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Thursday, November 27, 2008

John Ashbery, "To a Waterfowl" Cento Sources

A Cento by John Ashbery:  Sources

Annotations by Rosanne Wasserman, November 8, 2008

 

To a Waterfowl

                                                            Bryant, “To a Waterfowl,” title

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/102/17.html>

Where, like a pillow on a bed

Donne, “The Extasy,” l. 1

<http://www.bartleby.com/101/198.html>           

I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude

                                                            Milton, “Lycidas,” l. 3

<http://www.bartleby.com/4/210.html>

Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron

                                                            Longfellow, “Evangeline,” l. 24

<http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/books/longfellow/evangeline07.html>

And one clear call for me

                                                            Tennyson, “Crossing the Bar,” l. 2

< http://www.bartleby.com/246/398.html>

My genial spirits fail

                                                            Coleridge, “Dejection: An Ode,” l. 39

<http://www.bartleby.com/41/421.html>

The desire of the moth for the star

                                                            Shelley, “To __,” l. 13

                                    <https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/html/1807/4350/poem1914.html>

When first the College Rolls receive his name.

                                                            Johnson, “The Vanity of Human Wishes,” l. 135

<http://www.online-literature.com/samuel-johnson/3242/>

Too happy, happy tree

                                                            Keats, “Stanzas,” l. 2

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/101/632.html>

 

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan.

                                                            Keats, “Ode to a Nightingale,” l. 24

<http://www.bartleby.com/101/624.html>

Forget this rotten world, and unto thee

Donne, “Of the Progress of the Soul: The Second Anniversary,” l. 1

<http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/674.html>

Go, for they call you, Shepherd, from the hill

                                                            Arnold, “The Scholar-Gipsy,” l. 1

<http://www.bartleby.com/101/751.html>

And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers.

                                                            Arnold, “The Scholar-Gipsy,” l. 30

<http://www.bartleby.com/101/751.html>


Calm was the day, and through the trembling air

                                                            Spenser, “Prothalamium,” l. 1

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/106/53.html>

Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair

                                                            Stevens, “Sunday Morning,” l. 2

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/265/355.html>

And she also to use newfangleness...

                                                            Wyatt, “They Flee from Me ,” l. 19

                                                            <http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/2407.html>

Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?

                                                            Blake, “The Book of Thel,” l. 4.11

                                                            <http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/book-of-thel-the/>

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,

                                                            Byron, “Waterloo,” l. 82

                                                            <http://readytogoebooks.com/classics/LB-waterloo.htm>

Unaffected by “the march of events,”

                                                            Pound, “Hugh Selwyn Mauberley,” l. 17

                                    <https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/html/1807/4350/poem1656.html>

Never until the mankind making

                                                            Thomas, “A Refusal to Mourn the Death . . . ,” l. 1

                                                            <http://www.poets.org/m/dsp_poem.php?prmMID=15381>

From harmony, from heavenly harmony

                                                            Dryden, “A Song for St. Cecelia’s Day, 1687,” l. 1

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/101/399.html>

O death, O [sic] cover you over with roses and early lilies!

                                                Whitman, “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d,” l. 11.2

                                                <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1867/poems/212>

With loaded arms I come, pouring for you

                                                Whitman, “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d,” l. 11.5

                                                <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1867/poems/212>

Sunset and evening star

                                                            Tennyson, “Crossing the Bar,” l. 1

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/246/398.html>

Where roses and white lilies grow.

                                                            Campion, “There is a garden in her face,” l. 2

                                                            <http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/395.html>

Go, lovely rose,

                                                            Waller, “Go, lovely Rose,” l. 1

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/101/305.html>

This is no country for old men. The young

                                                            Yeats, “Sailing to Byzantium,” l. 1

                                                            <http://www.online-literature.com/yeats/781/>

Midwinter spring is its own season

                                                            Eliot, “Four Quartets 4: Little Gidding,” l. 1

                                                            <http://poetry.poetryx.com/poems/758/>


And a few lilies blow. They that have power to hurt, and will do none.

