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ReadingWillow structured literacy program for Australian students
Poetry Library

— Stephen Crane

I stood upon a high place,

And saw, below, many devils

Running, leaping,

And carousing in sin.

…

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noun

A person whose profession is acting on the stage, in films, or on television.

“The lead actor delivered a powerful performance that moved the entire audience to tears.”

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I.

64 lines
Coventry Patmore·1823–1896
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HEN I behold the skies aloftPassing the pageantry of dreams,The cloud whose bosom, cygnet-soft,A couch for nuptial Juno seems,The ocean broad, the mountains bright,The shadowy vales with feeding herds,I from my lyre the music smite,Nor want for justly matching words.All forces of the sea and air,All interests of hill and plain,I so can sing, in seasons fair,That who hath felt may feel again.Elated oft by such free songs,I think with utterance free to raiseThat hymn for which the whole world longs,A worthy hymn in woman’s praise;A hymn bright-noted like a bird’s,Arousing these song-sleepy timesWith rhapsodies of perfect words,Ruled by returning kiss of rhymes.But when I look on her and hopeTo tell with joy what I admire,My thoughts lie cramp’d in narrow scope,Or in the feeble birth expire;No mystery of well-woven speech,No simplest phrase of tenderest fall,No liken’d excellence can reachHer, thee most excellent of all,The best half of creation’s best,Its heart to feel, its eye to see,The crown and complex of the rest,Its aim and its epitome.Nay, might I utter my conceit,’Twere after all a vulgar song,For she’s so simply, subtly sweet,My deepest rapture does her wrong.Yet is it now my chosen taskTo sing her worth as Maid and Wife;Nor happier post than this I ask,To live her laureate all my life.On wings of love uplifted free,And by her gentleness made great,I’ll teach how noble man should beTo match with such a lovely mate;And then in her may move the moreThe woman’s wish to be desired,(By praise increased), till both shall soar,With blissful emulations fired.And, as geranium, pink, or roseIs thrice itself through power of art,So may my happy skill discloseNew fairness even in her fair heart;Until that churl shall nowhere beWho bends not, awed, before the throneOf her affecting majesty,So meek, so far unlike our own;Until (for who may hope too muchFrom her who wields the powers of love?)Our lifted lives at last shall touchThat happy goal to which they move;Until we find, as darkness rollsAway, and evil mists dissolve,That nuptial contrasts are the polesOn which the heavenly spheres revolve.
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