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20 Cards in this Set

  • Front
  • Back
Oh the ocean waves may roll,
And the stormy winds may blow,
While we poor sailors go skipping aloft
And the land lubbers lay down below, below, below
And the land lubbers lay down below
Blank Verse
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Free Verse
I celebrate myself, and sing myself........ For every atom belonging to me as good......I loaf and invite my soul,
I lean and loaf at my ease observing a spear of summer grass
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk
Don't delay dawns disarming display .
Dusk demands daylight .
Dewdrops dwell delicately
drawing dazzling delight .
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
Closed Form
"Mother, dear, may I go downtown

Instead of out to play,

And march the streets of Birmingham

In a Freedom March today?"
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
Literal Language
"The dog died"
not "The dog went to the big animal farm in the sky"
I’m a tree deeply rooted

Within these years of soil

My trunk is muted

From harsh wind and toil.
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?
Courageous, swift, and frightened
Who loves to feel the wind in her hair
Who feels terrified about the future
Who needs the reassurance of her parents
Who shares her food, her home, and her family
Who fears the sound of knocking at night
Who'd like to see her best friend again
Who dreams of the end of the war.
Who ends up being a hero.
The sunlight in a lemon
makes me wince.
Figuritive Language
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Edward Cullen in the novel "Twilight" is the support system and soulmate of Bella Swan.
Now in wond'ring
contemplation, Be her majesty confessed;
Call her Mother, call her Virgin,
Happy Mother, Virgin blest.
As I was reading the comic, the main character had a light bulb flash up above her head, and it was obvious that she had an idea