Ive your reaction to the story, your impression of the story, how it relates to your life. just basically compare them to each other.

Batter My Heart

Batter my heart, three-persond God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, oerthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurpd town toanother due,
Labor toadmit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captivd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearlyI love you, and would be lovd fain,
But am betrothd unto your enemy;
Divorce me,untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except youenthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Death, Be Not Proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou thinkst thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and souls delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swellst thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.


To his Coy Mistress
by Andrew Marvell


Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long loves day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Times winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preservd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The graves a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like amrous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chappd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.


My Last Duchess: Text of the Poem

My Last Duchess
Ferrara

THATaS my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: FrA  Pandolfas hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Willat please you sit and look at her? I said
FrA  Pandolfby design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, atwas not
Her husbandas presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchessa cheek: perhaps
FrA  Pandolf chanced to say, Her mantle laps
Over my ladyas wrist too much,or Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat”: such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart a how shall I say? a too soon made glad.
Too easily impressed: she liked whateaer
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, atwas all one! My favor at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace a all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men, a good! but thanked
Somehow a I know not how a as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybodyas gift. Whoad stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech a (which I have not) a to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, ”Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the marka and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
a Eaen then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Wheneaer I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Willat please you rise? Weall meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your masteras known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughteras self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, weall go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

Ive your reaction to the story, your impression of the story, how it relates to your life. just basically compare them to each other.

The Rocking-Horse Winner
By
D.H. Lawrence

&/&/&

There was a woman who was beautiful, who started with all the advantages, yet she had no luck. She married for love, and the love turned to dust. She had bonny children, yet she felt they had been thrust upon her, and she could not love them. They looked at her coldly, as if they were finding fault with her. And hurriedly she felt she must cover up some fault in herself. Yet what it was that she must cover up she never knew. Nevertheless, when her children were present, she always felt the centre of her heart go hard. This troubled her, and in her manner she was all the more gentle and anxious for her children, as if she loved them very much. Only she herself knew that at the centre of her heart was a hard little place that could not feel love, no, not for anybody. Everybody else said of her: She is such a good mother. She adores her children. Only she herself, and her children themselves, knew it was not so. They read it in each others eyes.

There were a boy and two little girls. They lived in a pleasant house, with a garden, and they had discreet servants, and felt themselves superior to anyone in the neighbourhood.

Although they lived in style, they felt always an anxiety in the house. There was never enough money. The mother had a small income, and the father had a small income, but not nearly enough for the social position which they had to keep up. The father went in to town to some office. But though he had good prospects, these prospects never materialized. There was always the grinding sense of the shortage of money, though the style was always kept up.

At last the mother said: I will see if I cant make something.But she did not know where to begin. She racked her brains, and tried this thing and the other, but could not find anything successful. The failure made deep lines come into her face. Her children were growing up, they would have to go to school. There must be more money, there must be more money. The father, who was always very handsome and expensive in his tastes, seemed as if he never would be able to do anything worth doing. And the mother, who had a great belief in herself, did not succeed any better, and her tastes were just as expensive.

And so the house came to be haunted by the unspoken phrase: There must be more money ! There must be more money ! The children could hear it at Christmas, when the expensive and splendid toys filled the nursery. Behind the shining modern rocking-horse, behind the smart dolls-house, a voice would start whispering: There must be more money ! There must be more money ! ”

It came whispering from the springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse, and even the horse, bending his wooden, champing head, heard it. The big doll, sitting so pink and smirking in her new pram, could hear it quite plainly, and seemed to be smirking all the more self-consciously because of it. The foolish puppy, too, that took the place of the teddy-bear, he was looking so extraordinarily foolish for no other reason but that he heard the secret whisper all over the house: There must be more money ! ”

Yet nobody ever said it aloud. The whisper was everywhere, and therefore no one spoke it. Just as no one ever says: We are breathing ! in spite of the fact that breath is coming and going all the time.

