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THE LONELY DANCER I had no heart to join the dance, I danced it all so long agöAh! light-winged music out of France, Let other feet glide to and fro, Weaving new patterns of romance For bosoms of new-fallen snow. But leave me thus where I may hear The leafy rustle of the waltz, The shell-like murmur in my ear, The silken whisper fairy-false Of unseen rainbows circling near, And the glad shuddering of the walls. Another dance the dancers spin, A shadow-dance of mystic pain, And other partners enter in And dance within my lonely brain¿The swaying woodland shod in green, The ghostly dancers of the rain; The lonely dancers of the sea, Foam-footed on the sandy bar, The wizard dance of wind and tree, The eddying dance of stream and star; Yea, all these dancers tread for me A measure mournful and bizarre: An echo-dance where ear is eye, And sound evokes the shapes of things, Where out of silence and a sigh The sad world like a picture springs, As, when some secret bird sweeps by, We see it in the sound of wings.

THE JOURNEY OF LIFE Beneath the waning moon I walk at night, And muse on human life¿for all around Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight, And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground, And broken gleams of brightness, here and there, Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air. The trampled earth returns a sound of fear¿A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs! And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms. A mournful wind across the landscape flies, And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs. And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on, Watching the stars that roll the hours away, Till the faint light that guides me now is gone, And, like another life, the glorious day Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height, With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light.

I. Youth. Sweet empty sky of June without a stain, Faint, gray-blue dewy mists on far-off hills, Warm, yellow sunlight flooding mead and plain, That each dark copse and hollow overfills; The rippling laugh of unseen, rain-fed rills, Weeds delicate-flowered, white and pink and gold, A murmur and a singing manifold. The gray, austere old earth renews her youth With dew-lines, sunshine, gossamer, and haze. How still she lies and dreams, and veils the truth, While all is fresh as in the early days! What simple things be these the soul to raise To bounding joy, and make young pulses beat, With nameless pleasure finding life so sweet. On such a golden morning forth there floats, Between the soft earth and the softer sky, In the warm air adust with glistening motes, The mystic winged and flickering butterfly, A human soul, that hovers giddily Among the gardens of earth's paradise, Nor dreams of fairer fields or loftier skies.

"The Kasîdah of Hâjî Abdû El-Yezdî" is a long poem written by Sir Richard Francis Burton, a British explorer, linguist, and writer. The Kasîdah, also known as "The Lay of the Higher Law," was written in the style of the classical Arabic qasida, a poetic form often used to express moral or philosophical themes.Key features of "The Kasîdah":Philosophical and Theological Themes: Burton's poem delves into philosophical and theological themes, exploring ideas related to existence, destiny, and the nature of the divine.Pseudonymous Authorship: The poem is attributed to a fictitious author, Hâjî Abdû El-Yezdî, allowing Burton to present his own thoughts and reflections in a different cultural and religious context.Cultural Exploration: Burton, known for his extensive travels and studies in the Middle East, drew on his experiences and knowledge of Islamic culture and literature to compose the Kasîdah.Versification: The poem is written in quatrains with a rhyming scheme, adhering to the traditional structure of the qasida.Translation and Commentary: Burton also provided translations and commentaries on the poem, offering readers insights into the cultural and linguistic aspects of the work."The Kasîdah" is considered one of Burton's significant literary contributions, showcasing his linguistic skills and his ability to engage with diverse cultural and philosophical traditions.

"The Indian Girl's Lament" is a poem written by William Cullen Bryant, an American poet and journalist. As of my last knowledge update in January 2022, I don't have the full text of this specific poem available. However, I can offer some general information about Bryant and the themes commonly found in his poetry.William Cullen Bryant (1794¿1878) was known for his nature poetry and his deep appreciation for the American landscape. He was associated with the American Romantic movement and was influential in the development of American literature during the 19th century.If "The Indian Girl's Lament" is a lesser-known or niche work, you may find it in collections of Bryant's poetry or anthologies of American literature. Libraries, bookstores, or online platforms that specialize in classic literature would be good places to explore.

