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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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Engaged in or ready for action; characterized by energetic work, thought, or speech.

“The students were very active in class discussions, asking many thoughtful questions.”

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XV. PAIN.

67 lines
Coventry Patmore·1823–1896
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, Pain, Love's mystery,Close next of kinTo joy and heart's delight,Low Pleasure's opposite,Choice food of sanctityAnd medicine of sin,Angel, whom even they that will pursuePleasure with hell's whole gustFind that they mustPerversely woo,My lips, thy live coal touching, speak thee true.Thou sear'st my flesh, O Pain,But brand'st for arduous peace my languid brain,And bright'nest my dull view,Till I, for blessing, blessing give again,And my roused spirit isAnother fire of bliss,Wherein I learnFeelingly how the pangful, purging fireShall furiously burnWith joy, not only of assured desire,But also present joyOf seeing the life's corruption, stain by stain,Vanish in the clear heat of Love irate,And, fume by fume, the sick alloyOf luxury, sloth and hateEvaporate;Leaving the man, so dark erewhile,The mirror merely of God's smile.Herein, O Pain, abides the praiseFor which my song I raise;But even the bastard good of intermittent easeHow greatly doth it please!With what reposeThe being from its bright exertion glows,When from thy strenuous storm the senses sweepInto a little harbour deepOf rest;When thou, O Pain,Having devour'd the nerves that thee sustain,Sleep'st, till thy tender food be somewhat grownagain;And how the lullWith tear-blind love is full!What mockery of a man am I express'dThat I should wait for theeTo woo!Nor even dare to love, till thou lov'st me.How shameful, too,Is this:That, when thou lov'st, I am at first afraidOf thy fierce kiss,Like a young maid;And only trust thy charmsAnd get my courage in thy throbbing arms.And, when thou partest, what a fickle mindThou leav'st behind,That, being a little absent from mine eye,It straight forgets thee what thou art,And ofttimes my adulterate heartDallies with Pleasure, thy pale enemy.O, for the learned spirit without attaintThat does not faint,But knows both how to have thee and to lack,And ventures many a spell,Unlawful but for them that love so well,To call thee back.
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