Mother,said the boy Paul one day, Why dont we keep a car of our own? Why do we always use uncles or else a taxi?”

Because were the poor members of the family,said the mother.

But why are we, mother?”

Well –I suppose,she said slowly and bitterly, Its because your father has no luck.”

The boy was silent for some time.

Is luck money, mother?he asked, rather timidly.

No, Paul. Not quite. Its what causes you to have money.”

Oh ! said Paul vaguely. I thought when Uncle Oscar said filthy lucker, it meant money.”

Filthy lucre does mean money,said the mother, But its lucre, not luck.”

Oh ! said the boy. Then what is luck, mother?”

Its what causes you to have money. If youre lucky you have money. That s why its better to be born lucky than rich. If youre rich, you may lose your money. But if youre lucky, you will always get more money.”

Oh! Will you? And is father not lucky?”

Very unlucky, I should say,she said bitterly.

The boy watched her with unsure eyes.

Why? he asked.

I dont know. Nobody ever knows why one person is lucky and another unlucky.”

Dont they? Nobody at all? Does nobody know?”

Perhaps God. But He never tells.”

He ought to, then. And arent you lucky either, mother?”

I cant be, if I married an unlucky husband.”

But by yourself, arent you?”

I used to think I was, before I married. Now I think I am very unlucky indeed.”

Why?”

Well –never mind ! Perhaps Im not really,she said.

The child looked at her, to see if she meant it. But he saw, by the lines of her mouth, that she was only trying to hide something from him.

Well, anyhow,he said stoutly, Im a lucky person.”

Why?said his mother, with a sudden laugh.

He stared at her. He didnt even know why he had said it.

God told me, he asserted, brazening it out.

I hope He did, dear ! ”

He did, mother ! ”

Excellent ! said the mother, using one of her husbands exclamations.

The boy saw she did not believe him; or, rather, that she paid no attention to his assertion. This angered him somewhat, and made him want to compel her attention.

He went off by himself, vaguely, in a childish way, seeking for the clue to Luck. Absorbed, taking no heed of other people, he went about with a sort of stealth, seeking inwardly for luck. He wanted luck, he wanted it, he wanted it. When the two girls were playing dolls in the nursery, he would sit on his big rocking-horse, charging madly into space, with a frenzy that made the little girls peer at him uneasily. Wildly the horse careered, the waving dark hair of the boy tossed, his eyes had a strange glare in them. The little girls dared not speak to him.

When he had ridden to the end of his mad little journey, he climbed down and stood in front of his rocking-horse, staring fixedly into its lowered face. Its red mouth was slightly open, its big eye was wide and glassy-bright.

Now ! he would silent command the snorting steed, Now, take me to where there is luck ! Now take me ! ”

And he would slash the horse on the neck with the little whip he had asked Uncle Oscar for. He knew the horse could take him to where there was luck, if only he forced it. So he would mount again, and start on his furious ride, hoping at last to get there. He knew he could get there.

Youll break your horse, Paul ! said the nurse.

He always riding like that ! I wish hed leave off ! said his elder sister Joan.

But he only glared down on them in silence. Nurse gave him up. She could make nothing of him. Anyhow he was growing beyond her.

One day his mother and his Uncle Oscar came in when he was on one of his furious rides. He did not speak to them.

Hallo, you young jockey ! Riding a winner? said his uncle.

Arent you growing too big for a rocking-horse? Youre not a very little boy any longer, you know, said his mother.

But Paul only gave a blue glare from his big, rather close-set eyes. He would speak to nobody when he was in full tilt. His mother watched him with an anxious expression on her face.

At last he suddenly stopped forcing his horse into the mechanical gallop, and slid down.

Well, I got there ! he announced fiercely, his blue eyes still flaring, and his sturdy long legs straddling apart.

Where did you get to? asked his mother.

Where I wanted to go,he flared back at her.

Thats right, son ! said Uncle Oscar. Dont you stop till you get there. Whats the horses name?”

He doesnt have a name, said the boy.

Gets on without all right