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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYHSH46eip7ImA9WhRbFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889</id><updated>2012-02-06T14:42:19.012-08:00</updated><category term="The Deserted Village: Oliver Goldsmith" /><category term="Nonne Preestes Tale:Scheme of the Tale:" /><category term="The Rape of the Lock" /><category term="Dejection: an Ode" /><category term="Bishop Orders His Tomb at St.Praxed’s Church" /><category term="Adam's Curse" /><category term="Kubla Khan" /><category term="The Good-Morrow" /><category term="and faine in verse my love to show" /><category term="Porphyria’s lover" /><category term="Hyperion" /><category term="The Ecstasy" /><category term="sordello:overview" /><category term="An Acre of Grass" /><category term="She walks in Beauty" /><category term="A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day" /><category term="The Tyger (The Tiger)" /><category term="Sordello" /><category term="Canonization" /><category term="The Waste Land" /><category term="Nonne Preestes Tale" /><category term="Tintern Abbey" /><category term="Loving in truth" /><category term="Sylvia Plath: Life 'n' Works" /><category term="Milton’s Lycidas: Occasion" /><category term="To His Coy Mistress" /><title>Great Poems</title><subtitle type="html">A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day 
Adam's Curse  
Dejection: an Ode  
Kubla Khan  
Porphyria’s lover,Tintern Abbey, Oliver Goldsmith: The Deserted Village  
Sordello  
Sylvia Plath: Life 'n' Works 
The Ecstasy  
The Good-Morrow 
The Waste Land 
To His Coy Mistress</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>27</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/wVBw" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/wvbw" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkQDQng5fip7ImA9Wx9bEE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-2915321644886022271</id><published>2011-02-18T01:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-18T01:12:53.626-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-18T01:12:53.626-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Tintern Abbey" /><title>Tintern Abbey</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/2915321644886022271/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=2915321644886022271" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/2915321644886022271?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/2915321644886022271?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/_Xi5PIiA_nc/tintern-abbey.html" title="Tintern Abbey" /><author><name>rs</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07807010563049696253</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Tintern Abbey
William Wordsworth
FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur. -- Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jtZea3aNAAIkyB7pl0pacvQqKFE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jtZea3aNAAIkyB7pl0pacvQqKFE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jtZea3aNAAIkyB7pl0pacvQqKFE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jtZea3aNAAIkyB7pl0pacvQqKFE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2011/02/tintern-abbey.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEIHQHY8fSp7ImA9WxVWF0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-7707274683708710369</id><published>2009-02-27T09:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T09:42:11.875-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-02-27T09:42:11.875-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Loving in truth" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="and faine in verse my love to show" /><title>Loving in truth, and faine in verse my love to show,: Sir Philip Sidney</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/7707274683708710369/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=7707274683708710369" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/7707274683708710369?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/7707274683708710369?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/TNJrbk_GMz4/loving-in-truth-and-faine-in-verse-my.html" title="Loving in truth, and faine in verse my love to show,: Sir Philip Sidney" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Loving in truth, and faine in verse my love to show,That she, dear She, might take some pleasure of my pain,Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe;Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,Oft turning others’ leaves, to see if thence would flowSome fresh and fruitful 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VPqyPZeucT8CfPWGpFnFAEamet0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VPqyPZeucT8CfPWGpFnFAEamet0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VPqyPZeucT8CfPWGpFnFAEamet0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VPqyPZeucT8CfPWGpFnFAEamet0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2009/02/loving-in-truth-and-faine-in-verse-my.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YNRHw_fip7ImA9WxRaFko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-8560436297629943232</id><published>2008-12-13T22:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T23:19:55.246-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-18T23:19:55.246-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Canonization" /><title>The Canonization by John Donne</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/8560436297629943232/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=8560436297629943232" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/8560436297629943232?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/8560436297629943232?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/SxO5Hpq5pO8/canonization-by-john-donne.html" title="The Canonization by John Donne" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">In the opening line of “Canonization” – “ For God sake hold your tongue, and let me love” the poet urge not to be disturbed by an outsider’s speech in his act of love, the poet asks the intruder to keep quiet. He suggest a few alternatives for the intruder in ‘canonization’. He wants to speak then he can chide the poet’s palsy, gout, five gray hairs of ruined fortune, or the intruder can also do 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DLpmZ6SwD-x-q7ee6fp4mfjHZ9g/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DLpmZ6SwD-x-q7ee6fp4mfjHZ9g/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DLpmZ6SwD-x-q7ee6fp4mfjHZ9g/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DLpmZ6SwD-x-q7ee6fp4mfjHZ9g/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2008/12/canonization-by-john-donne.