American Supreme Court justices cited most often are:

American Supreme Court justices can't resist the temptation to dignify their opinions with literary wisdom. The authors cited most often are:
1. Shakespeare
2. Lewis Carroll
3. George Orwell
4. Charles Dickens

From boundary disputes to murder, why lawyers love Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a famous play?

ECON.ST

http://www.bl.uk/collection-items/experiments-in-quantity-manuscript-poems-by-lord-alfred-tennyson

MANUSCRIPT

'Experiments in Quantity', manuscript poems by Lord Alfred Tennyson

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The manuscript poems shown here, written in Alfred Lord Tennyson’s hand, are examples of Tennyson experimenting with classical forms of poetry.

The poem headed ‘Milton: Alcaics’ was written on the 16th November 1863 and published in the Cornhill Magazine in December. Alcaics were a form of verse invented in around 600 BC by the Greek lyric poet Alcaeus, with a distinctive prosody and stanza form, both of which Tennyson accurately mimics here. Unlike English poetry which is metrical (i.e. based on the patterning of stressed and unstressed syllables) Greek and Latin verse was quantitative (i.e. based not on stress, but rather based on the patterning of short and long vowels – for example the word ‘pain’ includes a long vowel while ‘pan’ has a short one). Tennyson experimented with different verse forms throughout his life – the Lincolnshire dialect poems ‘Northern Farmer: Old Style’ and ‘Northern Farmer: New Style’ being further examples of his experimentation in language, rhyme and format. 

‘Hendecasyllabics’ was written in the autumn of 1863 and is another example of such experimentation with form. Hendecasyllabics are verses in which the lines contain eleven syllables. The Greek lyric poet Sappho (630–612BC) and the Roman poet Catullus (84–54 BC) are particularly associated with hendecasyllabics. 

All of the poems shown here were published, with alterations, in the volume Enoch Arden, etc.in 1864.

       2

                                      Milton

                                           -

                                      Alcaics

                                           -

O mighty-mouth’d inventor of harmonies,

Equal ^ O skill’d  to sing of Time or Eternity,

            God-gifted organ-voice of England,

                        Milton, a name to resound for ages,

Whose Titan Angels, Gabriel, Abdiel,

Start^r’d  from Jehovah’s gorgeous armouries,

            Tower, as the deep-domed empyrëan

                        Rings to the roar of an angel onset -

Me rather all that bowery loneliness,

Those brooks of Eden mazily murmuring,

            And bloom profuse & cedar arches

                        Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean,

Where some refulgent sunset of India

Streams Dims Dies ^ Streams  o’er a rich ambrosial * ocean isle,

            And crimson-hued the stately palmwoods

                        Whisper in odorous heights of Eden:  ^ even.

* Not to be read as a dactyl, but as a trochee &

long syllable, for the line is meant to be read

slowly.

- See more at: http://www.bl.uk/collection-items/experiments-in-quantity-manuscript-poems-by-lord-alfred-tennyson#sthash.YqkzT7yp.dpuf

the Chorus's Prologue from Henry V, 亨利五世 開場白

‪#‎UChicago‬ prof. David Bevington is one of the world's most devoted and distinguished Shakespeareans. He recently sat down withUChicago College to discuss the early days of theater at the University—and to recite the Chorus's Prologue from Henry V, completely from memory.

致辭者上。 　　致辭者： 　　啊！光芒萬丈的繆斯女神呀，你登上了無比輝煌的幻想的天堂；拿整個王國當做舞台，叫帝王們充任演員，讓君主們瞪眼瞧著那偉大的場景！——只有這樣，那威武的亨利，才像他本人，才具備著戰神的氣概；在他的腳後跟，“饑饉”、“利劍”和“烈火”像是套上皮帶的獵狗一樣，蹲伏著，只等待一聲命令。 　　可是，在座的諸君，請原諒吧！像咱們這樣低微的小人物，居然在這幾塊破板搭成的戲台上，也搬演什麼轟轟烈烈的事蹟。難道說，這麼一個“鬥雞場”容得下法蘭西的萬里江山？還是我們這個木頭的圓框子裡塞得進那麼多將士？——只消他們把頭盔晃一晃，管叫阿金庫爾①的空氣都跟著震盪！請原諒吧！可不是，一個小小的圓圈兒，湊在數字的末尾，就可以變成個一百萬；那麼，讓我們就憑這點渺小的作用，來激發你們龐大的想像力吧。①法國北部的一個村落，亨利五世大敗法軍於此。 　　就算在這團團一圈的牆壁內包圍了兩個強大的王國：國境和國境（一片緊接的高地），卻叫驚濤駭浪（一道海峽）從中間一隔兩斷。發揮你們的想像力，來彌補我們的貧乏吧——一個人，把他分身為一千個，組成了一支幻想的大軍。我們提到馬兒，眼前就彷佛真有萬馬奔騰，捲起了半天塵土。把我們的帝王裝扮得像個樣兒，這也全靠你們的想像幫忙了；憑著那想像力，把他們搬東移西，在時間裡飛躍，叫多少年代的事蹟都擠塞在一個時辰裡。就為了這個使命，請容許我在這個史劇前面，做個致辭者——要說的無非是那幾句開場白：這齣戲文，要請諸君多多地包涵，靜靜地聽。 　　　（下。）