Essence of boredom! stupefying Theme! Whereon with eloquence less deep than full, Still maundering on in slow continuous stream, All can expatiate, and all be dull: Bane of the mind and topic of debate That drugs the reader to a restless doze, Thou that with soul-annihilating weight Crushest the Bard, and hypnotisest those Who plod the placid path of plain pedestrian Prose: Lo! when each morn I carefully peruse (Seeking some subject for my painful pen) The Times, the Standard, and the Daily News, No other topic floats into my ken Save this alone: or Dr. Clifford slates Dogmas in general: or the dreadful ban Of furious Bishops excommunicates Such simple creeds as Birrell, hopeful man! Thinks may perhaps appease th¿ unwilling Anglican.Lo! at Society¿s convivial board (Whereat I do occasionally sit, In hope to bear within my memory stored Some echo thence of someone else¿s wit),Or e¿er the soup hath yielded to the fish,A heavy dulness doth the banquet freeze: Lucullus¿ self would shun th¿ untasted dishWhen lovely woman whispers, ¿Tell me, please,What are Denominational Facilities?¿

Since we have had no stories to-night I will venture, Mr. President, to tell a story that I have heretofore heard at nearly all the banquets I have ever attended. It is a story simply, and you must bear with it kindly. It is a story as told by a friend of us all, who is found in all parts of all countries, who is immoderately fond of a funny story, and who, unfortunately, attempts to tell a funny story himself¿one that he has been particularly delighted with. Well, he is not a story-teller, and especially he is not a funny story-teller. His funny stories, indeed, are oftentimes touchingly pathetic. But to such a story as he tells, being a good-natured man and kindly disposed, we have to listen, because we do not want to wound his feelings by telling him that we have heard that story a great number of times, and that we have heard it ably told by a great number of people from the time we were children. But, as I say, we can not hurt his feelings. We can not stop him. We can not kill him; and so the story generally proceeds.

THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS I. Here we halt our march, and pitch our tent On the rugged forest ground, And light our fire with the branches rent By winds from the beeches round. Wild storms have torn this ancient wood, But a wilder is at hand, With hail of iron and rain of blood, To sweep and waste the land. II. How the dark wood rings with voices shrill, That startle the sleeping bird; To-morrow eve must the voice be still, And the step must fall unheard. The Briton lies by the blue Champlain, In Ticonderoga's towers, And ere the sun rise twice again, The towers and the lake are ours. III. Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides Where the fireflies light the brake; A ruddier juice the Briton hides In his fortress by the lake. Build high the fire, till the panther leap From his lofty perch in flight, And we'll strenghten our weary arms with sleep For the deeds of to-morrow night.

"The Minstrel" is a narrative poem written by James Beattie, a Scottish poet and philosopher. The poem is often referred to as "The Minstrel; or, The Progress of Genius." It was first published in two parts in 1771 and 1774, and it is considered one of Beattie's major works.Key Features of "The Minstrel":Genre and Style: "The Minstrel" belongs to the genre of Spenserian allegory and is written in the Spenserian stanza, a nine-line verse form invented by the Elizabethan poet Edmund Spenser.Structure: The poem consists of two parts, each recounting the experiences and reflections of the protagonist, a young shepherd named Edwin, who aspires to be a minstrel.Themes: The poem explores themes of nature, the imagination, the pursuit of knowledge, and the development of the poetic mind. Edwin's journey is a symbolic representation of the poet's own quest for inspiration and wisdom.Influence: "The Minstrel" reflects the influence of the Romantic movement, with a focus on emotion, nature, and the individual's spiritual and creative development.Imagery and Descriptions: Beattie's poem is known for its vivid descriptions of nature, landscapes, and the inner workings of the poet's mind. The poem often employs pastoral imagery to convey its themes.Moral and Philosophical Elements: Beattie integrates moral and philosophical reflections into the narrative, discussing the influence of education, the dangers of skepticism, and the importance of faith."The Minstrel" was well-received in its time and contributed to Beattie's reputation as a poet. The work showcases Beattie's skill in combining the Spenserian tradition with his own philosophical and moral concerns. If you are interested in exploring the full text, you may find editions of Beattie's collected works or anthologies of 18th-century poetry.

"The Missionary" is a poem written by William Lisle Bowles, an English poet and critic who was active in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Bowles is known for his romantic and nature-themed poetry. "The Missionary" reflects his interest in exploring themes related to the human experience, often with a focus on emotion and the natural world.While I don't have the full text of "The Missionary," Bowles' poetry often incorporates picturesque and contemplative elements. It's likely that the poem may involve themes such as the individual's spiritual journey, the impact of nature on human emotions, or reflections on the missionary's quest.To fully appreciate the nuances of Bowles' work, it's recommended to explore the complete poem in the context of his body of work. Editions of Bowles' collected poems or anthologies of Romantic poetry may include "The Missionary." Libraries, online databases, or literary collections focusing on the Romantic period can be valuable resources for accessing the complete poem and gaining insights into Bowles' poetic style and thematic concerns.

