var challenges = [
    {
        "line": ["A", "presence", "that", "disturbs", "me", "with", "the", "joy"],
        "scansion": ["x", "/x", "/", "x/", "x", "/", "x", "/"],
        "title": "Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey",
        "collection": "Lyrical Ballads",
        "author": "William Wordsworth",
        "meter": "iambic pentameter",
        "ctx": `
And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.
`,
        "link": "https://www.gutenberg.org/files/9622/9622-h/9622-h.htm#poem23",
    },
    {
        "line": "For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast".split(' '),
        "scansion": ['x', 'x', '/x', 'x', '/', 'x', 'x', '/', 'x', 'x', '/'],
        "title": "The Destruction of Sennacherib",
        "collection": "Hebrew Melodies",
        "author": "Lord Byron",
        "meter": "anapestic tetrameter",
        "ctx": `
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
`,
        "link": "https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43827/the-destruction-of-sennacherib",
    },
    {
        "line": "Infinite wrath and infinite despair".split(' '),
        "scansion": ['x/x', '/', 'x', '/x/', 'x/'],
        "title": "Book IV",
        "collection": "Paradise Lost",
        "author": "John Milton",
        "meter": "iambic pentameter",
        "ctx": `
Me miserable! which way shall I flie
Infinite wrauth, and infinite despaire?
Which way I flie is Hell; my self am Hell;
And in the lowest deep a lower deep
Still threatning to devour me opens wide,
To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav'n.
`,
        "link": "https://milton.host.dartmouth.edu/reading_room/pl/book_4/text.shtml",
    },
    {
        "line": "Underneath the moaning hemlocks".split(' '),
        "scansion": ['/x/', 'x', '/x', '/x'],
        "title": "The Famine",
        "collection": "The Song of Hiawatha",
        "author": "Henry Wadsworth Longfellow",
        "meter": "trochaic tetrameter",
        "ctx": `
Then they buried Minnehaha;
In the snow a grave they made her,
In the forest deep and darksome,
Underneath the moaning hemlocks;
Clothed her in her richest garments,
Wrapped her in her robes of ermine,
Covered her with snow, like ermine;
Thus they buried Minnehaha.
`,
        "link": "https://www.gutenberg.org/files/30795/30795-h/30795-h.htm#XX",
    },
    {
        "line": "Melodious birds sing madrigals".split(' '),
        "scansion": ['x/x', '/', 'x', '/x/'],
        "title": "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love",
        "collection": null,
        "author": "Christopher Marlowe",
        "meter": "iambic tetrameter",
        "ctx": `
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
`,
        "link": "https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Passionate_Shepherd_to_His_Love",
    },
    {
        "line": "To dew her orbs upon the green".split(' '),
        "scansion": ['x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x/', 'x', '/'],
        "title": "Puck, Act II, Scene I",
        "collection": "A Midsummer's Night Dream",
        "author": "William Shakespeare",
        "meter": "iambic tetrameter",
        "ctx": `
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours:
`,
        "link": "http://shakespeare.mit.edu/midsummer/full.html#2.1.2",
    },
    {
        "line": "What lips my lips have kissed and where and why".split(' '),
        "scansion": ['x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x', '/'],
        "title": "Sonnet XLIII",
        "collection": "",
        "author": "Edna St. Vincent Millay",
        "meter": "iambic pentameter",
        "ctx": `
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
`,
        "link": "https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46557/what-lips-my-lips-have-kissed-and-where-and-why",
    },
    {
        "line": "Locked and frozen in each eye".split(' '),
        "scansion": ['/', 'x', '/x', '/', 'x', '/'],
        "title": "In Memory of W. B. Yeats",
        "collection": "",
        "author": "W. H. Auden",
        "meter": "catalectic trochaic tetrameter",
        "ctx": `
Earth, receive an honoured guest:
William Yeats is laid to rest.
Let the Irish vessel lie
Emptied of its poetry.

In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;

Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.
`,
        "link": "https://poets.org/poem/memory-w-b-yeats",
    },
    {
        "line": "To skies that knit their heartstrings right".split(' '),
        "scansion": ['x', '/', 'x', '/', 'x', '/x', '/'],
        "title": "From Clee to heaven the beacon burns",
        "collection": "A Shropshire Lad",
        "author": "A. E. Housman",
        "meter": "iambic tetrameter",
        "ctx": `
To skies that knit their heartstrings right,
    To fields that bred them brave,
The saviours come not home to-night:
    Themselves they could not save.
`,
        "link": "https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44410/a-shropshire-lad-1-from-clee-to-heaven-the-beacon-burns",
    },
    {
        "line": "Into the jaws of Death".split(' '),
        "scansion": ['/x', 'x', '/', 'x', 'x'],
        "title": "The Charge of the Light Brigade",
        "collection": null,
        "author": "Alfred, Lord Tennyson",
        "meter": "dactylic dimeter",
        "ctx": `
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
    Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
    Rode the six hundred.
`,
        "link": "https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45319/the-charge-of-the-light-brigade",
    },
]
    // {
    //     "line": "Into the jaws of Death".split(' '),
    //     "scansion": ['/x', 'x', '/', 'x', 'x'],
    //     "title": "The Charge of the Light Brigade",
    //     "collection": null,
    //     "author": "Alfred, Lord Tennyson",
    //     "meter": "dactylic dimeter",
    //     "ctx": `
// `,
    //     "link": "https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45319/the-charge-of-the-light-brigade",
    // },