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUABQHs6cSp7ImA9WBFVE0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-2385122837829663893</id><published>2008-10-31T09:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-12T00:42:31.519-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-04-12T00:42:31.519-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Kubla Khan" /><title>Kubla Khan: S.T. Colridge</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/2385122837829663893/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=2385122837829663893" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/2385122837829663893?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/2385122837829663893?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/DOl23dC1AYg/kubla-khan-st-colridge.html" title="Kubla Khan: S.T. Colridge" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>5</thr:total><content type="html">Kubla Khan is the masterpiece of S.T. Colridge. ‘Kubla Khan’ was written in 1798 and published in 1816. In the introduction of ‘Kubla Khan’ the circumstances have been discussed that prompted to write the poem:‘In the summer of the year 1797, the author, then in ill health and retired to a lonely farm-house between Porlock and Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/TgABtkRrr49L64nyB8yD8dAlh2c/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/TgABtkRrr49L64nyB8yD8dAlh2c/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/TgABtkRrr49L64nyB8yD8dAlh2c/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/TgABtkRrr49L64nyB8yD8dAlh2c/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/10/kubla-khan-st-colridge.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEBSH07cCp7ImA9WxdQFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-8209899845515524990</id><published>2008-06-15T18:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T18:44:19.308-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-06-15T18:44:19.308-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="The Rape of the Lock" /><title>The Rape of the Lock: Pope</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/8209899845515524990/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=8209899845515524990" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/8209899845515524990?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/8209899845515524990?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/jAdlm9ksgK0/rape-of-lock-pope.html" title="The Rape of the Lock: Pope" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">The Rape of the Lock is the masterpiece of Alexander Pope. It is not merely a classic among the mock epics. It is a great satire too. The Rape of the Lock is a triumph of Pope’s poetic genius. Pope was a neo-classicist and wrote the unique mock-heroic poem the “The Rape of the Lock” when he was twenty-three. The poem was first published in 1712. In 1714 Pope elaborated it to five Cantos by 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ss9IeqHotCGe7CB6Nu13q6Aa5CA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ss9IeqHotCGe7CB6Nu13q6Aa5CA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ss9IeqHotCGe7CB6Nu13q6Aa5CA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ss9IeqHotCGe7CB6Nu13q6Aa5CA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2008/06/rape-of-lock-pope.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cAQn86fyp7ImA9WxZQE0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-3721374872182081289</id><published>2008-02-18T07:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T07:37:23.117-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-02-18T07:37:23.117-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Hyperion" /><title>Hyperion: A Fragment- Summary</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/3721374872182081289/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=3721374872182081289" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/3721374872182081289?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/3721374872182081289?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/6wR4SQ8uVEw/hyperion-fragment-summary.html" title="Hyperion: A Fragment- Summary" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Hyperion: A fragment is the masterpiece of John Keats. The poem is usually called as Hyperion. Hyperion is in blank verse. It is in unrhyming iambic pentameter lines. Hyperion narrates the war between two groups of gods, the Titans and the Olympians. The Olympians have defeated the Titans. The absolute ruler of the Titans, Saturn, is sadly sitting alone like a stone. There is no stir in the air. 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dTdcXr3o_tiXIsxM-KiUjODgRvM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dTdcXr3o_tiXIsxM-KiUjODgRvM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dTdcXr3o_tiXIsxM-KiUjODgRvM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dTdcXr3o_tiXIsxM-KiUjODgRvM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2008/02/hyperion-fragment-summary.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUESXs_fyp7ImA9WBBbE0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-5463024885642668700</id><published>2007-01-09T09:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-09T09:20:08.547-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-01-09T09:20:08.547-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="The Deserted Village: Oliver Goldsmith" /><title>The Deserted Village: Oliver Goldsmith</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/5463024885642668700/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=5463024885642668700" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/5463024885642668700?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/5463024885642668700?