"The Motley Muse: Rhymes for the Times" is a collection of humorous verses written by Harry Graham. Harry Graham (1874¿1936) was a British writer and poet known for his witty and satirical poetry. "The Motley Muse" is one of several collections where Graham showcased his talent for light verse and comedic commentary on various aspects of contemporary life.Key features of "The Motley Muse" may include:Humorous Verses: The collection likely consists of light, humorous poetry that satirizes different aspects of society, politics, or daily life.Satirical Tone: Harry Graham was known for his satirical and often irreverent approach to his subjects. His verses may contain playful jabs at conventions and social norms.Rhymes for the Times: The title suggests that Graham's poetry is relevant to the contemporary issues or events of his time, providing a humorous take on the happenings of the day.Clever Wordplay: Graham was skilled at using clever wordplay and puns in his verses. Readers can expect a playfulness with language that adds to the comedic effect.Social Commentary: While presented in a humorous manner, Graham's poetry often carries underlying social commentary, offering insights into the concerns and attitudes of the period.

"The House of the Wolfings: A Tale of the House of the Wolfings and All the Kindreds of the Mark" is a fantasy novel written by William Morris. Morris, a 19th-century English textile designer, poet, and novelist, was a key figure in the Arts and Crafts Movement. "The House of the Wolfings" is one of his prose romances and was first published in 1889.Key features of the novel include:Fantasy Setting: The story is set in a mythical, fantastical version of Germanic Europe, a land inhabited by various tribes and clans.Heroic Tale: The novel follows the House of the Wolfings, a heroic tribe, as they defend their land and people against external threats.Prose and Verse: Morris blends prose and verse in the narrative, adding a poetic and mythic quality to the storytelling.Medieval Influence: As a key figure in the Arts and Crafts Movement, Morris was influenced by medieval literature and art. This influence is evident in the novel's setting, themes, and language.Themes of Heroism and Sacrifice: The novel explores themes of heroism, sacrifice, and the struggle for freedom, drawing on Morris's own political and social ideals.Influence on Fantasy Literature: Morris's works, including "The House of the Wolfings," had a notable impact on the fantasy genre. His emphasis on world-building and mythology influenced later writers such as J.R.R. Tolkien."The House of the Wolfings" is recognized for its contribution to the fantasy genre and its influence on subsequent writers who sought to create rich, immersive worlds filled with heroic tales and mythic elements

"The Grave of the Last Saxon" is a poem written by William Lisle Bowles, an English poet and critic of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Bowles was associated with the Romantic movement and was known for his reflective and lyrical poetry.As of my last knowledge update in January 2022, I don't have the full text of "The Grave of the Last Saxon" available. However, based on the title and Bowles's poetic style, it is likely that the poem reflects on historical or cultural themes, possibly related to the end of the Saxon era in England.If you are interested in reading the complete poem, you can explore collections of William Lisle Bowles's works or anthologies of Romantic poetry. Libraries, online literary databases, or platforms specializing in classic literature may provide access to the poem.

THE LORD'S PRAYER ON A COIN. Upon this quarter-eagle's leveled face, The Lord's Prayer, legibly inscribed, I trace. "Our Father which"¿the pronoun there is funny, And shows the scribe to have addressed the money "Which art in Heaven"¿an error this, no doubt: The preposition should be stricken out. Needless to quote; I only have designed To praise the frankness of the pious mind Which thought it natural and right to join, With rare significancy, prayer and coin. A LACKING FACTOR. "You acted unwisely," I cried, "as you see By the outcome." He calmly eyed me: "When choosing the course of my action," said he, "I had not the outcome to guide me.

My Lord,¿It is with a great deal of pleasure that I lay hold on this first occasion which the accidents of my life have given me of writing to your lordship: for since at the same time I write to all the world, it will be a means of publishing (what I would have everybody know) the respect and duty which I owe and pay to you. I have so much inclination to be yours that I need no other engagement. But the particular ties by which I am bound to your lordship and family have put it out of my power to make you any compliment, since all offers of myself will amount to no more than an honest acknowledgment, and only shew a willingness in me to be grateful. I am very near wishing that it were not so much my interest to be your lordship¿s servant, that it might be more my merit; not that I would avoid being obliged to you, but I would have my own choice to run me into the debt: that I might have it to boast, I had distinguished a man to whom I would be glad to be obliged, even without the hopes of having it in my power ever to make him a return.

