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20 Cards in this Set
- Front
- Back
anapest
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The AsSYRian came DOWN like a WOLF on the FOLD
The Destruction of Sennacherib by Lord Byron |
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caesura
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Know then thyself ......, presume not God to scan;
The proper study of Mankind ..... is Man. An Essay on Man by Alexander Pope |
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dactyl
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HALF a league, HALF a league,
The Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred, Lord Tennyson |
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diction
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Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden, Under the tension, slip, slide, perish, Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place, Will not stay still. "Burnt Norton" by T.S. Eliot |
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elegy
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Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. Hence with denial vain and coy excuse: So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destined urn; And as he passes turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. Lycidas by John Milton |
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elision
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Whiles crooning O'ER an auld Scots sonnet,
Whiles GLOW'RING round WI prudent cares, Tam O' Shanter by Robert Burns |
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enjambment
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I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the sweet earth's flowing breast; Trees by Joyce Kilmer |
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epigram
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He that fears death, or mourns it, in the just,
Shows in the resurrection little trust. Ben Johnson |
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falling meter
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Just for a handful of silver he left us
Just for a riband to stick in his coat The Lost Leader by Robert Browning |
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iamb
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I DREAMED there WOULD be SPRING no MORE
In Memoriam by Lord Tennyson |
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meter
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BY the SHORES of GIT chee GUMee,
The Song of Hiawatha by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |
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metonymy
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Norway himself with terrible numbers
Macbeth by Shakespeare |
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octave
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I can hear the neighbors
They're arguin' again And there hasn't been peace on our street Since who knows when I don't mean to listen in But the shoutin' is so loud I turn up the radio to drown it out And silently I say a little prayer But For The Grace Of God by Keith Urban |
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open form
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Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it, Staying put according to habit. You didn't just tow me an inch, no-- Nor leave me to set my small bald eye Skyward again, without hope, of course, Of apprehending blueness, or stars. Sylvia Plath - Love Letter |
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rising meter
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A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchang'd,
Fed on the lawns, and in the forest rang'd; Without unspotted, innocent within, She fear'd no danger, for she knew no sin. Yet had she oft been chas'd with horns and bounds And Scythian shafts; and many winged wounds Aim'd at her heart; was often forc'd to fly, And doom'd to death, tho' fated not to die. The Hind and the Panther - John Dryden |
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sestet
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Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me, And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions, I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not, Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness, To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still. When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd by Walt Whitman |
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sestina
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1 Hearing of harvests rotting in the valleys,
2 Seeing at end of street the barren mountains, 3 Round corners coming suddenly on water, 4 Knowing them shipwrecked who were launched for islands, 5 We honour founders of these starving cities 6 Whose honour is the image of our sorrow, 7 Which cannot see its likeness in their sorrow 8 That brought them desperate to the brink of valleys; 9 Dreaming of evening walks through learned cities 10 They reined their violent horses on the mountains, 11 Those fields like ships to castaways on islands, 12 Visions of green to them who craved for water. 13 They built by rivers and at night the water 14 Running past windows comforted their sorrow; 15 Each in his little bed conceived of islands 16 Where every day was dancing in the valleys 17 And all the green trees blossomed on the mountains 18 Where love was innocent, being far from cities. 19 But dawn came back and they were still in cities; 20 No marvellous creature rose up from the water; 21 There was still gol |
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spondee
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When the BLOOD CREEPS and the NERVES PRICK
Gerard Manley Hopkins |
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synecdoche
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Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.
Julius Caesar by Shakespeare |
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syntax
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When I would muse in boyhood
The wild green woods among And nurse resolves and fancies Because the world was young, A.E.Housman |