- Dec 2024
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blogs.dickinson.edu blogs.dickinson.edu
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Empty as death and slow as pain The days went by on leaden feet; And parson’s week had come again As I walked down the little street. Without, the weary doves were calling, The sun burned on the banks of mud; Within, old maids were caterwauling A dismal tale of thorns and blood. I thought of all the church bells ringing In towns that Christian folks were in; I heard the godly maidens singing; I turned into the house of sin. The house of sin was dark and mean, With dying flowers round the doors; They spat the betel juice between The rotten bamboo of the floors. Why did I come, the woman cried So seldom to her bed of ease? When I was not, her spirit died And would I give her ten rupees. The weeks went by, and many a day That black-haired woman did implore Me as I hurried on my way To come more often than before. The days went by like dead leaves falling, And parson’s week came round again. Once more devout old maids were bawling Their ugly rhymes of death and pain. The woman waited for me there As down the little street I trod, And musing on her oily hair, I turned into the house of God.
The poem is about how humans often make wrong choices and struggle to balance their desires with their sense of right and wrong.
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I turned into the house of God.
But the man did not chose evil anymore he chose a lesser evil and went to church instead, leaving the prostituted in the past.
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The days went by like dead leaves falling, And parson’s week came round again. Once more devout old maids were bawling Their ugly rhymes of death and pain.
Days still seem to pass, and here comes church again, where women sing out their ugly songs. The speaker probably says ugly songs because they have no impact on people.
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The weeks went by, and many a day That black-haired woman did implore Me as I hurried on my way To come more often than before.
the woman who is a prostituted is asking the speaker to come more often, maybe because that is how she makes her money. But when walking pass her neglected home he tries to rush through it to not fall to temptation and turn his back on Christianity.
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Why did I come, the woman cried So seldom to her bed of ease? When I was not, her spirit died And would I give her ten rupees.
The woman in the neglected house where people spit on the floor, asked the speaker why he didn't visit more often, because the speaker was the one paying her, making her feel better with money every time he gets sex from her.
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Why did I come, the woman cried So seldom to her bed of ease? When I was not, her spirit died And would I give her ten rupees.
When the speaker was there the woman's spirt rises, but when he is not there her spirit dies. But the woman could also be a prostituted because he is paying her.
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The house of sin was dark and mean, With dying flowers round the doors; They spat the betel juice between The rotten bamboo of the floors.
The house of sin is not taken care of, it represent neglect and the opposites of holiness, with dying flowers and people spiting on the floor.
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I thought of all the church bells ringing In towns that Christian folks were in; I heard the godly maidens singing; I turned into the house of sin.
Despite thinking of all the good and Holy things where Christians sang, the speaker still chooses to go into the evil house of sin where he feel to temptation.
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Within, old maids were caterwauling A dismal tale of thorns and blood.
Inside the church old women sang a song depicting about pain and sacrifice. Blood and thorns also represents Jesus Christ crucifixion.
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And parson’s week had come again As I walked down the little street.
A routing that has been done before and is now becoming old. I think it might be referring to church every Sunday .
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Empty as death and slow as pain The days went by on leaden feet;
Suffering in the life he lives. Dreading existing
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The woman waited for me there As down the little street I trod, And musing on her oily hair,
The prostitute waited for the speakers arrival again, but then saw her oily hair, which could represent neglect and no discipline.
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Within, old maids were caterwauling A dismal tale of thorns and blood.
people were in distress while telling a story that involved horror and blood.
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Without, the weary doves were calling, The sun burned on the banks of mud;
doves are a sign of peace. but now the doves are exhausted, and the sun shines down discomfort instead of warmth.
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blogs.dickinson.edu blogs.dickinson.edu
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The woman waited for me there As down the little street I trod, And musing on her oily hair, I turned into the house of God.
The woman waited on the speaker who gave her life
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The days went by like dead leaves falling, And parson’s week came round again. Once more devout old maids were bawling Their ugly rhymes of death and pain.
The woman was dying, and made horrible noises.
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The weeks went by, and many a day That black-haired woman did implore Me as I hurried on my way To come more often than before.
The woman needs the speaker to feel better.
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Why did I come, the woman cried So seldom to her bed of ease? When I was not, her spirit died And would I give her ten rupees
When the speaker was there the woman's spirt rises, but when he is not there her spirit dies.
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The house of sin was dark and mean, With dying flowers round the doors; They spat the betel juice between The rotten bamboo of the floors.
The house of sin is not taken care of, it represent neglect and the opposites of holiness
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I thought of all the church bells ringing In towns that Christian folks were in; I heard the godly maidens singing; I turned into the house of sin.
Despite thinking of all the good and Holy things, the speaker still chooses to go into the evil house of sin.
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Within, old maids were caterwauling A dismal tale of thorns and blood.
people were in distress while telling a story that involved horror and blood.
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Without, the weary doves were calling, The sun burned on the banks of mud;
Doves are exhausted, and the sun shines down discomfort.
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Empty as death and slow as pain The days went by on leaden feet;
Suffering in the life he lives.
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And parson’s week had come again As I walked down the little street.
A routing that has been done before and is now becoming old.
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- Sep 2024
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blogs.dickinson.edu blogs.dickinson.edu
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Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.
Giving your virginity to me won't be a big deal, just how nothing happened when you killed the flea.
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And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;
When John Donne was alive, when any body fluids were mixed it was sexual.
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Tis true; then learn how false, fears be: Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me, Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.
Give your virginity to me and see how you'll lose fear, the same way you weren't scared to kill the innocent flea which was us three.
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Wherein could this flea guilty be, Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?
The flea was innocent besides it sucking and taking a drop of your blood.
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Cruel and sudden, hast thou since Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?
Cruel and sudden you have killed the flea and stained your nail with its innocent blood.
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Though use make you apt to kill me, Let not to that, self-murder added be, And sacrilege, three sins in killing three
You may want to kill me, but don't add suicide and sacrilege. Because killing the flea is killing us three.
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Though parents grudge, and you, w’are met, And cloistered in these living walls of jet.
Even if your parents disapprove, we are meant to and safe inside these walls.
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Yet thou triumph’st, and say’st that thou Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;
You killed the flea and say neither you or I are weaker. So you take it as a win.
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blogs.dickinson.edu blogs.dickinson.edu
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Tells me from you, that now it is
If she were to get undressed he would be able to get tired by having sex and would be able to fall asleep.
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That still can be, and still can stand so nigh
Her clothes can touch her and remain close to her. Something he wants to do as well.
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Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
Off with your clothe that I envy because they can feel your body and I can't.
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Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Take of your clothe so we can have sex and we can make each other moan.
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That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
She is wearing this belt to hide her body from people who wish to see.
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Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering, But a far fairer world encompassing.
Since gridle is defined similar to a belt, he is asking to remove the belt to show what it's holding in place. So clothing could fall and reveal what's being covered.
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Until I labour, I in labour lie.
He won't be able to get tired without having sex. So he needs to have sex before falling asleep.
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Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
Undo the clothing that hides your chest.
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Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
He wants his madam to come to bed, luring her to have sex so he can be able to fall asleep.
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Madam
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