Rhythm 980 Meter Prosodymetrical elements of the poem

Rhythm (980) • • • Meter Prosody—metrical elements of the poem Scansion—measuring the stresses in a line to determine the pattern Foot Iamb a-way Trochee love-ly Anapest un-der-stand Dactyl des-per-ate Spondee dead set Pyrrhic Rising and falling

• Iambic pentameter • Blank verse—unrhymed iambic pentameter (Shakespeare) • Masculine and feminine endings • Caesura • End-stopped line • Run-on line or enjambment

A Bird came down the Walk (328) Emily Dickinson, 1830 - 1886 A Bird came down the Walk— He did not know I saw— He bit an Angleworm in halves And ate the fellow, raw, Like one in danger, Cautious, I offered him a Crumb And he unrolled his feathers And rowed him softer home— And then he drank a Dew From a convenient Grass— And then hopped sidewise to the Wall To let a Beetle pass— Than Oars divide the Ocean, Too silver for a seam— Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon Leap, plashless as they swim. He glanced with rapid eyes That hurried all around— They looked like frightened Beads, I thought— He stirred his Velvet Head

Delight in Disorder Robert Herrick, 1591 - 1674 A sweet disorder in the dresse Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse: A Lawne about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring Lace, which here and there Enthralls the Crimson Stomacher: A Cuffe neglectfull, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly: A winning wave (deserving Note) In the tempestuous petticote: A careless shooe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility: Doe more bewitch me, then when Art Is too precise in every part.

Song: ‘Still to be neat, still to be drest’ (from Epicæne) By Ben Jonson (1572– 1637) [From Epicæne; or, The Silent Woman, Act I, Sc. 1; 1609. ] STILL to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 5 10