The Lost Pibroch. day is my story, for they have not the Lost Pibroch. It is of the three best, who were not bad, in a place I ken ¿ Half Town that stands in the wood. You may rove for a thousand years on league-long brogues, or hurry on fairy wings from isle to isle and deep to deep, and find no equal to that same Half Town. It is not the splendour of it, nor the riches of its folk; it is not any great routh of field or sheep-fank, but the scented winds of it, and the comfort of the pine - trees round and about it on every hand. My mother used to -be saying (when I had the notion of fairy tales), that once on a time, when the woods were young and thin, there was a road through them, and the pick of children of a country-side wandered among them into this place to play at sheilings. Up grew the trees, fast and tall, and shut the little folks in so that the way out they could not get if they had the mind for it. But never an

My Lord,¿It is with a great deal of pleasure that I lay hold on this first occasion which the accidents of my life have given me of writing to your lordship: for since at the same time I write to all the world, it will be a means of publishing (what I would have everybody know) the respect and duty which I owe and pay to you. I have somuch inclination to be yours that I need no other engagement. But the particular ties by which I am bound to your lordship and family have put it out of my power to make you any compliment, since all offers of myself will amount to no more than an honest acknowledgment, and only shew a willingness in me to be grateful. I am very near wishing that it were not so much my interest to be your lordship¿s servant, that it might be more my merit; not that I would avoid being obliged to you, but I would have my own choice to run me into the debt: that I might have it to boast, I had distinguished a man to whom I would be glad to be obliged, even without the hopes of having it in my power ever to make him a return.

Rupert Brooke was both fair to see and winning in his ways. There was at the first contact both bloom and charm; and most of all there was life. To use the word his friends describe him by, he was "vivid". This vitality, though manifold in expression, is felt primarily in his sensations ¿ surprise mingled with delight ¿ "One after one, like tasting a sweet food." This is life's "first fine rapture". It makes him patient to name over those myriad things each of which seems like a fresh discovery curious but potent, and above all common, that he "loved", ¿ he the "Great Lover". Lover of what, then? Why, of "White plates and cups clean-gleaming, Ringed with blue lines," ¿and the like, through thirty lines of exquisite words; and he is captivated by the multiple brevity of these vignettes of sense, keen, momentary, ecstatic with the morning dip of youth in the wonderful stream. The poem is a catalogue of vital sensations and "dear names" as well. "All these have been my loves."

Sea Lullaby The old moon is tarnished With smoke of the flood, The dead leaves are varnished With colour like blood. A treacherous smiler With teeth white as milk, A savage beguiler In sheathings of silk The sea creeps to pillage, She leaps on her prey; A child of the village Was murdered today. She came up to meet him In a smooth golden cloak, She choked him and beat him to death, for a joke. Her bright locks were tangled, She shouted for joy With one hand she strangled A strong little boy. Now in silence she lingers Beside him all night To wash her long fingers In silvery light.

IV In sighs their sickly breath was spent; each gleam Of Hope had ceas'd the long long day to cheer; Or if delusive, in some flitting dream, It gave them to their friends and children dear¿Awaked by lordly Insult's sound 15 To all the doubled horrors round, Oft shrunk they from Oppression's band While Anguish rais'd the desperate hand For silent death; or lost the mind's controll, Thro' every burning vein would tides of Frenzy roll. 20 V But cease, ye pitying bosoms, cease to bleed! Such scenes no more demand the tear humane; I see, I see! glad Liberty succeed With every patriot virtue in her train! And mark yon peasant's raptur'd eyes; 25 Secure he views his harvests rise; No fetter vile the mind shall know, And Eloquence shall fearless glow. Yes! Liberty the soul of Life shall reign, Shall throb in every pulse, shall flow thro' every vein! 30