                                                            Hopkins, “Heaven-Haven,” l. 4

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/122/2.html>

                                                            Shakespeare, Sonnet 94

                        <http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-94-they-that-have-power-to-hurt-and-will/>

Looking as if she were alive, I call.

                                                            Browning, “My Last Duchess,” l. 2

                                                            <http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/288.html>                       

The vapours weep their burthen to the ground.

                                                            Tennyson, “Tithonus,” l. 2

                                                            <http://www.online-literature.com/tennyson/730/>

Obscurest night involved the sky

                                                            Cowper, “The Castaway,” l. 1

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/41/321.html>

When Loie Fuller, with her Chinese veils

                                                            ?! cf. Yeats, “Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen,” l. II.1:

                                                                        “When Loie Fuller’s Chinese dancers enwound”

                                                            <http://plagiarist.com/poetry/1757/>

And many a nymph who wreathes her brow with sedge . . .

                                                            Collins, “Ode to Evening,” l. 25

<http://books.google.com/books?id=bUAOAAAAIAAJ&pg=RA1-PA293&lpg=RA1-PA293&dq=%22and+many+a+nymph+who+wreathes+her+brow+with+sedge%22&source=bl&ots=DuqBYSOgsD&sig=f-jcliBPDbN7OcqLUIUcOaQS8hY&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=3&ct=result>                                                                       

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

                                                            Wordsworth, “The World Is Too Much With Us,” l. 4

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/145/ww317.html>

In drear-nighted December

                                                            Keats, “Stanzas,” l. 1

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/101/632.html>

Ripe apples drop about my head

                                                            Marvell, “The Garden,” l. 34

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/105/145.html>

Who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone

                                                            Shelley, “Ozymandias,” l. 2

                                                            <http://www.online-literature.com/shelley_percy/672/>

To throw that faint thin line upon the shore!

                                                            Meredith, “Modern Love L: Thus Piteously Love,” l. 16

<http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/modern-love-l-thus-piteously-love/>

O well for the fisherman's boy!

                                                            Tennyson, “Break, break, break,” l. 5

                                                            <http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/break-break-break/>

Fra Pandolf's hand [sic]

                                                            Browning, “My Last Duchess,” l. 3

                                                            <http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/288.html>           

                                                           

Steady thy laden head across a brook . . .

                                                            Keats, “To Autumn,” l. 20

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/126/47.html>

With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun

                                                            Milton, “Paradise Lost: The Fourth Book,” l. 642

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/4/404.html>

Fills the shadows and windy places

                                                            Swinburne, “Chorus from ‘Atalanta,’” l. 3

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/101/808.html>

Here in the long unlovely street.

                                                            Tennyson, “In Memoriam A. H. H.,” l. 2

                                    <https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/html/1807/4350/poem2130.html>

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns

Tennyson, “Songs from ‘The Princess.’ IV. Tears, Idle Tears,” l. 11

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/246/382.html>

The freezing stream below.

                                                            Shelley, “Archy’s Song from Charles the First,” l. 8

            <http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/archy-s-song-from-charles-the-first/>

To know the change and feel it . . .

                                                            Keats, “Stanzas,” l. 21

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/101/632.html>

At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere

                                                            Bryant, “To a Waterfowl,” l. 18

                                                            <http://www.bartleby.com/102/17.html>

Pressed her cold finger closer to her lips

                                                            Keats, “The Fall of Hyperion,” l. 318

<http://books.google.com/books?id=5PtJWAeOBGIC&pg=PA207&lpg=PA207&dq=%22pressed+her+cold+finger+closer+to+her+lips&source=web&ots=9NSZyV7AtL&sig=wNlg5taYCEtz_w4cro4V8veck4k&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=1&ct=result>

Where the dead feet walked in.

                                                            Hardy, “The Self-Unseeing,” l. 4

                                                            <http://www.daypoems.net/poems/1076.html>            

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die,

                                                            Keats, “Ode on Melancholy,” l. 21

                                                            <http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/keats03.html>

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street.

                                                            Byron, “Waterloo,” l. 29

                                                            <http://readytogoebooks.com/classics/LB-waterloo.htm>

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