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18 Cards in this Set
- Front
- Back
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cowboy poetry |
D- Rhymed, metered verse written by someone who has lived a significant portion of his or her life inWestern North American cattle culture. E- We’ve shared the trail, kicked up some dust,An’ stood a storm or two.We’ve rode the plains, the wide frontier, - Compadre by Jim Fish E2- I think of reincarnation, Of life, and death, and such. I come away concludin': "Slim, You ain't changed, all that much." |
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canto |
D- Subdivision of an Italian epic or long narrative poem first employed in English by Edmund Spenser in TheFaerie Queene, popularized by Byron in "Don Juan." E- Lo I the man, whose Muse whilome did maske,As time her taught in lowly Shepheards weeds,Am now enforst a far unfitter taske, - The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser E2- Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost. |
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didactic |
D- A form of verse that aims to instruct the mind and improve morals by molding the reader into a certainethical or religious frame of mind. E- Alexander Pope’s Essay on Criticism E2- “Know then thyself, presume not God to scanThe proper study of Mankind is Man.Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,A Being darkly wise, and rudely great:With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,With too much weakness for the Stoic’s pride,He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;In doubt to deem himself a God, or Beast;In doubt his mind or body to prefer;Born but to die, and reas’ning but to err;Alike in ignorance, his reason such,Whether he thinks too little, or too much;” |
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limerick |
D- A short, bawdy, humorous poem of consisting of five anapaestic lines. Lines 1, 2, and 5 have seven to tensyllables and rhyme with one another. Lines 3 and 4 have five to seven syllables and also rhyme with each other. E- There was an Old Man of Kilkenny,Who never had more than a penny; E2- There once was a wonderful starWho thought she would go very farUntil she fell down And looked like a clownShe knew she would never go far. |
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lyric |
D- A poem, such as a sonnet or an ode, that expresses the thoughts and feelings of the poet E- Shakespeare's sonnets E2- Turn back the heart you've turned awayGive back your kissing breathLeave not my love as you have leftThe broken hearts of yesterdayBut wait, be still, don't lose this wayAffection now, for what you guessMay be something more, could be lessAccept my love, live for today |
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shape/concrete |
D- A poem that is created to look like an object. E- |
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narrative |
D- Poem that tells a story such as ballads, epics, and lays E- Iliad and the Odyssey by Homer E2- For the moon never beams without bringing me dreamsOf the beautiful Annabel Lee;And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyesOf the beautiful Annabel Lee;And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the sideOf my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,In the sepulchre there by the sea,In her tomb by the sounding sea. |
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ode |
D- Lengthy lyric poem typically of a serious/meditative nature that is elevated style and formal stanza structure E- John Keats's "Ode on a Grecian Urn" E2- There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,The earth, and every common sight To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light,The glory and the freshness of a dream.It is not now as it hath been of yore;-- Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day,The things which I have seen I now can see no more. |
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pastoral |
D- A poem that depicts rural life in a peaceful, idealized way E- O sweet woods, the delight of solitariness! - Sir Philip Sidney in O sweet woods E2-A belt of straw and ivy buds,With coral clasps and amber studs:And if these pleasures may thee move,Come live with me, and be my love. |
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quatrain |
D- A poem consisting of four lines with a specific rhyming scheme and a similar number of syllables. E- Trapped within a haze of fear,The Lord of Lies does appear.Clouded by so much that’s wrong,Truth gets twisted by his song. - Theresa King' s Lord of Deceit E2- He gives his harness bells a shakeTo ask if there’s some mistake.The only other sound’s the sweepOf easy wind and downy flake. |
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rhyme royal |
D- Type of poetry consisting of seven lines in iambic pentameter. The rhyme scheme is a-b-a-b-b-c-c E- The double sorwe of Troilus to tellen, That was the king Priamus sone of Troye - Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde E2- They flee from me that sometime did me seekWith naked foot, stalking in my chamber.I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,That now are wild and do not rememberThat sometime they put themself in dangerTo take bread at my hand; and now they range,Busily seeking with a continual change.Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwiseTwenty times better; but once in special,In thin array after a pleasant guise,When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,And she me caught in her arms long and small;Therewithall sweetly did me kissAnd softly said, “Dear heart, how like you this?”It was no dream: I lay broad waking.But all is turned thorough my gentlenessInto a strange fashion of forsaking;And I have leave to go of her goodness,And she also, to use newfangleness.But since that I so kindly am servedI would fain know what she hath deserved. |
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romanticism |
D- A poem about nature and love while having emphasis on the personal experience E- William Blake's poem "Milton" E2- O my Luve's like a red, red roseThat's newly sprung in June;O my Luve's like the melodieThat's sweetly played in tune.As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,So deep in luve am I;And I will luve thee still, my dear,Till a' the seas gang dry:Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,And the rocks melt wi' the sun;I will luve thee still, my dear,While the sands o' life shall run.And fare thee weel, my only Luve,And fare thee weel awhile!And I will come again, my Luve,Tho' it ware ten thousand mile. |
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terza rima |