From whom they wish their Queen to chuse a Consort. First, my dear Mother! let me mount my throne, Before I fix with whom, that Throne to share. Ah! my foreboding fears! Your choice is made. Reflect, my Child! whilst yet the power remains, What grief, what dangers may await your love. Resist this fatal impulse of your heart, Which will embitter all your future life. Could my maternal bosom yield consent, Yet would the Nobles of your Realm submit To bow the knee to one, plebeian born? Too much, alas! the valiant Carlos charms you. But what avails his matchless worth? His blood Springs from some base, contaminated source, Which he, through pride, with conscious shame, conceals. Yet, though conceal'd, its source may be most pure. For have not princes, men of high renown, Disguis'd themselves, their names, and birth deny'd, Whose swords alone have signaliz'd their fame; Subduing kingdoms, and bestowing crowns: Singly the fate of empires, and of kings. Is this the flattering hope your heart has cherish'd? And the distinction which you pay to Carlos, Is it then love, grafted on hope fallacious? Ah! my dear Child! give not such room for censure, Nor cherish sentiments, you must subdue. Avoid the converse which destroys your peace, And lends the venom'd tongue of slander, speech. Such rare endowments, and such gallant worth, As Carlos owns, in noble minds, excite Esteem, complacent friendship, and urbanity. I but that tribute of regard bestow, Which his transcendent virtues justly claim; Chaste as a sister's innocent affection. Can this reflect upon my virgin fame, Or draw the breath of calumny against me? Beauty and youth, with princely rank combin'd, Winning admirers, draw observers too.

A PRAYER O Lord, the hard-won miles Have worn my stumbling feet: Oh, soothe me with thy smiles, And make my life complete. The thorns were thick and keen Where'er I trembling trod; The way was long between My wounded feet and God. Where healing waters flow Do thou my footsteps lead. My heart is aching so; Thy gracious balm I need. PASSION AND LOVE A maiden wept and, as a comforter, Came one who cried, "I love thee," and he seized Her in his arms and kissed her with hot breath, That dried the tears upon her flaming cheeks. While evermore his boldly blazing eye Burned into hers; but she uncomforted Shrank from his arms and only wept the more. Then one came and gazed mutely in her face With wide and wistful eyes; but still aloof He held himself; as with a reverent fear, As one who knows some sacred presence nigh. And as she wept he mingled tear with tear, That cheered her soul like dew a dusty flower,¿ Until she smiled, approached, and touched his hand![Pg 12]

In the soft sunny regions that circle the waistOf the globe with a girdle of topaz and gold, Which heave with the throbbings of life where they're placed, And glow with the fire of the heart they enfold; Where to live, where to breathe, seems a paradise dream A dream of some world more elysian than this Where, if Death and if Sin were away, it would seem Not the foretaste alone, but the fulness of bliss. Where all that can gladden the sense and the sight, Fresh fruitage as cool and as crimson as even; Where the richness and rankness of Nature unite To build the frail walls of the Sybarite's heaven. But, ah! should the heart feel the desolate dearth Of some purer enjoyment to speed the bright hours, In vain through the leafy luxuriance of earth Looks the languidlit eye for the freshness of flowers. No, its glance must be turned from the earth to the sky, From the clayrooted grass to the heavenbranching trees; And there, oh! enchantment for soul and for eye, Hang blossoms so pure that an angel might seize. Thus, when pleasure begins from its sweetness to cloy, And the warm heart grows rank like a soil over ripe, We must turn from the earth for some promise of joy, And look up to heaven for a holier type.

"The Ghetto and Other Poems" is a poetry collection by Lola Ridge, an Irish-American poet and activist. Published in 1918, this collection is known for its exploration of social issues, particularly the harsh realities faced by immigrants and the working class in the early 20th century.Lola Ridge's poems often address themes of poverty, labor struggles, and the immigrant experience, drawing on her own observations and experiences. "The Ghetto," one of the central poems in the collection, delves into the struggles of immigrant communities in urban environments.Ridge's poetry is characterized by its vivid and compassionate portrayal of marginalized individuals, and she was an advocate for social justice and workers' rights. Her work reflects the tumultuous times of the early 20th century, marked by industrialization, urbanization, and the challenges faced by those on the margins of society."The Ghetto and Other Poems" stands as a testament to Lola Ridge's commitment to using poetry as a means of shedding light on social issues and advocating for change. Immerse yourself in Ridge's poignant verses to experience the vivid narratives and impassioned voices of those often overlooked in the broader historical narrative.

