From adeb3cf6b338d81e8ba4ca8b5ce8a444f5a7d997 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: cyfraeviolae Date: Wed, 16 Mar 2022 01:31:03 -0400 Subject: more poems --- static/poems.js | 145 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ static/script.js | 9 +++- 2 files changed, 153 insertions(+), 1 deletion(-) diff --git a/static/poems.js b/static/poems.js index 6086ed2..52ecbbf 100644 --- a/static/poems.js +++ b/static/poems.js @@ -237,6 +237,151 @@ Faint as shed flowers, the attenuated dream. `, "link": "http://www.rossettiarchive.org/docs/sonnets.lcms.rad.html#21-1871", }, + { + }, + { + }, + { + }, + { + }, + { + }, + { + }, + { + "line": "The art of losing isnt hard to master".split(' '), + "scansion": 'x / x /x /x / x /x', + "title": "One Art", + "collection": null, + "author": "Elizabeth Bishop", + "meter": "hendecasyllabic", + "ctx": ` +The art of losing isn’t hard to master; +so many things seem filled with the intent +to be lost that their loss is no disaster. +`, + "link": "https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47536/one-art", + }, + { + "line": "His soul stretched tight across the skies".split(' '), + "scansion": ['x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x/', 'x', '/'], + "title": "Preludes", + "collection": null, + "author": "T. S. Eliot", + "meter": "iambic tetrameter", + "ctx": ` +His soul stretched tight across the skies +That fade behind a city block, +Or trampled by insistent feet +At four and five and six o’clock; +And short square fingers stuffing pipes, +And evening newspapers, and eyes +Assured of certain certainties, +The conscience of a blackened street +Impatient to assume the world. +`, + "link": "https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44214/preludes-56d22338dc954", + }, + { + "line": "Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains".split(' '), + "scansion": ['x', '/x', '/', 'x', '/x', '/', 'x', '/'], + "title": "Ode to a Nightingale", + "collection": null, + "author": "John Keats", + "meter": "iambic pentameter", + "ctx": ` +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: +'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, + But being too happy in thine happiness,— + That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees + In some melodious plot + Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, + Singest of summer in full-throated ease. +`, + "link": "https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44479/ode-to-a-nightingale", + }, + { + "line": "I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing".split(' '), + "scansion": ['x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x', '/x', '/'], + "title": "Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel", + "collection": null, + "author": "Oscar Wilde", + "meter": "iambic pentameter", + "ctx": ` +Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring, +Sad olive-groves, or silver-breasted dove, +Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love +Than terrors of red flame and thundering. +The hillside vines dear memories of Thee bring: +A bird at evening flying to its nest +Tells me of One who had no place of rest: +I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing. +Come rather on some autumn afternoon, +When red and brown are burnished on the leaves, +And the fields echo to the gleaner's song, +Come when the splendid fulness of the moon +Looks down upon the rows of golden sheaves, +And reap Thy harvest: we have waited long. +`, + "link": "http://www.literaturecollection.com/a/wilde/343/", + }, + { + "line": "Frenetic to be free makes one red stretch for home".split(' '), + "scansion": ['x/x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x', '/'], + "title": "Fifine at the Fair", + "collection": null, + "author": "Robert Browning", + "meter": "alexandrine", + "ctx": ` + Yet morning promised much: for, pitched and slung and reared +On terrace ’neath the tower, ’twixt tree and tree appeared +An airy structure; how the pennon from its dome, +Frenetic to be free, makes one red stretch for home! +The home far and away, the distance where lives joy, +The cure, at once and ever, of world and world’s annoy; +Since, what lolls full in front, a furlong from the booth, +But ocean-idleness, sky-blue and millpond-smooth? +`, + "link": "https://telelib.com/authors/B/BrowningRobert/verse/misc/fifineatthefair.html", + }, + { + "line": "Death feeds on his mute voice and laughs at our despair".split(' '), + "scansion": 'x / x / x / x / x / x/', + "title": "Adonais", + "collection": null, + "author": "Percy Bysshe Shelley", + "meter": "alexandrine", + "ctx": ` +Oh weep for Adonais-he is dead! +Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep! +Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed +Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep, +Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep; +For he is gone where all things wise and fair +Descend. Oh dream not that the amorous deep +Will yet restore him to the vital air; +Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair . +`, + "link": "http://www.english.emory.edu/classes/Handbook/Spenserian.html", + }, + { + "line": "Rage rage against the dying of the light".split(' '), + "scansion": 'x / x/ x /x / x /', + "title": "Do not go gentle into that good night", + "collection": null, + "author": "Dylan Thomas", + "meter": "iambic pentameter", + "ctx": ` +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. +`, + "link": "https://poets.org/poem/do-not-go-gentle-good-night", + }, ] /* { diff --git a/static/script.js b/static/script.js index 0de93ad..70c17d1 100644 --- a/static/script.js +++ b/static/script.js @@ -34,7 +34,14 @@ function renderWord(word, wordIdx, guess, score, offset) { var typ = guess ? 'solbox' : 'entrybox' els.push(`
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