’t you see??”

No, in country money, the country scale of gain,

The requisite lift of spirit has never been found,

Or so the voice of the country seems to complain,

I can’t help owning the great relief it would be

To put these people at one stroke out of their pain.

And then next day as I come back to sane,

I wonder how I should like you to come to me

And offer to put me gently out of my pain.

Once again the poet wishes to draw a fine line between the city money and country money. The country scale of gain is different from that of the city’s as its standards are much lower. Due to these low standards, the country scale of gain cannot provide the happiness (lift of spirit) as they earn just enough to meet their daily needs. This urges the poet to wish that he could put the farmers out of their pain at one stroke. This somehow inspires readers to do so too by augmenting guilt. This poem is a rage that the poet feels wherein he himself empathizes with the peasant farmer. However, he also wonders for the future wondering how he would respond if someone else comes up to him and offers to put him out of his pain at one stroke, tomorrow, once he has steadied himself back to sane. By this, he wonders about the efficiency of such kind of a solution as the farmers may not accept such immediate relief from their problems.

Arthur Phillips


The Tragedy of Arthur >> Arthur Phillips

Arthur’s talented (and unreliable) father is a con artist. He gifts Arthur and his twin an undiscovered play written by Shakespeare, which he wants published by Random House. Apart from the gripping lives of the two Arthurs – the novelist and the king – there also is a literary treat: Arthur Phillips has written a ‘new’ Shakespearean play, that Shakespeare experts have claimed as being amazingly similar to Shakespeare’s works. This faux play is appended to the end of the novel and is worth the read in every way.

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