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Stylistics
题
目:
Analysis on
Ode
to the West Wind
From the Stylistic Perspective
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Analysis on
Ode to the West Wind
from
the Stylistic Perspective
Abstract:
Ode to
the West Wind
is masterpiece of Shelley
and it is world-renowned
especially the
last line. From the stylistic perspective, this
paper discusses this poem
from
these
three
aspects:
image,
sound
and
figures
of
speech
to
better
understand
Shelley’
idea to reform just
like the west wind.
雪莱的代表作《西风颂》世界著名,尤其是
最后一句,
“当冬天来的时候,
春天还会远吗?”
脍炙人口。
而本文旨在从文体学角度讨论了该诗的意境,
音律
和修辞三方面来充分了解雪莱的这首《西风颂》
。
p>
Key Words
:
< br>image
,
sound
,
p>
figures of speech, west wind.
?
Introduction to the
General Poem Analysis
Ⅱ
Introduction to
Ode to the West Wind
Ode to
the West Wind
O wild West Wind, thou
breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from
whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an
enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black,
and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-
stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who
chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The
winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave,
until
Thine azure sister of the Spring
shall blow
Her clarion o'er the
dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet
buds like flocks to feed in air)
With
living hues and odours plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving
everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver;
hear, oh hear!
Thou on
whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like earth's decaying
leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled
boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of
rain and lightning: there are spread
On
the blue surface of thine aery surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the
head
Of some fierce Maenad, even from
the dim verge
Of the horizon to the
zenith's height,
The locks of the
approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the
dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
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Of vapours,
from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain,
and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear!
Thou who didst waken from
his summer dreams
The blue
Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lull'd by
the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser
day,
All overgrown with azure moss and
flowers
So sweet, the sense faints
picturing them! Thou
For whose path the
Atlantic's level powers
Cleave
themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which
wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean,
know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray
with fear,
And tremble and despoil
themselves: oh hear!
If I
were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If
I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and
share
The impulse of thy strength, only
less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable!
If even
I were as in my boyhood, and
could be
The comrade of thy wanderings
over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip
thy skiey speed
Scarce seem'd a vision;
I would ne'er have striven
As thus with
thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh,
lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I
fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and
bow'd
One too like thee: tameless, and
swift, and proud.
Make me
thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What
if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal
tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou,
Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me,
impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts
over the universe
Like wither'd leaves
to quicken a new birth!
And, by the
incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as
from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and
sparks, my words among mankind!
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