"The Habitant and Other French-Canadian Poems" is a collection of poetry written by William Henry Drummond, a Canadian poet born in Ireland. Published in 1897, this collection is notable for its exploration of French-Canadian culture and dialect.Drummond's poems in this collection often portray the life, language, and traditions of the habitants, the French-Canadian rural inhabitants. He captures the essence of their daily lives, struggles, and joys in a distinctive blend of English and French dialects, showcasing his efforts to preserve the cultural and linguistic heritage of the French-Canadian community.One of Drummond's well-known poems from this collection is "The Wreck of the 'Julie Plante'," which humorously narrates the misadventures of a French-Canadian man during a steamboat journey."The Habitant and Other French-Canadian Poems" is considered a pioneering work in Canadian literature, as it brings attention to the multicultural and multilingual aspects of Canadian identity. Drummond's ability to capture the unique character of French-Canadian life contributed to the broader recognition and appreciation of Canadian literature during the late 19th century.

"The German Legion" is a poem written by Sydney Thompson Dobell, a 19th-century English poet and critic. Published in 1856, the poem is a reflection on the German Legion's involvement in the Crimean War (1853-1856).The German Legion was a military unit composed of German-speaking soldiers, many of whom were political refugees. Dobell's poem likely explores themes related to war, heroism, and the experiences of soldiers. Given the historical context of the Crimean War, the poem might touch upon the challenges faced by the German Legion during this conflict.Sydney Thompson Dobell was associated with the Spasmodic poetry movement, characterized by its emotional intensity and unconventional style. "The German Legion" may reflect Dobell's poetic approach and his engagement with contemporary political and military events.For a detailed analysis and appreciation of the poem, it would be beneficial to explore the specific verses and themes within "The German Legion." If you have access to the full text of the poem, you can delve into Dobell's language, imagery, and the historical context to gain a deeper understanding of his perspective on war and the German Legion's role in it.

MEN call you ¿dark.¿ What factory then blurred the light Of golden suns, when nothing blacker than the shades Of coming rain climbed up the heather-mantled height? While the air Breathed all the scents of all untrodden flowers, And brooks poured silver through the glimmering glades, Then sweetly wound through virgin ground. Must all that beauty pass? And must our pleasure trains Like foul eruptions belch upon the mountain head? Must we perforce build vulgar villa lanes, And on sweet fields of grass The canting scutcheons of a cheating commerce spread? Men call you ¿dark.¿ Did that faith see with cobwebbed eyes, That built the airy octagon on Ely¿s hill,And Gloucester¿s Eastern wall that woos the topaz skies, Where the hymn Angelic ¿Glory be to God on high,And peace on earth to men who feel good will,¿Might softly sound God¿s throne around? Is that a perfect faith Which pew-filled chapels rears, Where Gothic fronts of stone mask backs of ill-baked bricks, And where the frothy fighting preacher fears, As peasants fear a wraith, His deacon¿s frown or some just change in politics?

"The Death-Wake; or, Lunacy: A Necromaunt in Three Chimeras" is a narrative poem written by Scottish author and journalist Thomas Tod Stoddart. Published in 1862, this poem is a dark and imaginative work that explores themes of death, the supernatural, and the human psyche.The title itself suggests a fascination with death and the afterlife, using poetic and archaic language to create an eerie and atmospheric tone. Stoddart, known for his contributions to various literary genres, crafted this work during the Victorian era when Gothic and macabre themes were prevalent in literature.The poem is structured in three parts, referred to as "Chimeras," which may indicate a series of fantastical and dreamlike episodes or visions. Stoddart's language is likely to be rich and descriptive, contributing to the eerie and mystical ambiance of the narrative."The Death-Wake" is not as widely known as some other works from the Victorian era, but it remains an interesting example of the period's fascination with the supernatural and its exploration of the mysterious realms of life and death. If you have access to the full text, you can delve into Stoddart's poetic language and thematic exploration to fully appreciate the nuances of "The Death-Wake."

"The Green Helmet and Other Poems" is a collection of poetry by the Irish poet William Butler Yeats. Published in 1910, this collection reflects Yeats's exploration of themes such as love, nature, mysticism, and the mythology of Ireland.The title poem, "The Green Helmet," is known for its use of symbolism and explores the themes of love and desire. In addition to the titular poem, the collection includes a variety of other works that showcase Yeats's distinctive poetic style and his engagement with Irish folklore and traditions.Yeats, a key figure in the Irish Literary Revival and a Nobel laureate in Literature, is celebrated for his contributions to modernist poetry. His work often incorporates elements of Irish mythology and the occult, and he was a co-founder of the Abbey Theatre in Dublin."The Green Helmet and Other Poems" provides readers with a glimpse into Yeats's evolving poetic vision during this period. Immerse yourself in the lyrical and symbolic world of W. B. Yeats as he weaves together themes of love, mythology, and the complexities of the human experience.