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/8rHiyaG4rC0/deserted-village-oliver-goldsmith.html" title="The Deserted Village: Oliver Goldsmith" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">The Deserted Village: Oliver GoldsmithThe Deserted Village is the masterpiece of Oliver Goldsmith(1728-1774). The poem was first published on 26th May 1770. The strong infusion of personal feeling suggests that Auburn may have been the Irish village of Lissoy of Goldsmith’s child hood.In the poem ‘The Deserted Village’ Oliver Goldsmith portrays the simple rustic life and happiness. He is 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VXtJBiiIqm9H9Nyvtxgp9SwD9-A/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VXtJBiiIqm9H9Nyvtxgp9SwD9-A/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VXtJBiiIqm9H9Nyvtxgp9SwD9-A/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VXtJBiiIqm9H9Nyvtxgp9SwD9-A/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2007/01/deserted-village-oliver-goldsmith.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUAASH45eCp7ImA9WBBUFEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-5037558003704218596</id><published>2006-12-29T09:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-29T09:35:49.020-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-12-29T09:35:49.020-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Tintern Abbey" /><title>Lines Composed A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey: William Wordsworth</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/5037558003704218596/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=5037558003704218596" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/5037558003704218596?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/5037558003704218596?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/-dCHKaTjRc4/lines-composed-few-miles-above-tintern_29.html" title="Lines Composed A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey: William Wordsworth" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Lines Composed A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey: William WordsworthComposition:The poem Tintern  Abbey was composed in July 1798 . The poem was first published in the Lyrical Ballads.The setting: The Tintern Abbey is situated on the bank of the river Wye. The Wye is a mountain river and it flows through England. Tintern Abbey is a famous ecclesiastical ruin.Substance: The calm and quiet beauty of 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AGDOuyM0eZjlr71VQ3Ose-CDxJA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AGDOuyM0eZjlr71VQ3Ose-CDxJA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AGDOuyM0eZjlr71VQ3Ose-CDxJA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AGDOuyM0eZjlr71VQ3Ose-CDxJA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/12/lines-composed-few-miles-above-tintern_29.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUAFRHkyeSp7ImA9WBBUFEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-7810827588442018827</id><published>2006-12-29T09:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-29T09:35:15.791-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-12-29T09:35:15.791-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Tintern Abbey" /><title>Lines Composed A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey: William Wordsworth</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/7810827588442018827/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=7810827588442018827" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/7810827588442018827?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/7810827588442018827?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/Nsl4PccJJNI/lines-composed-few-miles-above-tintern.html" title="Lines Composed A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey: William Wordsworth" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Lines Composed A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey: William WordsworthComposition:The poem Tintern  Abbey was composed in July 1798 . The poem was first published in the Lyrical Ballads.The setting: The Tintern Abbey is situated on the bank of the river Wye. The Wye is a mountain river and it flows through England. Tintern Abbey is a famous ecclesiastical ruin.Substance: The calm and quiet beauty of 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sXtEDaXGrlujN_c7kQwB30VeGdc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sXtEDaXGrlujN_c7kQwB30VeGdc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sXtEDaXGrlujN_c7kQwB30VeGdc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sXtEDaXGrlujN_c7kQwB30VeGdc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/12/lines-composed-few-miles-above-tintern.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0QHSHY-eyp7ImA9WBBVF08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-9138870432562101390</id><published>2006-12-21T09:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-21T09:15:39.853-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-12-21T09:15:39.853-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="She walks in Beauty" /><title>She walks in Beauty: Lord Byron</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/9138870432562101390/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=9138870432562101390" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/9138870432562101390?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/9138870432562101390?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/a1H8gFLo_3Q/she-walks-in-beauty-lord-byron.html" title="She walks in Beauty: Lord Byron" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">She walks in Beauty: Lord ByronText: She Walks in Beauty was written in 1814 by Lord Byron.The poem is about Mrs. Ann Beatrix Horton, the wife of Byron’s second cousin.She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies,And al that’s best of dark and brightMeet in her aspect and her eyes;Thus mellow’d to that tender lightWhich heaven to gaudy day denies,One shade the more, one