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5dI65LvbrE

The Life of King Henry the Fifth

Shakespeare homepage | Henry V | Act 1, Prologue Next scene

PROLOGUE

Enter Chorus

Chorus

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention,
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire
Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all,
The flat unraised spirits that have dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt?
O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
Attest in little place a million;
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
On your imaginary forces work.
Suppose within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
Into a thousand parts divide on man,
And make imaginary puissance;
Think when we talk of horses, that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times,
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass: for the which supply,
Admit me Chorus to this history;
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray,
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.
Exit

Long and Sluggish Lines by Wallace Stevens

The Paris Review

Long and Sluggish Lines
by Wallace Stevens

It makes so little difference, at so much more
Than seventy, where one looks, one has been there before.

Wood-smoke rises through the trees, is caught in an upper flow
Of air and whirled away. But it has been often so.

The trees have a look as if they bore sad names
And kept saying over and over one same, same thing,

In a kind of uproar, because an opposite, a contradiction,
Has enraged them and made them want to talk it down.

What opposite? Could it be that yellow patch, the side
Of a house, that makes one think the house is laughing;

Or these–escent–issant pre-personae: first fly,
A comic infanta among the tragic drapings,

Babyishness of forsythia, a snatch of belief,
The spook and makings of the nude magnolia?

... Wanderer, this is the pre-history of February.
The life of the poem in the mind has not yet begun.

You were not born yet when the trees were crystal
Nor are you now, in this wakefulness inside a sleep.

Wallace Stevens’s “Long and Sluggish Lines”

Reading these long and sluggish lines, I can see Wallace Stevens at work in his quiet office, looking out of the window at a cold, sunny winter day much like today.

THEPARISREVIEW.ORG|由 ELIZA GRISWOLD 上傳

"There is no Frigate like a Book" by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

"There is no Frigate like a Book" by Emily Dickinson

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a 
Page Of prancing Poetry-
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll-
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human soul.

William Shakespeare 二處： Mark Antony, Cleopatra

William Shakespeare 的相片。

克莉奧佩特拉：不，那是免不了的，伊拉絲。放肆的衛士們將要追逐我們像追逐娼妓一樣；歌功頌德的詩人們將要用荒腔走韻的謠曲吟詠我們；俏皮的喜劇伶人們將要把我們編成即興的戲劇，扮演我們亞歷山大里亞的歡宴。安東尼將要以一個醉漢的姿態登場，而我將要看見一個逼尖了喉音的男童穿著克莉奧佩特拉的冠服賣弄著淫婦的風情。 (朱生豪)

William Shakespeare

12 小時前 · 

RIP Alan Rickman (1946–2016)

"Nay, ’tis most certain, Iras. Saucy lictors

Will catch at us like strumpets, and scald rhymers

Ballad us out o’ tune. The quick comedians
Extemporally will stage us, and present
Our Alexandrian revels. Antony
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness
I’ th’ posture of a whore."
--Cleopatra from Antony and Cleopatra" (V.ii.210–217)

Born on this day in 83 B.C. was Roman politician and commander Mark Antony, beloved of the Egyptian queen Cleopatra. Pliny's "Natural History" is the source for the interesting story about them. Once, seeking to amaze with her wealth her beloved, Mark Antony, Cleopatra dissolved a large pearl in a glass of vinegar, and then drank it down to the very last. This story was depicted by Flemish painter Jacob Jordaens in the painting 'Cleopatra's Feast' (1653) – http://ow.ly/X2uZ8

****

他們用棺材架把他抬走
唉呀，唉呀，唉呀唉，
灑一陣眼淚在他的墳頭。
再見，我的小鴿兒。
(卞之琳譯)

William Shakespeare

15小時 · 

"They bore him barefaced on the bier;
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny;
And in his grave rained many a tear.
Fare you well, my dove."
--Ophelia singing to Laertes in "Hamlet" (Act 4, Scene 5)

THE BALLAD OF FATHER GILLIGAN: THE WHITE BIRDS./ But Love has pitched his mansion in The place of excrement;

But Love has pitched his mansion in 
The place of excrement; 
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.

