Study your flashcards anywhere!

Download the official Cram app for free >

  • Shuffle
    Toggle On
    Toggle Off
  • Alphabetize
    Toggle On
    Toggle Off
  • Front First
    Toggle On
    Toggle Off
  • Both Sides
    Toggle On
    Toggle Off
  • Read
    Toggle On
    Toggle Off

How to study your flashcards.

Right/Left arrow keys: Navigate between flashcards.right arrow keyleft arrow key

Up/Down arrow keys: Flip the card between the front and back.down keyup key

H key: Show hint (3rd side).h key

A key: Read text to speech.a key


Play button


Play button




Click to flip

29 Cards in this Set

  • Front
  • Back
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
Tintern Abbey, Wordsworth
For I have learned
To look on Nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity . . . .
Tintern Abbey, Wordsworth
And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me wih the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man. .
Tintern Abbey, Wordsworth
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
Ode: Intimations of Immortality, Wordsworth
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Ode: Intimations of Immortality, Wordsworth
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar . . . .
Ode: Intimations of Immortality, Wordsworth
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower. . . .
Ode: Intimations of Immortality, Wordsworth
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
Ode to the West Wind, Shelley
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Ode to the West Wind, Shelley
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
Ode on a Grecian Urn, Keats
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone. . . .
Ode on a Grecian Urn, Keats
I have been half in love with easeful Death....
Ode to a Nightingale, Keats
Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?
Ode to a Nightingale, Keats
There's naught no doubt so much the spirit calms
As rum and true religion.
Don Juan, Byron
Truth is always strange,--
Stranger than fiction.
Don Juan, Byron
She walks in beauty like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
She Walks in Beauty, Byron
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
She Walks in Beauty, Byron
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
Flushing his brow.
Eve of St. Agnes, Keats
He play’d an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call’d “La belle dame sans mercy.”
Eve of St. Agnes, Keats
Asleep in lap of legends old.
Eve of St. Agnes, Keats
THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
Ode: Intimations of Immortality, Wordsworth
Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yes, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.
Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Coleridge
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.
Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Coleridge
Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold :
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.
Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Coleridge
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?
The Tyger, Blake
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
The Tyger, Blake
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
The Lamb, Blake
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley; An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain For promis'd joy.
To A Mouse, Burns
A price can mak a belted knight,
A marquise, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
A Man's a Man, Burns