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3Ih-xgQHKKbdaVw1MUZtq4KDxCs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3Ih-xgQHKKbdaVw1MUZtq4KDxCs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3Ih-xgQHKKbdaVw1MUZtq4KDxCs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3Ih-xgQHKKbdaVw1MUZtq4KDxCs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/12/she-walks-in-beauty-lord-byron.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0ABQ308fip7ImA9WBBVE0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-761761144846226715</id><published>2006-12-17T09:15:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-17T09:15:52.376-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-12-17T09:15:52.376-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="The Tyger (The Tiger)" /><title>The Tyger (The Tiger): Blake</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/761761144846226715/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=761761144846226715" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/761761144846226715?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/761761144846226715?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/TAiuv0If3u4/tyger-tiger-blake.html" title="The Tyger (The Tiger): Blake" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">The Tyger (The Tiger)The poem ‘The Tyger, is taken from Blake’s songs of Experience which appeared in 1794.Text:Tyger! Tyger! Burning brightIn the forests of the night,What immortal hand or eyeCould frame thy fearful symmetry?In what distant deeps or skiesBurnt 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 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BoiIVR6EMCMnBpBl42QgMAzNduI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BoiIVR6EMCMnBpBl42QgMAzNduI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BoiIVR6EMCMnBpBl42QgMAzNduI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BoiIVR6EMCMnBpBl42QgMAzNduI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/12/tyger-tiger-blake.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0ADR3s8eCp7ImA9WBBVEE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-8249925263465327086</id><published>2006-12-13T09:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-13T09:09:36.570-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-12-13T09:09:36.570-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Bishop Orders His Tomb at St.Praxed’s Church" /><title>Bishop Orders His Tomb at St.Praxed’s Church</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/8249925263465327086/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=8249925263465327086" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/8249925263465327086?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/8249925263465327086?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/S3v_C0ZlDv0/bishop-orders-his-tomb-at-stpraxeds.html" title="Bishop Orders His Tomb at St.Praxed’s Church" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">The poem ‘Bishop Orders His Tomb at St.Praxed’s Church’ was first published in Hood’s Magazine in 1845 with the name ‘The Tomb at St. Praxed’s’. Later Bowning changed the name and called it ‘Bishop Orders His Tomb at St.Praxed’s Church’. Browning does not tell us the Bishop’s name. He might have in mind the life of Cardinal Ippolito d’ Este, the Younger who was a materialistic vain and extremely 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PSQNaMfa_jQ0gvSBpeo6xW5eka8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PSQNaMfa_jQ0gvSBpeo6xW5eka8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PSQNaMfa_jQ0gvSBpeo6xW5eka8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PSQNaMfa_jQ0gvSBpeo6xW5eka8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/12/bishop-orders-his-tomb-at-stpraxeds.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8MQnw7eSp7ImA9WBBWF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-3868963628185975575</id><published>2006-12-10T07:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-10T07:01:23.201-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-12-10T07:01:23.201-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="An Acre of Grass" /><title>An Acre of Grass: W.B. Yeats</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/3868963628185975575/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=3868963628185975575" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/3868963628185975575?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/3868963628185975575?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/C2I6tz6S7uQ/acre-of-grass-wb-yeats.html" title="An Acre of Grass: W.B. Yeats" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">An Acre of Grass: W.B. YeatsText:Picture and Book remain,An acre of green grassFor air and exercise,Now strength of body goes;Midnight, and old houseWhere nothing stirs but a mouse.My temptations is quiet,Here at life’s endNeither loose imagination,Nor the mill of the mindConsuming its rag and boneCan make the truth known.Grant me an old man’s frenzy,Myself must I remakeTill I am Timon and LearOr
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/reYITjZ4l6PlRzjVId-rlo-zJgc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/reYITjZ4l6PlRzjVId-rlo-zJgc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/reYITjZ4l6PlRzjVId-rlo-zJgc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/reYITjZ4l6PlRzjVId-rlo-zJgc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/12/acre-of-grass-wb-yeats.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcMRXg6fyp7ImA9WBBWE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-3465221132716334297</id><published>2006-12-05T02:54:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T02:54:44.617-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-12-05T02:54:44.617-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Nonne Preestes Tale:Scheme of the Tale:" /><title>Nonne Preestes Tale:Scheme of the Tale:</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/3465221132716334297/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=3465221132716334297" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/3465221132716334297?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/3465221132716334297?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/Wgwh53fJjGc/nonne-preestes-talescheme-of-tale.html" title="Nonne Preestes Tale:Scheme of the Tale:" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Nonne Preestes Tale:Scheme of the Tale:The Nun’s Priest Tale collocates a number of stories. Some of them are about dreams told by the cock Chanticleer and the Priest. The widow tells the other story. The dream stories are embedded in the fable, the fable story is embedded in the window’s story and the widow’s story in the Priest’s, the Priest’s story is embedded in the Canterbury Tales which is 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rboTJ0Eg8JUcZzItJDRkF3EJj68/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rboTJ0Eg8JUcZzItJDRkF3EJj68/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rboTJ0Eg8JUcZzItJDRkF3EJj68/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rboTJ0Eg8JUcZzItJDRkF3EJj68/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/12/nonne-preestes-talescheme-of-tale.