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Bēhance

Classic Poem Series

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  • Classic Poem Series
    5" x 8" collection of illustrations
  • Classic Poems is an illustration series depicting the 10 most influential poems and sonnets during my design career. I attempted to illustrate the poems according to my modern interpretation. Below is a list of poems and authors.

    1. Athlete Dying Young (A.E. Housman)
    2. Death be not Proud (John Donne)
    3. Do not go Gentle (Dylan Thomas)
    4. Ozymandias (Percy Bysshe Shelley)
    5. Pied Beauty (Gerard Hopkins)
    6. She Walks in Beauty (Lord Byron)
    7. Sonnet 43 (Elizabeth Browning)
    8. Sonnet 130 (William Shakespeare)
    9. The Lake (Edgar Allen Poe) 
    10. When I have Fears (John Keats)

      5x8" print on canvas.
       
  • The time you won your town the race
    We chaired you through the market-place;
    Man and boy stood cheering by,
    And home we brought you shoulder-high.
    To-day, the road all runners come,
    Shoulder-high we bring you home,
    And set you at your threshold down,
    Townsman of a stiller town.
    Smart lad, to slip betimes away
    From fields were glory does not stay
    And early though the laurel grows
    It withers quicker than the rose.
    Eyes the shady night has shut
    Cannot see the record cut,
    And silence sounds no worse than cheers
    After earth has stopped the ears:
    Now you will not swell the rout
    Of lads that wore their honours out,
    Runners whom renown outran
    And the name died before the man.
    So set, before its echoes fade,
    The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
    And hold to the low lintel up
    The still-defended challenge-cup.
    And round that early-laurelled head
    Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
    And find unwithered on its curls
    The garland briefer than a girl's.

  • Death be not proud, though some have called thee
    Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
    For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
    Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
    From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
    Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
    And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
    Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
    Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
    And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
    And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
    And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
    One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
    And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
  • Do not go gentle into that good night,
    Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
    Because their words had forked no lightning they
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
    Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
    And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
    Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    And you, my father, there on the sad height,
    Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
    Do not go gentle into that good night.
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
  • I met a traveller from an antique land
    Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
    Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
    Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
    And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
    Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
    Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
    The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
    And on the pedestal these words appear:
    `My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
    Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
    Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
    Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
    The lone and level sands stretch far away".
  • GLORY be to God for dappled things—
    For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
    For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
    Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
    Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough; 
    And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

    All things counter, original, spare, strange;
    Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
    With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
    He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: 
    Praise him.

  • SHE walks in beauty, like the night
    Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
    And all that 's best of dark and bright
    Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
    Thus mellow'd to that tender light 
    Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
    One shade the more, one ray the less,
    Had half impair'd the nameless grace
    Which waves in every raven tress,
    Or softly lightens o'er her face; 
    Where thoughts serenely sweet express
    How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

    And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
    So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
    The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 
    But tell of days in goodness spent,
    A mind at peace with all below,
    A heart whose love is innocent!

  • How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of being and ideal grace.I love thee to the level of every day'sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.I love thee freely, as men strive for right.I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.
  • My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
    Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
    If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
    If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
    I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
    But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
    And in some perfumes is there more delight
    Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
    I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
    That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
    I grant I never saw a goddess go;
    My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
    And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
    As any she belied with false compare.
  • In spring of youth it was my lot
    To haunt of the wide world a spot
    The which I could not love the less-
    So lovely was the loneliness
    Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
    And the tall pines that towered around.

    But when the Night had thrown her pall
    Upon that spot, as upon all,
    And the mystic wind went by
    Murmuring in melody-
    Then-ah then I would awake
    To the terror of the lone lake.

    Yet that terror was not fright,
    But a tremulous delight-
    A feeling not the jewelled mine
    Could teach or bribe me to define-
    Nor Love-although the Love were thine.

    Death was in that poisonous wave,
    And in its gulf a fitting grave
    For him who thence could solace bring
    To his lone imagining-
    Whose solitary soul could make
    An Eden of that dim lake.
  • WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be
    Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
    Before high pil`d books, in charact'ry,
    Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
    When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, 
    Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
    And feel that I may never live to trace
    Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
    And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
    That I shall never look upon thee more, 
    Never have relish in the faery power
    Of unreflecting love;—then on the shore
    Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,
    Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.