Date: Sun, 9 Nov 1997 23:54:42 -0500
From: George Trail <gtrail-AT-UH.EDU>
Subject: Re: PLC: Song of Myself


Its Wordsworth. I don't hear it. Maybe you could look up the poem now
that you've got the author and see if you still feel the same way. 


> BTW, below in stanza 3, line 6 [the covention is to number lines
continuosly,ergo 3:6 is line 44, as I read it. ] could this be a
literary allusion to "The Leach Gatherer?" I believe I have that title
correct and I can't seem to remember the poet either, but It keeps
coming up when I read this. Just a guess. sorry!

>"And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,  (No
doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) [This is section
49!, you need to find a consistent mode of reference.]

>

> I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven,  O suns- O grass of
graves- O perpetual transfers and promotions,  If you do not say any
thing how can I say any thing?

>

> <bold>Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest,[/]</bold> 
Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight,[/] 
Toss, sparkles of day and dusk- toss on the black stems that decay  in
the muck,[/]  Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs. [Be true
to the poem. Observe a line break with a slash, if you can't indent it.
I correct the above text.]

>

> I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night,[/]  I perceive that
the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected,[/]  And debouch to
the steady and central from the offspring great or  small.

>

>

>

>

> 50

>-- Thad Q. Alexander (rattler-AT-inreach.net) OCC Undergraduate Long
Beach, CA. USA --- CHAUCER-AT-listserv.uic.edu
Phillitcrit-AT-jefferson.village.Virginia.EDU Phil-lit-AT-Was found morally
unfit for my presence:11\3\97 SHAKSPER-AT-ws.bowiestate.edu Great Books of
Western Civilization --- For him was lever han at his beddes hed A
twenty bokes, clothed in black or red, Of Aristotle, and his
philosophie, Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie. But all be that he
was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre. ---Geoffrey
Chaucer, Canterbury Tales 






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