I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! May 23 I Remember, I Remember By Thomas Hood 17991845 Thomas Hood was born on May 23, 1798. And that much never can be obsolete, Since someone will forever be surprising A hunger in himself to be more serious, And gravitating with it to this ground, Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in, If only that so many dead lie round. As I listened I often wondered about the images going through his mind, no doubt he was recalling in his minds eye visions and precious memories of his childhood. This was the Fortnightly Poetry Project for December 15, 2013. Before publishing your Essay on this site, please read the following pages: 1.
I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! The last para say that he remembers how he used to think in the wildest manners about tress and their heights that they reached the sky which was so childish and now as a frown up, he misses all those thoughts and days and he understand that nothing is attainable that he desires for at this point of time. The author used the same word i at the beginnings of some neighboring stanzas. Power of some sort or other will go on In games, in riddles, seemingly at random; But superstition, like belief, must die, And what remains when disbelief has gone? We make no warranties of any kind, express or implied, about the completeness, accuracy, reliability and suitability with respect to the information. The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday,-- The tree is living yet! Shall we avoid them as unlucky places? For additional information, see the Global Shipping Program. The same words i, the are repeated. It continued till his wife, Jane Hood also passed away and later a small amount was allowed for maintenance of his two children.
Good luck in your poetry interpretation practice! I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! However, the poet Keats like is well aware that what he is doing is not real but remembers as to what has been. It was a childish ignorance, But now tis little joy. I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing; And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! Thank you for sharing your own beautiful memory. He then remembers the flowers that made him happy. We were allowed to choose any poem in our school library. Well known for his puns and comic verse, Thomas also composed poems that drew attention to the social evils of his day.
Of course, this is a Christian idea: it was the Tree of Knowledge, after all, that God forbade Adam and Eve to eat from in the Garden of Eden. This eulogy to childhood is augmented by the tendency to lose present worries in the reminiscence of the glorious days of past. I memorized the last stanza so that I can recite it to people and let them know what a masterpiece it is. The mind is a curious thing. The series of the Comic Annual, dating from 1830, was a kind of publication popular at that time, which Hood undertook and continued almost unassisted for several years.
Confucius and others also warn us not to get too cocky and start thinking we know it all, just because we know more. Thomas Hood 1799 - 1845 was a poet, publisher, editor, and humorist. Dyan Thomas wrote Fern Hill, which is lovely, but maybe more for the intellectual or the academic. The second stanza sees Hood recalling the many flowers he remembers from his childhood days, and the laburnum tree which is still standing all these years later. But in many nations and many cultures and traditions, ignorance and innocence are held up as virtues. Article shared by Thomas Hood was a British poet and humorist. Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky, A shape less recognizable each week, A purpose more obscure.
Beyond this, little presents itself for record in the outward facts of this upright and beneficial career, bright with genius and coruscating with wit, dark with the lengthening and deepening shadow of death. The poet reminisces about his joys of childhood often comparing them with his present state of adult pensiveness. The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday,-- The tree is living yet! Make sure you like Beamingnotes Facebook page and subscribe to our newsletter so that we can keep in touch. Something has been gained — practical real-world knowledge — but it has come at the cost of the innocence which made him more godly and, thus, closer to heaven. Those beautiful days where the sun rays came and beautiful days were there in the proportion. One of the main pillars of romanticism has been invoked here which involves the glorification of childhood.
This amount includes applicable customs duties, taxes, brokerage and other fees. A wonderful poem that gives a high contrast to the childhood days and experience, a world with beautiful thoughts and an adult world filled with regrets and losses and pain. No wonder the poem falls under the category of escapist poetry. I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. Hood wrote regularly for The London Magazine, the Athenaeum, and Punch.
As new titles are published they will appear here. Back at the door I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence, Reflect the place was not worth stopping for. When I read this lovely poem not only do I remember my own childhood but it also brings back memories of those precious days spent around the fire with my father as he gently recited it. Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce 'Here endeth' much more loudly than I'd meant. I will remember this poem for the rest of my life.