Task: Find and identify all phonetic stylistic devices. Explain their function. What atmosphere do they create?
1) His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling, faintly through universe and faintly falling like the descent of their last end, upon the living and the dead. (J. Joyce).
2) When you’re lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is tabooed by anxiety. I conceive you may use any language you chose to indulge in without impropriety. (Гильберт и Селливан «Иоланта»).
3) We’re foot – slog – slog – slog – sloggin’ over Africa Foot – foot – foot – foot – sloggin’ over Africa. (Boots – boots – boots – boots – movin’up and down again!) (Р. Киплинг «Boots»)
4) Apt Alliteration’s artful aid. (Ch. Churchill).
5) But in the morning it is quite different. Then the sun shines strong on the horizontal green cloud-puffs of the pines, the sky is clear and full of life, the water runs hastily, still browned by the last juice of crushed olives. And there the earth’s bowl of crocuses is amazing. You cannot believe that the flowers are really still. They are open with such delight, and their pistil thrust is so red-orange, and they are so many, all reaching out wide and marvellous, that it suggests a perfect ecstasy of radiant, thronging movement, lit-up violet and orange, and surging in some invisible rhythm of concerted delightful movement. You cannot believe they do not move, and make some sort of crystalline sound of delight. If you sit still and watch, you begin to move with them, like moving with the stars, and you feel the sound of their radiance. All the little cells of the flowers must be leaping with flowery life and utterance. (D. Lawrence “Flowery Tuscany”)
6) Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon,
If you listen to popular rumour;
From the morn to the night, he’s so joyous and bright,
And he bubbles with wit and good humour! (W. S. Gilbert. The Yeoman of the Guard)
7) And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting.
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out this shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore. (E.A. Poe “The raven”)
8) Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if within the distant Aiden,
I shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore – Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore? (E.A. Poe “The raven”)
9) But still he strummed on, and his mind wandered in and out of poultry and politics, Old Forsyte, Fleur, Foggartism and the Ferrar girl – like a man in a maelstrom whirling round with his head just above water. (J. Galsworthy “Silver Spoon”)
10) Our long convoy
Turned away northward as tireless gulls
Wove over water webs of brightness
And sad sound. The insensible ocean.
Miles without mind, moaned all around our
Limited laughter, and below our songs
Were deaf deeps, dens of unaffection (W. Auden)
11) Carry her over the water,
And set her down under the tree,
Where the culvers white all day and all night,
And the winds from every quarter
Sing agreeably, agreeably of love.
Put a gold ring on her finger
And press her close to your heart,
While the fish in the lake their snapshots take,
And the frog, that sanguine singer,
Sings agreeably, agreeably, agreeably of love.
The streets shall all flock to your marriage,
The houses turn round to look,
The tables and chairs say suitable prayers,
And the horses drawing your carriage
Sing agreeably, agreeably, agreeably of love.
(W. Auden “Carry her over the water”)
12) I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth -
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth –
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appal? –
If design govern in a thing so small. (R. Frost “DESIGN”)
13) Above the lilting house and happy as the grass was green.
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves.
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman … (D. Thomas “Fern Hill”)
14) We would rather be ruined than changed
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die. (W. Auden “The Age of Anxiety”)
15) The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold,
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.
Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and bids descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.
The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt dying.
And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden. (Л. Макнис «The sunlight on the garden»)
16) Evil lifts a hand and the heads of flowers fall –
The pall of the hero who by the Ebro bleeding
Feeds with his blood the stones that rise and call
Tall as any man, «No pasaran!, (Дж. Баркер “Elegy on Spain”)
Murmuring by miriads in the shimmering trees
Wakening with wonder in Pyrenees.
Cheerily chirping in the early day.
Singing of summer scything thro’ the hay. (W. Owen)
18) O lovers true
And others too
Whose best is only better,
Take my advice
Forget him and forget her. (S. Smith)
19) There shone the soft, slim yellow trumpet of the wild daffodil; the daffodil which has a pointed ruff of white petals to display its gold head; and the more opulent double daffodil which, compared with the other two, is like an ostentatious merchant between Florizel and Perdita. There were the many-headed jonquils, creamy and thick-scented; the starry narcissus, so alert on its long, slender, stiff stem, so sharp-eyed, so unlike a languid youth gazing into a pool; the hyacinth-blue frail squill almost lost in the lush herbs; and the hyacinth, blue and white and red, with its firm, thick-set stem and innumerable bells curling back their open points. Among them stood tulips – the red, like thin blown bubbles of dark wine; the yellow, more cup-like, more sensually open to the soft furry entry of the eager bees; the large particoloured gold and red, noble and sombre like the royal banner of Spain. (R. Aldington “The Death of the Hero”)
20) In Breughel’s great picture, The Kermess,
the dancers go round, they go round and
around, the squeal, and the blare and the
tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and fiddles
tipping their bellies (round as the thick-
sided glasses whose wash they impound)
their hips and their bellies off balance
to turn them. Kicking and rolling about
the Fair Grounds, swinging their butts, those
shanks must be sound to bear up under such
rollicking measures, prance as they dance
in Breughel’s great picture, The Kermess.
(В.К, Уильямс Стихотворение о картине Брейгеля «Крестьянский танец»)