Yeats' Heart and Soul - In a Dark Time ... The Eye Begins to ...

www.lorenwebster.net/In_a_Dark_Time/2002/.../yeats-heart-and-soul/

Feb 19, 2002 - When on love intent; But Love has pitched his mansion in. The placeof excrement; For nothing can be sole or whole. That has not been rent.

Crazy Jane Talks With The Bishop Poem by William Butler ...

www.poemhunter.com › Poems

Dec 18, 2008 - But Love has pitched his mansion in. The place of excrement; Fornothing can be sole or whole. That has not been rent.' William Butler Yeats.

W B Yeats

THE WHITE BIRDS

I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the
foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade
and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low
on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that
may not die.

A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled,
the lily and rose;
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the
meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in
the fall of the dew:
For I would we were changed to white birds on the
wandering foam: I and you!

I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a
Danaan shore,
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come
near us no more;
Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the
flames would we be,
Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on
the foam of the sea!

THE BALLAD OF FATHER GILLIGAN

THE old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day;
For half his flock were in their beds,
Or under green sods lay.


Once, while he nodded on a chair,
At the moth-hour of eve,
Another poor man sent for him,
And he began to grieve.

'I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
For people die and die';
And after cried he, 'God forgive!
My body spake, not I!'

He knelt, and leaning on the chair
He prayed and fell asleep;
And the moth-hour went from the fields,
And stars began to peep.

They slowly into millions grew,
And leaves shook in the wind;
And God covered the world with shade,
And whispered to mankind.

Upon the time of sparrow-chirp
When the moths came once more.
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Stood upright on the floor.

'Mavrone, mavrone! the man has died
While I slept on the chair';
He roused his horse out of its sleep,
And rode with little care.

He rode now as he never rode,
By rocky lane and fen;
The sick man's wife opened the door:
'Father! you come again!'

'And is the poor man dead?' he cried.
'He died an hour ago.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan
In grief swayed to and fro.

'When you were gone, he turned and died
As merry as a bird.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan
He knelt him at that word.

'He Who hath made the night of stars
For souls who tire and bleed,
Sent one of His great angels down
To help me in my need.

'He Who is wrapped in purple robes,
With planets in His care,
Had pity on the least of things
Asleep upon a chair.'

They Flee From Me BY SIR THOMAS WYATT

They Flee From Me

BY SIR THOMAS WYATT

They flee from me that sometime did me seek

With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.

I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,

That now are wild and do not remember

That sometime they put themself in danger

To take bread at my hand; and now they range,

Busily seeking with a continual change.

Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise

Twenty times better; but once in special,

In thin array after a pleasant guise,

When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,

And she me caught in her arms long and small;

Therewithall sweetly did me kiss

And softly said, “Dear heart, how like you this?”

It was no dream: I lay broad waking.

But all is turned thorough my gentleness

Into a strange fashion of forsaking;

And I have leave to go of her goodness,

And she also, to use newfangleness.

But since that I so kindly am served

I would fain know what she hath deserved.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xakBwPOOr-I

Wait, why are they fleeing?

The Best Breakup Song: Thomas Wyatt’s “They Flee From Me”

Damion Searls on Wyatt’s famous poem, the end of love, and the strange…

THEPARISREVIEW.ORG|由 DAMION SEARLS 上傳

"Rain on a Grave" by Thomas Hardy

Everyman's Library

Thomas Hardy died in Dorchester, Dorset, England on this day in 1928 (aged 87). In his later years Hardy published only poetry.

"Rain on a Grave" by Thomas Hardy

Clouds spout upon her
Their waters amain
In ruthless disdain, -
Her who but lately
Had shivered with pain
As at touch of dishonour
If there had lit on her
So coldly, so straightly
Such arrows of rain:

One who to shelter
Her delicate head
Would quicken and quicken
Each tentative tread
If drops chanced to pelt her
That summertime spills
In dust-paven rills
When thunder-clouds thicken
And birds close their bills.

Would that I lay there
And she were housed here!
Or better, together
Were folded away there
Exposed to one weather
We both, - who would stray there
When sunny the day there,
Or evening was clear
At the prime of the year.

Soon will be growing
Green blades from her mound,
And daisies be showing
Like stars on the ground,
Till she form part of them -
Ay - the sweet heart of them,
Loved beyond measure
With a child's pleasure
All her life's round.

*

Poems: Hardy contains poems from Moments of Vision, Satires of Circumstance, Veteris Vestigia Flammae, Heredity, Short Stories, Afterwards, and an index of first lines.

Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind

"My honour'd lord, you know right well you did;
And, with them, words of so sweet breath composed
As made the things more rich: their perfume lost,
Take these again; for to the noble mind
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
There, my lord."
--Ophelia to Hamlet from "Hamlet" - (Act III, Scene I).

1.1 

The citizen by Pablo Neruda

The citizen
by Pablo Neruda

I went into the toolshops
in all innocence
to buy a simple hammer
or some vague scissors.
I should never have done it.
Since then and restlessly
I devote my time to steel,
to the most shadowy tools:
hoes bring me to my knees,
horseshoes enslave me.

"Leda and the Swan" ... THE PITY OF LOVE By W B Yeats

W B Yeats

THE PITY OF LOVE

A PITY beyond all telling

Is hid in the heart of love:

The folk who are buying and selling,
The clouds on their journey above,
The cold wet winds ever blowing,
And the shadowy hazel grove
Where mouse-grey waters are flowing,
Threaten the head that I love.

-----

"Leda and the Swan" by W.B.Yeats (1865 - 1939)

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.


How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

*

CUCHULAIN'S FIGHT WITH THE SEA By W B Yeats

W B Yeats

CUCHULAIN'S FIGHT WITH THE SEA

A MAN came slowly from the setting sun,
To Emer, raddling raiment in her dun,
And said, 'I am that swineherd whom you bid
Go watch the road between the wood and tide,
But now I have no need to watch it more.'

Then Emer cast the web upon the floor,
And raising arms all raddled with the dye,
Parted her lips with a loud sudden cry.

That swineherd stared upon her face and said,
'No man alive, no man among the dead,
Has won the gold his cars of battle bring.'

'But if your master comes home triumphing
Why must you blench and shake from foot to crown?'

Thereon he shook the more and cast him down
Upon the web-heaped floor, and cried his word:
'With him is one sweet-throated like a bird.'

'You dare me to my face,' and thereupon
She smote with raddled fist, and where her son
Herded the cattle came with stumbling feet,
And cried with angry voice, 'It is not meet
To idle life away, a common herd.'

'I have long waited, mother, for that word:
But wherefore now?'

'There is a man to die;
You have the heaviest arm under the sky.'

'Whether under its daylight or its stars
My father stands amid his battle-cars.'

'But you have grown to be the taller man.'

'Yet somewhere under starlight or the sun
My father stands.'

'Aged, worn out with wars
On foot. on horseback or in battle-cars.'

'I only ask what way my journey lies,
For He who made you bitter made you wise.'

'The Red Branch camp in a great company
Between wood's rim and the horses of the sea.
Go there, and light a camp-fire at wood's rim;
But tell your name and lineage to him
Whose blade compels, and wait till they have found
Some feasting man that the same oath has bound.'

Among those feasting men Cuchulain dwelt,
And his young sweetheart close beside him knelt,
Stared on the mournful wonder of his eyes,
Even as Spring upon the ancient skies,
And pondered on the glory of his days;
And all around the harp-string told his praise,
And Conchubar, the Red Branch king of kings,
With his own fingers touched the brazen strings.

At last Cuchulain spake, 'Some man has made
His evening fire amid the leafy shade.
I have often heard him singing to and fro,
I have often heard the sweet sound of his bow.
Seek out what man he is.'

One went and came.
'He bade me let all know he gives his name
At the sword-point, and waits till we have found
Some feasting man that the same oath has bound.'

Cuchulain cried, 'I am the only man
Of all this host so bound from childhood on.

After short fighting in the leafy shade,
He spake to the young man, 'Is there no maid
Who loves you, no white arms to wrap you round,
Or do you long for the dim sleepy ground,
That you have come and dared me to my face?'

'The dooms of men are in God's hidden place,'

'Your head a while seemed like a woman's head
That I loved once.'

Again the fighting sped,
But now the war-rage in Cuchulain woke,
And through that new blade's guard the old blade
broke,
And pierced him.

'Speak before your breath is done.'

'Cuchulain I, mighty Cuchulain's son.'

'I put you from your pain. I can no more.'

While day its burden on to evening bore,
With head bowed on his knees Cuchulain stayed;
Then Conchubar sent that sweet-throated maid,
And she, to win him, his grey hair caressed;
In vain her arms, in vain her soft white breast.
Then Conchubar, the subtlest of all men,
Ranking his Druids round him ten by ten,
Spake thus: 'Cuchulain will dwell there and brood
For three days more in dreadful quietude,
And then arise, and raving slay us all.
Chaunt in his ear delusions magical,
That he may fight the horses of the sea.'
The Druids took them to their mystery,
And chaunted for three days.

Cuchulain stirred,
Stared on the horses of the sea, and heard
The cars of battle and his own name cried;
And fought with the invulnerable tide.