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A2 English Literature critical anthology courswork for metaphor watch

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    i really like this poem,A November Night" by Sara Teasdale for the critical anthology coursework for metaphor but im struggling to grasp what is actually happening. please help, my teacher is refusing to help :/
    "There! See the line of lights,

    A chain of stars down either side the street --
    Why can't you lift the chain and give it to me,
    A necklace for my throat? I'd twist it round
    And you could play with it. You smile at me
    As though I were a little dreamy child
    Behind whose eyes the fairies live. . . . And see,
    The people on the street look up at us
    All envious. We are a king and queen,
    Our royal carriage is a motor bus,
    We watch our subjects with a haughty joy. . . .
    How still you are! Have you been hard at work
    And are you tired to-night? It is so long
    Since I have seen you -- four whole days, I think.
    My heart is crowded full of foolish thoughts
    Like early flowers in an April meadow,
    And I must give them to you, all of them,
    Before they fade. The people I have met,
    The play I saw, the trivial, shifting things
    That loom too big or shrink too little, shadows
    That hurry, gesturing along a wall,
    Haunting or gay -- and yet they all grow real
    And take their proper size here in my heart
    When you have seen them. . . . There's the Plaza now,
    A lake of light! To-night it almost seems
    That all the lights are gathered in your eyes,
    Drawn somehow toward you. See the open park
    Lying below us with a million lamps
    Scattered in wise disorder like the stars.
    We look down on them as God must look down
    On constellations floating under Him
    Tangled in clouds. . . . Come, then, and let us walk
    Since we have reached the park. It is our garden,
    All black and blossomless this winter night,
    But we bring April with us, you and I;
    We set the whole world on the trail of spring.
    I think that every path we ever took
    Has marked our footprints in mysterious fire,
    Delicate gold that only fairies see.
    When they wake up at dawn in hollow tree-trunks
    And come out on the drowsy park, they look
    Along the empty paths and say, "Oh, here
    They went, and here, and here, and here! Come, see,
    Here is their bench, take hands and let us dance
    About it in a windy ring and make
    A circle round it only they can cross
    When they come back again!" . . . Look at the lake --
    Do you remember how we watched the swans
    That night in late October while they slept?
    Swans must have stately dreams, I think. But now
    The lake bears only thin reflected lights
    That shake a little. How I long to take
    One from the cold black water -- new-made gold
    To give you in your hand! And see, and see,
    There is a star, deep in the lake, a star!
    Oh, dimmer than a pearl -- if you stoop down
    Your hand could almost reach it up to me. . . .

    There was a new frail yellow moon to-night --
    I wish you could have had it for a cup
    With stars like dew to fill it to the brim. . . .

    How cold it is! Even the lights are cold;
    They have put shawls of fog around them, see!
    What if the air should grow so dimly white
    That we would lose our way along the paths
    Made new by walls of moving mist receding
    The more we follow. . . . What a silver night!
    That was our bench the time you said to me
    The long new poem -- but how different now,
    How eerie with the curtain of the fog
    Making it strange to all the friendly trees!
    There is no wind, and yet great curving scrolls
    Carve themselves, ever changing, in the mist.
    Walk on a little, let me stand here watching
    To see you, too, grown strange to me and far. . . .
    I used to wonder how the park would be
    If one night we could have it all alone --
    No lovers with close arm-encircled waists
    To whisper and break in upon our dreams.
    And now we have it! Every wish comes true!
    We are alone now in a fleecy world;
    Even the stars have gone. We two alone! "
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    (Original post by MedievalWitch)
    i really like this poem,A November Night" by Sara Teasdale for the critical anthology coursework for metaphor but im struggling to grasp what is actually happening. please help, my teacher is refusing to help :/
    "There! See the line of lights,

    A chain of stars down either side the street --
    Why can't you lift the chain and give it to me,
    A necklace for my throat? I'd twist it round
    And you could play with it. You smile at me
    As though I were a little dreamy child
    Behind whose eyes the fairies live. . . . And see,
    The people on the street look up at us
    All envious. We are a king and queen,
    Our royal carriage is a motor bus,
    We watch our subjects with a haughty joy. . . .
    How still you are! Have you been hard at work
    And are you tired to-night? It is so long
    oh poems!
    Since I have seen you -- four whole days, I think.
    My heart is crowded full of foolish thoughts
    Like early flowers in an April meadow,
    And I must give them to you, all of them,
    Before they fade. The people I have met,
    The play I saw, the trivial, shifting things
    That loom too big or shrink too little, shadows
    That hurry, gesturing along a wall,
    Haunting or gay -- and yet they all grow real
    And take their proper size here in my heart
    When you have seen them. . . . There's the Plaza now,
    A lake of light! To-night it almost seems
    That all the lights are gathered in your eyes,
    Drawn somehow toward you. See the open park
    Lying below us with a million lamps
    Scattered in wise disorder like the stars.
    We look down on them as God must look down
    On constellations floating under Him
    Tangled in clouds. . . . Come, then, and let us walk
    Since we have reached the park. It is our garden,
    All black and blossomless this winter night,
    But we bring April with us, you and I;
    We set the whole world on the trail of spring.
    I think that every path we ever took
    Has marked our footprints in mysterious fire,
    Delicate gold that only fairies see.
    When they wake up at dawn in hollow tree-trunks
    And come out on the drowsy park, they look
    Along the empty paths and say, "Oh, here
    They went, and here, and here, and here! Come, see,
    Here is their bench, take hands and let us dance
    About it in a windy ring and make
    A circle round it only they can cross
    When they come back again!" . . . Look at the lake --
    Do you remember how we watched the swans
    That night in late October while they slept?
    Swans must have stately dreams, I think. But now
    The lake bears only thin reflected lights
    That shake a little. How I long to take
    One from the cold black water -- new-made gold
    To give you in your hand! And see, and see,
    There is a star, deep in the lake, a star!
    Oh, dimmer than a pearl -- if you stoop down
    Your hand could almost reach it up to me. . . .

