英 詩 中 的 聲 響 The Echoing Sound in English Poetry. 董 崇 選 中山醫大應用外語系教授 「懂更懂學習英文網站」負責人 網址： http://dgdel.nchu.edu.tw. The Four Creative Spaces of Poetry: 詩的 四個 創作空間. 1. Sense: 意義 “ The paths of glory lead but to the grave.” Gray , “Elegy” “To see a world in a grain of sand
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董 崇 選
1. Sense: 意義
“The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”
“To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower;
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.”
Blake, “To See a World...”
“One equal temper of heroic hearts
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”
fa (a leaf falls)
one (a le-af fa-ll-s)
iness e. e. cummings
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
foot (音步) & meter (韻律)
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
“Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies,
But keep your fancy free.”
But I was one-and-twenty
No use to talk to me.
Housman, “When ...”
“It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.”
Hopkins, “Spring and Fall: to a Young Child”
“For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.”
Poe, “Annabel Lee”
“It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.”
Whitman, “A Noiseless Patient Spider”
The watch-dogs bark!
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
“I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore.”
Yeats, “The Lake Isle of Innisfree”
“A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match.”
Browning, “Meeting at Night”
“He clasps the crag with crooked hands ...
...And like a thunderbolt, he falls.”
Tennyson, “The Eagle”
“I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
Swear by Thy self, that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now and heretofore;
And, having done that, Thou hast done;
I fear no more.
Donne, “Hymn to God the Father”
based on number of syllables, syllabic length, heavier or lighter pulses, even or non-even tones, etc.
Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting February alone,
And that has twenty-eight days clear
And twenty-nine in each leap year.
‘Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense:
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar;
When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw,
The line too labors, and the words move slow.
Pope, “Essay on Criticism”
No motion has she now, no force:
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth’s diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.
Wordsworth, “A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal”
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 odors plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere:
Destroyer and preserver: hear, oh, hear!
Shelley, “Ode to the West Wind”
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birdssing.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore;
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birdssing.
Keats, “La Belle Dame sans Merci”
“This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.”
In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon.
All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon;
And, like a downward smoke, the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.
Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar,
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
Then some one said, “we will returnno more”;
And all at once they sang, “Our island home
Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.”
Tennyson, “The Lotus Eaters”
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Arnold, “Dover Beach”
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
Andthen, prodigious, step
Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;
Andthena quarry pare
To fit its ribs,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down hill
And neigh like Boanerges;
Then,punctual as a star,
Stop—docile and omnipotent—
At its own stable door.
To make you hear. Your ears are soft and small
And listen to an old man not at all;
They want the young men’s whispering and sighing.
But see the roses on your trellis dying
And hear the spectral singing of the moon--
For I must have my lovely lady soon.
I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying.
--I am a lady young in beauty waiting
Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss.
But what gray man among the vines is this
Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream?
Back from my trellis, sir, before I scream!
I am a lady young in beauty waiting.
Ransom, “Piazza Piece”