A special post paying homage to the African journalists who are spearheading efforts to expose corruption and defend press freedom on the African continent. As winter sets in here in Europe, journalists around the world are bracing themselves for more than just long, cold nights. Many face harassment, intimidation and violence in their attempts to investigate and speak out for those who cannot. Each month, this blog will feature examples of the continuing threat to press freedom around the world as well as stories from the African continent.
Harare International Festival of the Arts: Zimbabwe's artistic community navigate carefully around state censorship. Global press freedom: Looking back on , pushing forward in Walking Through a Minefield at Midnight. She is like a cat in the dark And then she is the darkness She rules her life like a fine skylark And when the sky is starless All your life you've never seen a woman Taken by the wind Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win? Sounds of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain awaken'd flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.
Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. We attend to his later performances as a dramatic actor with respect, but watching the nondancing, nonsinging Astaire is like watching a grounded skylark. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
A dog starved at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the state.
We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. But you who walk facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can hold you? Heart of my heart, the world is young; Love lies hidden in every rose! I love the night passionately.
I love it as I love my country, or my mistress, with an instinctive, deep, and unshakeable love. I love it with all my senses: I love to see it, I love to breathe it in, I love to open my ears to its silence, I love my whole body to be caressed by its blackness. Skylarks sing in the sunshine, the blue sky, the warm air, in the fresh morning light.
The owl flies by night, a dark shadow passing through the darkness; he hoots his sinister, quivering hoot, as though he delights in the intoxicating black immensity of space. It is in the brain that the poppy is red, that the apple is odorous, that the skylark sings.
Weather in towns is like a skylark in a counting-house-out of place and in the way.
Every song that the skylark sung Once, we thought, must come to a close: Now we know the spirit of song, Song that is merged in the chant of the whole, Hand in hand as we wander along, What should we doubt of the years that roll? Summer skylarks Dart about the heavens Above the deep mountains.
Quotes selected by Staff General Counsel Scott J. Summer, Esq.
You who travel with the wind, what weathervane shall direct your course? What man's law shall bind you if you break your yoke but upon no man's prison door? What laws shall you fear if you dance but stumble against no man's iron chains? And who is he that shall bring you to judgment if you tear off your garment yet leave it in no man's path? People of Orphalese, you can muffle the drum, and you can loosen the strings of the lyre, but who shall command the skylark not to sing?
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Because the road is rough and long, Should we despise the skylark's song? A dog starv'd at the master's gate Predicts the ruin of the State.
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A horse misus'd upon the road Calls to heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear, A skylark wounded on the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends. Login Sign Up. Skylarks Quotes facebook twitter googleplus. The very light Is but an alien that can find no welcome Hartley Coleridge. Shelley returns to a direct tone of command. Teach us, Sprite or Bird, What sweet thoughts are thine.
He then imagines what the bird might see before he realizes it cannot love like a human can. That—that is something it cannot sing of, the pain or annoyance of love gone wrong. What delightful reflections. The British Library also features historical commentary on the same poem.
Picture Quote 1
Will you help us remain a refreshing oasis in the increasingly contentious arena of modern discourse? Thank you for presenting something on such a great poem. It captures the essence of poetry so clearly. It treats a theme of great depth and complexity, yet with the clarity and ease which is the mark of a poet of the highest order.
Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Spring Wisdom: “To a Skylark”
I will however have to humbly disagree with part of your analysis, and take a minute to identity what I think is the main paradox in this poem:. Throughout the piece his language is deeply metaphorical as opposed to literal. In a word: I believe he is using the metaphor of a bird, something the reader can identify with from the standpoint of sense perception, in order to create paradoxes that challenge the mind to understand what the senses never will. In doing so, Shelley frees us from our habitual reliance on sense perception in order to conceive of a fundamentally higher order of human action: poetry and its power to free us from our blind adherence to the earthly:.
Shelley appears to be a true Platonist in his approach to poetic, far from being a Romantic poet as many have suggested, in my opinion. He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be; But from these create he can Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality! One of these awakened me, And I sped to succour thee. Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night? How shall ever one like me Win thee back again? With the joyous and the free Thou wilt scoff at pain. Spirit false! Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure; Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure; Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight!
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