    There was a new frail yellow moon to-night --
    I wish you could have had it for a cup
    With stars like dew to fill it to the brim. . . .

    How cold it is! Even the lights are cold;
    They have put shawls of fog around them, see!
    What if the air should grow so dimly white
    That we would lose our way along the paths
    Made new by walls of moving mist receding
    The more we follow. . . . What a silver night!
    That was our bench the time you said to me
    The long new poem -- but how different now,
    How eerie with the curtain of the fog
    Making it strange to all the friendly trees!
    There is no wind, and yet great curving scrolls
    Carve themselves, ever changing, in the mist.
    Walk on a little, let me stand here watching
    To see you, too, grown strange to me and far. . . .
    I used to wonder how the park would be
    If one night we could have it all alone --
    No lovers with close arm-encircled waists
    To whisper and break in upon our dreams.
    And now we have it! Every wish comes true!
    We are alone now in a fleecy world;
    Even the stars have gone. We two alone! "
    what do u need help on?(got a* IN POETRY ACROSS TIME)
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    (Original post by MedievalWitch)
    i really like this poem,A November Night" by Sara Teasdale for the critical anthology coursework for metaphor but im struggling to grasp what is actually happening. please help, my teacher is refusing to help :/
    "There! See the line of lights,

    A chain of stars down either side the street --
    Why can't you lift the chain and give it to me,
    A necklace for my throat? I'd twist it round
    And you could play with it. You smile at me
    As though I were a little dreamy child
    Behind whose eyes the fairies live. . . . And see,
    The people on the street look up at us
    All envious. We are a king and queen,
    Our royal carriage is a motor bus,
    We watch our subjects with a haughty joy. . . .
    How still you are! Have you been hard at work
    And are you tired to-night? It is so long
    Since I have seen you -- four whole days, I think.
    My heart is crowded full of foolish thoughts
    Like early flowers in an April meadow,
    And I must give them to you, all of them,
    Before they fade. The people I have met,
    The play I saw, the trivial, shifting things
    That loom too big or shrink too little, shadows
    That hurry, gesturing along a wall,
    Haunting or gay -- and yet they all grow real
    And take their proper size here in my heart
    When you have seen them. . . . There's the Plaza now,
    A lake of light! To-night it almost seems
    That all the lights are gathered in your eyes,
    Drawn somehow toward you. See the open park
    Lying below us with a million lamps
    Scattered in wise disorder like the stars.
    We look down on them as God must look down
    On constellations floating under Him
    Tangled in clouds. . . . Come, then, and let us walk
    Since we have reached the park. It is our garden,
    All black and blossomless this winter night,
    But we bring April with us, you and I;
    We set the whole world on the trail of spring.
    I think that every path we ever took
    Has marked our footprints in mysterious fire,
    Delicate gold that only fairies see.
    When they wake up at dawn in hollow tree-trunks
    And come out on the drowsy park, they look
    Along the empty paths and say, "Oh, here
    They went, and here, and here, and here! Come, see,
    Here is their bench, take hands and let us dance
    About it in a windy ring and make
    A circle round it only they can cross
    When they come back again!" . . . Look at the lake --
    Do you remember how we watched the swans
    That night in late October while they slept?
    Swans must have stately dreams, I think. But now
    The lake bears only thin reflected lights
    That shake a little. How I long to take
    One from the cold black water -- new-made gold
    To give you in your hand! And see, and see,
    There is a star, deep in the lake, a star!
    Oh, dimmer than a pearl -- if you stoop down
    Your hand could almost reach it up to me. . . .

    There was a new frail yellow moon to-night --
    I wish you could have had it for a cup
    With stars like dew to fill it to the brim. . . .

    How cold it is! Even the lights are cold;
    They have put shawls of fog around them, see!
    What if the air should grow so dimly white
    That we would lose our way along the paths
    Made new by walls of moving mist receding
    The more we follow. . . . What a silver night!
    That was our bench the time you said to me
    The long new poem -- but how different now,
    How eerie with the curtain of the fog
    Making it strange to all the friendly trees!
    There is no wind, and yet great curving scrolls
    Carve themselves, ever changing, in the mist.
    Walk on a little, let me stand here watching
    To see you, too, grown strange to me and far. . . .
    I used to wonder how the park would be
    If one night we could have it all alone --
    No lovers with close arm-encircled waists
    To whisper and break in upon our dreams.
    And now we have it! Every wish comes true!
    We are alone now in a fleecy world;
    Even the stars have gone. We two alone! "
    I think its about the umbilical cord"a necklace for my throat","twist it round".Its probably about the birth of her daughter!
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    (Original post by Emerald123)
    what do u need help on?(got a* IN POETRY ACROSS TIME)
    im not to sure on what the poem is actually about and how i can link the metaphor section in the critical antholgy to it :/ im strugling to understand how to write an essay on the sections in the anthology and find poems for each section, i want to do the metaphor section as this is the section i understand the most, thanks for offering to help me
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    (Original post by Emerald123)
    I think its about the umbilical cord"a necklace for my throat","twist it round".Its probably about the birth of her daughter!
    okay, im struggling to see how this is portrayed throughout the poem but ill have another read thank you
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    Please reply
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    just found out has to be english poet and sara was american so now i have no clue who to do help please has to be metaphor poem as i only understand this
 
 
 
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