Unit 6: Part 3 Vocabulary

Unravelling; twisting; hammering stakes with muffled thud,
They toil with stealthy haste and anger in their blood.

Ghastly dawn with vaporous coasts
Gleams desolate along the sky, night’s misery ended.

Ghastly dawn with vaporous coasts
Gleams desolate along the sky, night’s misery ended.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall

We must not allow ourselves to be intimidated by the presence of these armoured vehicles in unexpected places behind our lines.

And if the French Army, and our own Army, are well handled, as I believe they will be; if the French retain that genius for recovery and counter-attack for which they have so long been famous; and if the British Army shows the dogged endurance and solid fighting power of which there have been so many examples in the past—then a sudden transformation of the scene might spring into being.

It would be still more foolish to lose heart and courage or to suppose that well-trained, well-equipped armies numbering three or four millions of men can be overcome in the space of a few weeks, or even months, by a scoop, or raid of mechanized vehicles, however formidable.

For myself, I have invincible confidence in the French Army and its leaders.

I am sure I speak for all when I say we are ready to face it; to endure it; and to retaliate against it—to any extent that the unwritten laws of war permit.

The objective has been therefore to provide facilities for the removal from certain large crowded areas, in which the effects of air attack would be most serious, of certain groups of people whose removal is desirable on both national and humanitarian grounds, and to transfer them to districts where the primary purpose of dispersal can be achieved.

This has involved an order of priority as regards both the classes of persons to be transferred and the towns to be evacuated, and the provisional allocation of other districts as receiving areas.

Being not kissed, being drawn away from and looked at intimidated Kathleen till she imagined spectral glitters in the place of his eyes.

But her trouble, behind just a little grief, was a complete dislocation from everything.

She married him, and the two of them settled down in this quiet, arboreal part of Kensington; In this house the years piled up, her children were born, and they all lived till they were driven out by the bombs of the next war.

Her movements as Mrs. Drover were circumscribed, and she dismissed any idea that they were still watched.

Through the aperture driver and passenger, not six inches between them, remained for an eternity eye to eye.

Three weeks gone and the combatants gone
returning over the nightmare ground
we found the place again, and found
the soldier sprawling in the sun.

Three weeks gone and the combatants gone
returning over the nightmare ground
we found the place again, and found
the soldier sprawling in the sun.

For you abide, A singing rib within my dreaming side;
You always stay.

The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.

Feelings like these are the normal byproducts of imperialism; ask any Anglo-Indian official, if you can catch him off duty.

It was a tiny incident in itself, but it gave me a better glimpse than I had had before of the real nature of imperialism—the real motives for which despotic governments act.

And it was at this moment, as I stood there with the rifle in my hands, that I first grasped the hollowness, the futility of the white man’s dominion in the East.

Later, when Teddy had his first haircut, Gideon the cook picked up the soft gold tufts from the ground, and held them reverently in his hand.

He spoke incredulously, as if he could not believe his old friends could so betray him.

The scientist, who all this time had been leaning back in a big chair, sipping his coffee and smiling with skeptical good humor, chipped in and explained all over again, in different words, about the making of drugs and the progress of science.

There was a shout. The flag drooped out. Joints not yet coordinated, the segmented body of the train heaved and bumped back against itself.

A weariness, a tastelessness, the discovery of a void made her hands slacken their grip, atrophy emptily, as if the hour was not worth their grasp.

"Now, which café should we patronize?"

B. Wordsworth said, "I hope to distill the experiences of a whole month into that single line of poetry. So, in twenty-two years, I shall have written a poem that will sing to all humanity."

And then—I felt so keenly, it was as though I had been slapped by my mother.

And, for me, that closes
the child’s fairy tale of an antic England—fairy rings,
thatched cottages fenced with dog roses,
a green gale lifting the hair of Warwickshire.

Their thick skulls bled with rancor
when the riot police and the skinheads exchanged quips
you could trace to the Sonnets, or the Moor’s eclipse.

Their thick skulls bled with rancor
when the riot police and the skinheads exchanged quips
you could trace to the Sonnets, or the Moor’s eclipse.

Praise had bled my lines white of any more anger,
and snow had inducted me into white fellowships

His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.

I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always.

These stars—
these iron inklings of an Irish January,
whose light happened

thousands of years before
our pain did

Under them remains
a place where you found
you were human, and

a landscape in which you know you are mortal.

Out of myth in history I move to be
part of that ordeal