Comparing Two Metaphors

The enchanted forest pulsed in, it’s ancient heartbeat, the deep, haunting song sweeping through the swaying leaves. The woody incense of thousands of leaves and branches matting the forest floor filled the air and dominated our nostrils. Soon, the branches will bend to the will of the whispering wind, allowing the sun to fill every nook and cranny with its the lustrous, golden light, illuminating the full grandeur of a forest that is steeped in plushness and opulence. But for now, the sprawling limbs of centuries-old trees still guarded the darkness, blotting out most of the gentle rays of dawn’s light.

In “There Will Come Soft Rains” the speaker states “And swallows circling with / Their shimmering sound,” (Teasdale 3-4). In the same way in “Meeting at Night” the speaker states, “Then a mile of warm scented beach,” (Browning 7). These two poems both explain nature as something beautiful and nice. The speaker of “There Will Come Soft Rains” explains the sound of the swallows as “shimmering” which usually has a good connotative meaning which makes the reader think of bright, happy, pretty things. As well as in “Meeting at Night” the speaker describes the beach as “warm scented” which the reader will think of good, warm comforting things. Because both of these poems use words to describe nature as nice and beautiful, the tone of these poems is similar. The tone of these poems connects them as well as alliteration and personification

The common theme they share is if something needs to be done you have to go and achieve it. In the poem it says “The people I love the best jump into work head first, without dallying in the shallows.” In the poem the last sentence says that the kids are walking through the snow and no person or thing is going to stop them from getting to school. It also states that he has to shovel snow he said “ he could leave it undisturbed” but he said he has obligations and the kids walk down his street to get to the school, he had to get it done so the kids could walk to school. There was another snowfall after he had just got done shoveling snow the first time and he knew that he had to shovel it again so he went outside and shoveled it again. The poem

Both speakers ply nature as setting to express their emotion.the speaker in the poem “The Lonely Land”apply “cedar and jagged fir’s action” as setting to express the lonely environment of the poem and the negative attitude.

The boy lay there next to his father keeping each other warm from the chilling atmosphere where they set camp. The air was so moist it turned the dirt into damp mud and the boy could feel his sleeping bag submerge into it. The intimidating glare of an owl examining him sent a tingle up his spine. The sounds of bugs chiming filled the ambience, killing the silence giving him a sense of security. He looked up at the twilight sky illuminated by the blinding shimmer of the full moon gleaming through the forest trees over him. Surrounding it was an array of glimmering stars prompting the sky alive. As his body grew accustomed to the environment, each natural attribute gave him comfort and allowed him to slowly fall into a deep sleep.

Quote: “Darkness poured out, submerging the ways between the trees till they were dim and strange as the bottom of the sea. The candle buds opened their wide white flowers glimmering under the light that pricked down from the first stars. Their scent spilled out into the air and took possession of the island.” (Chapter 3, Pg. 59)

The lake darkens as the ominous clouds race across the sky, as black as the devil’s soul, and swallows the bliss-blue complexion of the sky faster than you can blink. The world has abruptly become cellar-dark and the heavens above look to collapse down upon me. A deafening wind runs over the landscape like a thousand horses, the noise of the raindrops their clattering hoofs. The threatening force of the gales knocks and blows the trees in precarious ways, almost as though, if it had wanted to, the wind could blow them away as if they were but feathers, not heavy pines. Lighting lights up the sky like liquid, golden ore streaks being forged into forks up above. Wriggling and writhing with the pain of their own existence. Flashing once, twice, three times, polished and glossy like the cold prongs of the apocalypse. Shaking myself from my weather-caused trance, I hurry for shelter under a nearby fern tree. Staring deep into the blackness of the storm I wonder whether I will ever see that bliss-blue appearance

The vast sky above the trees was home to an array of clouds. At the turn of night, a sparkling variety of stars. The clouds were as fluffy as cotton, each with its own unique shape. As delicate as daisies, yet unbending like metal. The stars were as sharp and as piercing as thorns, but also as lovely as the bud itself. The clouds conquered the day before all time, but they gladly let the stars race across the plains as it darkened. It was the natural order, and was seen by all as equal and fair.

Once they were there, the quarter-mile trek to their place had to be made. It was a small, circular clearing in the cone-bearing woods. The area around the fire pit was dirt, for safety reasons. On the outskirts of the copper-colored dirt were five large, round logs arranged in a circle for sitting. Just a few feet beyond the logs, the forest began again in copious amounts of vegetation and growth, like an untamed lion. That night’s weather was just right. The cool air was

I am sitting on an inflatable tube in the middle of Lake Michigan. I’m not sure how I got here. Suddenly, I hear “Lean back!”; I’m not sure why, but I just lean back. I’m so scared, I don’t know what is happening. I see a big white boat with blue dual canvas start to go fast, and I feel a jerk. I don’t know what’s happening! Is the tube sinking? Am I going to drown? What is happening? The boat is now going fast, and I’m told I can sit up now. I am kneeling on the tube for five seconds, and I say “OH MY GOSH! This is so fun!!!”. I can’t believe that I have never done this before. I was being pulled so fast that the wind dried my face from the splashing fishy water. There is a wave and my knees fly almost a foot off of the tube! This is the

In poem two, the theme is, similar. The theme is, there's hope even at the worst times even if that mean change. The poems are different, but also similar. In both stories one of the topics in weather.

The first poem “The Red Wheelbarrow” look like, from my analysis, looks like a rainy day on a farm with a red wheelbarrow as the focal point of the landscape. The scene seems very gloomy and mellow. I came to this conclusion from the statements “glazed with rain water (784) and “beside the white chickens” (784). These statements alluded to a scene that is very peaceful and dreary at the same time. The wording used within the poem made me read the story very slowly, it was as if I heard a low proper voice narrating the selection. The second poem “This Is Just to Say” looks like a joyful sunny summer day based on the content contained within the poem. I read the poem with excitement. The person eating the plum seems overjoyed and happy that they

The forest began to quiver with each syllable of breath, swaying in the affirmation of life. Greens danced, shaking the ashes into the wind, burying them as golden birds sang to their motion. The louder The Fallen’s cries, the louder The North became—as ever vibrant as she was before the darkness charred her skin. My eyes pressed against the soft light dawning over The Furies, seeping in the glory of the morning as if the darkness never was.

As the sun rose over the horizon it awoke the jungle slowly and efficiently. Soon I could hear the morning birds chirp with all their heart and that triggered joy and excitement in my soul. A morning breeze toured the jungle making the flowers and leaves tango with rhythm and finesse as though they were experts. The lush evergreen trees stood so firm as if the roots were clinging for their very life, in the distance there was a Crystal River and a waterfall as its source. I could hear the rampaging rapids after the dip of the waterfall which slowly converted into a swift river forcefully turning at every bank.

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.