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcDSH88eCp7ImA9WBBWEUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-6954158719877272834</id><published>2006-12-03T09:47:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-03T09:47:59.170-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-12-03T09:47:59.170-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Nonne Preestes Tale" /><title>Nonne Preestes Tale</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/6954158719877272834/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=6954158719877272834" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/6954158719877272834?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/6954158719877272834?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/lt833Sy_FbU/nonne-preestes-tale.html" title="Nonne Preestes Tale" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Nonne Preestes Tale-Introduction: Geoffrey Chaucer is the greatest English writer before Shakespear and the the earliest of the greatest moderns. “The Canterbury Tales” is his master piece. The “Nonne Preestes Tale” is one of the finest tales of the ‘Canterbury Tales’. It is the eleventh Tale among the twenty complete tales of Chaucer in his scheme of one hundred twenty four tales in ‘The 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MiVecp7ryidPZcUnj-hZdN6DvxY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MiVecp7ryidPZcUnj-hZdN6DvxY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MiVecp7ryidPZcUnj-hZdN6DvxY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MiVecp7ryidPZcUnj-hZdN6DvxY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/12/nonne-preestes-tale.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkINQHc9fSp7ImA9WBBXFEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-6316440158605172932</id><published>2006-11-24T17:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-24T17:36:31.965-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-11-24T17:36:31.965-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="sordello:overview" /><title>Sordello:Overview</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/6316440158605172932/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=6316440158605172932" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/6316440158605172932?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/6316440158605172932?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/yW5FtLwdDrM/sordellooverview.html" title="Sordello:Overview" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Sordello in Mantua :OverviewSordello is  the main character of the poem named after him. He is a troubadour- a poet. He hanks after name, fame, power and money. He is invited to a song-contest at the court in Mantua, in Italy. His friends receive him warmly but the enemies conspire. He sings there. Men and women praise him. He participates in the song contest and defeats the court poet, Eglamor. 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q4yxxqh0swn7TgMt3NKHPfTcULs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q4yxxqh0swn7TgMt3NKHPfTcULs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q4yxxqh0swn7TgMt3NKHPfTcULs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q4yxxqh0swn7TgMt3NKHPfTcULs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/11/sordellooverview.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEMFQXczfip7ImA9WBBXEkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-7585677101913538562</id><published>2006-11-22T09:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-22T09:26:50.986-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-11-22T09:26:50.986-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sordello" /><title>Sordello: Introduction &amp; substance</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/7585677101913538562/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=7585677101913538562" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/7585677101913538562?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/7585677101913538562?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/A-ZQtiCjq6k/sordello-introduction-substance.html" title="Sordello: Introduction &amp; substance" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">‘Sordello’ as a poem belongs to the first period of Browning’s creative writings (1832-1846). It has the Italian background. It is based on the life of Sordello, the son of an archer. The poem was published in 1840. It was a long poem of 5800 lines and is divided into six books. Here I am discussing 219 lines (475-693) from the second book of ‘Sordello in Mantua’. For the details Browning 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8LCpyKLhnYJHfeH1LtuKnG4WjCs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8LCpyKLhnYJHfeH1LtuKnG4WjCs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8LCpyKLhnYJHfeH1LtuKnG4WjCs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8LCpyKLhnYJHfeH1LtuKnG4WjCs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/11/sordello-introduction-substance.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEYESHo9eyp7ImA9WBBQFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-3547238524718045128</id><published>2006-11-12T07:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T09:35:09.463-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-11-15T09:35:09.463-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Adam's Curse" /><title>Adam’s Curse: W.B. Yeats</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/3547238524718045128/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=3547238524718045128" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/3547238524718045128?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/3547238524718045128?