D- A type of poetry consisting of 10 or 11 syllable lines arranged in three-line "tercets" E- Dante’s Divine Comedy E2- O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves deadAre 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 bedThe wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,Each like a corpse within its grave, untilThine azure sister of the Spring shall blowHer clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)With living hues and odours plain and hill:Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear! IIThou on whose stream, ‘mid the steep sky’s commotion,Loose clouds like Earth’s decaying leaves are shed,Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,Angels of rain and lightning: there are spreadOn the blue surface of thine airy surge,Like the bright hair uplifted from the headOf some fierce Maenad, even from the dim vergeOf the horizon to the zenith’s height,The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirgeOf the dying year, to which this closing nightWill be the dome of a vast sepulchreVaulted with all thy congregated mightOf vapours, from whose solid atmosphereBlack rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear! IIIThou who didst waken from his summer dreamsThe blue Mediterranean, where he lay,Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,Beside a pumice isle in Baiae’s bay,And saw in sleep old palaces and towersQuivering within the wave’s intenser day,All overgrown with azure moss and flowersSo sweet, the sense faints picturing them! ThouFor whose path the Atlantic’s level powersCleave themselves into chasms, while far belowThe sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wearThe sapless foliage of the ocean, knowThy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear! IVIf I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;A wave to pant beneath thy power, and shareThe impulse of thy strength, only less freeThan thou, O Uncontrollable! If evenI were as in my boyhood, and could beThe comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speedScarce seemed a vision; I would ne’er have strivenAs thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowedOne too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. VMake me thy lyre, even as the forest is:What if my leaves are falling like its own!The tumult of thy mighty harmoniesWill take from both a deep, autumnal tone,Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!Drive my dead thoughts over the universeLike withered leaves to quicken a new birth!And, by the incantation of this verse,Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearthAshes and sparks, my words among mankind!Be through my lips to unawakened EarthThe trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? |
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sonnet |
D- Lyric poem that is 14 lines and has a conventional rhyme scheme E- Cyriack, this three years’ day these eyes, though clearTo outward view, of blemish or of spot,Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appearOf sun or moon or star throughout the year,Or man or woman. Yet I argue notAgainst Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jotOf heart or hope, but still bear up and steerRight onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?The conscience, friend, to have lost them overpliedIn liberty’s defense, my noble task,Of which all Europe talks from side to side.This thought might lead me through the world’s vain maskContent, though blind, had I no better guide. |
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petrarchan sonnet |
D- aka Italian Sonnet named after Italian poet Francesco Petrarch) 14 lined poem divided into anoctave rhyming abbaabba and a sestet rhyming either cdcdcd, cdecde, or other similar pattern. E- Being one day at my window all alone,So manie strange things happened me to see,As much as it grieveth me to thinke thereon.At my right hand a hynde appear’d to mee,So faire as mote the greatest god delite;Two eager dogs did her pursue in chace.Of which the one was blacke, the other white:With deadly force so in their cruell raceThey pincht the haunches of that gentle beast,That at the last, and in short time, I spide,Under a rocke, where she alas, opprest,Fell to the ground, and there untimely dide.Cruell death vanquishing so noble beautieOft makes me wayle so hard a desire. |
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english sonnet |
D- (invented by Surrey and made famous by Shakespeare) 14 line poem that consists of threequatrains and a concluding couplet rhyming ababcdcdefefgg E2- I cry your mercy–pity–love!–aye, love!Merciful love that tantalizes not,One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,Unmasked, and being seen–without a blot!O! let me have thee whole,–all–all–be mine!That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zestOf love, your kiss,–those hands, those eyes divine,That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,–Yourself–your soul–in pity give me all.Withhold no atom’s atom or I die,Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall,Forget, in the mist of idle misery,Life’s purposes,–the palate of my mindLosing its gist, and my ambition blind! |
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verse |
D- A single metrical line of poetry; poetry in general as opposed to prose E- I wandered lonely as a cloudThat floats on high o’er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,A host, of golden daffodils;Beside the lake, beneath the trees,Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. |
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villanelle |
D- A 19-line poem consisting of five tercets and a final quatrain on two rhymes. The first and third lines ofthe first tercet repeat alternately as a refrain closing the succeeding stanzas and joined as the final couplet of the quatrain E- Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. E2- The art of losing isn’t hard to master;so many things seem filled with the intentto be lost that their loss is no disaster.Lose something every day. Accept the flusterof lost door keys, the hour badly spent.The art of losing isn’t hard to master.Then practice losing farther, losing faster:places, and names, and where it was you meantto travel. None of these will bring disaster.I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, ornext-to-last, of three loved houses went.The art of losing isn’t hard to master.I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gestureI love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evidentthe art of losing’s not too hard to masterthough it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. |