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/Y08osAeaoRs/adams-curse-wb-yeats.html" title="Adam’s Curse: W.B. Yeats" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">We sat together at one summer's end,We sat together at one summer's end,That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,And you and I, and talked of poetry.I said, 'A line will take us hours maybe;Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.Better go down upon your marrow-bonesAnd scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stonesLike an old pauper, in all kinds 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KxsEegs20RNm-NnauTzYnActtDo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KxsEegs20RNm-NnauTzYnActtDo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KxsEegs20RNm-NnauTzYnActtDo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KxsEegs20RNm-NnauTzYnActtDo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/11/adams-curse-wb-yeats.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YARXgzfSp7ImA9WBBRGE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-5140863041454292375</id><published>2006-11-06T09:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-06T09:45:44.685-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-11-06T09:45:44.685-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sylvia Plath: Life 'n' Works" /><title>Sylvia Plath: Life 'n' Works</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/5140863041454292375/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=5140863041454292375" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/5140863041454292375?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/5140863041454292375?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/pNb61EgTo1w/sylvia-plath-life-n-works.html" title="Sylvia Plath: Life 'n' Works" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">In order to understand the poetry of Sylvia Plath we must know her life in details. Sylvia Plath was born in 1932 in a highly educated family of America. Her mother Aurelia came from Austria to America and received her education there. Her father was a professor of biology at Boston University and he was specialized in bees. She married her professor Otto Plath who was older than her by twenty 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KGsUUhpCqWzxu4nbVCzbW5yz9tQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KGsUUhpCqWzxu4nbVCzbW5yz9tQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KGsUUhpCqWzxu4nbVCzbW5yz9tQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KGsUUhpCqWzxu4nbVCzbW5yz9tQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/11/sylvia-plath-life-n-works.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkYGQHY9fCp7ImA9WBBRF08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-3157968245803273180</id><published>2006-11-05T02:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-05T02:55:21.864-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-11-05T02:55:21.864-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="The Waste Land" /><title>The Waste Land: T.S. Eliot</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/3157968245803273180/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=3157968245803273180" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/3157968245803273180?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/3157968245803273180?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/VsP8n0X6b_Y/waste-land-ts-eliot.html" title="The Waste Land: T.S. Eliot" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">T.S. Eliot projects several levels of modern experience in ‘The Waste Land’. These are related to various symbolic Waste Lands in modern times such as( a ) The Waste Land, religion where there are but no water( b ) The Waste Land of spirit, where all moral springs are dried up and( c ) The Waste Land of the reproductive instinct where sex has become a means of physical gratification rather than a
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hmd8thOgATKRmzVn2nI5hplnyAI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hmd8thOgATKRmzVn2nI5hplnyAI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hmd8thOgATKRmzVn2nI5hplnyAI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hmd8thOgATKRmzVn2nI5hplnyAI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/11/waste-land-ts-eliot.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUGQHw6fSp7ImA9WBBRFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-5406890543055896102</id><published>2006-11-01T09:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-01T09:47:01.215-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-11-01T09:47:01.215-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Dejection: an Ode" /><title>Dejection: an Ode :  S.T. Coleridge</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/5406890543055896102/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=5406890543055896102" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/5406890543055896102?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/5406890543055896102?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/lhtcpyqcEWQ/dejection-ode-st-coleridge.html" title="Dejection: an Ode :  S.T. Coleridge" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Dejection: an Ode by S.T. Coleridge has been written to a ‘Lady’. Who was the ‘lady’? Sara Hutchinson? In a letter Coleridge said to his friend Poole that the poem was addressed to him. Later Coleridge told that it was addressed to Wordsworth. However, according to Coleridge it could be addressed to anybody with joyous mind. The poem is about the poem himself. Here the poet confessed to one who 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tKEVmXaoUt73cCPPuqO35JV00rc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tKEVmXaoUt73cCPPuqO35JV00rc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tKEVmXaoUt73cCPPuqO35JV00rc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tKEVmXaoUt73cCPPuqO35JV00rc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/11/dejection-ode-st-coleridge.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUERXs7eyp7ImA9WBBREEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-4360668635892495618</id><published>2006-10-11T17:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-28T10:40:04.503-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-10-28T10:40:04.503-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="To His Coy Mistress" /><title>Andrew Marvell: To His Coy Mistress</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/4360668635892495618/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=4360668635892495618" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/4360668635892495618?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/4360668635892495618?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/heUsMJjMbsI/andrew-marvell-to-his-coy-mistress.html" title="Andrew Marvell: To His Coy Mistress" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress” is a metaphysical love-poem. It is about a lover’s earnest appeal for responding for more active participation in the game of courtship, who is shy and reluctant. If they had infinite time and space at their disposal the lover could wait and her coyness would not have been a crime. Then they could walk together collecting rubbles by Ganges in India or would 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pfH6ZFlRLpSgluhTTFn3SsTnkIk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pfH6ZFlRLpSgluhTTFn3SsTnkIk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pfH6ZFlRLpSgluhTTFn3SsTnkIk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pfH6ZFlRLpSgluhTTFn3SsTnkIk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/10/andrew-marvell-to-his-coy-mistress.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUMQ346eSp7ImA9WBBREEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-2369124392079462190</id><published>2006-10-10T10:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-28T10:41:22.011-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-10-28T10:41:22.011-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="The Ecstasy" /><title>Donne: Ecstasy</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/2369124392079462190/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=2369124392079462190" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/2369124392079462190?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/2369124392079462190?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/BdaRIm1dypQ/donne-ecstasy.html" title="Donne: Ecstasy" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">The poem, “The Ecstasy” deals with John Donne’s metaphysic love poem. ‘Ecstasy’ means to the trans-like state the lovers have entered into. Greek word, ‘ekstasis’ means ‘going forth’The poet and his beloved meet near a heap of earth that has swelled up like a pillow on the bed to enable the reclining heads of violet flowers to rest on it. The two lovers, each thinks of the other as the best 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bdQZjEIQ9LWtP7wiPhLhJk4fb9A/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bdQZjEIQ9LWtP7wiPhLhJk4fb9A/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bdQZjEIQ9LWtP7wiPhLhJk4fb9A/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bdQZjEIQ9LWtP7wiPhLhJk4fb9A/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/10/donne-ecstasy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUQCQHw8eip7ImA9WBBREEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-461708101872560973</id><published>2006-10-09T10:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-28T10:42:41.272-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-10-28T10:42:41.272-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="The Good-Morrow" /><title>Donne: The Good-Morrow</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/461708101872560973/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=461708101872560973" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/461708101872560973?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/461708101872560973?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/CF4MiiRPOt0/donne-good-morrow.html" title="Donne: The Good-Morrow" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">John Donne’s ‘The Good-Morrow’ is a poem that stands at the threshold of a new love universe. ‘The Good-Morrow’ is awakening from a nightmare. The poet is surprised that before the awakening of their love, what they both did. Perhaps, they were satisfied with their simple, rustic and childish pleasures (like sucking mother’s milk). Or perhaps they slept for many years like the seven sleepers who 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y3fkOSIbw83GnMzbeMfKByCSc1k/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y3fkOSIbw83GnMzbeMfKByCSc1k/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y3fkOSIbw83GnMzbeMfKByCSc1k/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y3fkOSIbw83GnMzbeMfKByCSc1k/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/10/donne-good-morrow.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMHQ3c5eip7ImA9WBBREEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972791586352816889.post-8675212489571910765</id><published>2006-10-08T02:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-28T10:43:52.922-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-10-28T10:43:52.922-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day" /><title>Donne’s love poem: A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/feeds/8675212489571910765/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2972791586352816889&amp;postID=8675212489571910765" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/8675212489571910765?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2972791586352816889/posts/default/8675212489571910765?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/wVBw/~3/V7p-9aM_eR0/donnes-love-poem-nocturnal-upon-st.html" title="Donne’s love poem: A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day" /><author><name>RS</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">“A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day” is a poem of Donne on mourning the death of the poet’s beloved. She may be the countess of Bedford whose name was Lucy and who was the poet’s patron. According to some critics Lucy is here the dead wife of the poet Anne More. Any way, the death shocked and depressed Donne so terribly that he compares the distress of his heart to the disheartening atmosphere of St
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9a4iQw934KUDrBOsj8oRk2aHIOM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9a4iQw934KUDrBOsj8oRk2aHIOM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://poem-notes.blogspot.com/2006/10/donnes-love-poem-nocturnal-upon-st.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

