Summer Reading - Schaumburg High School

E419 Advanced Placement 

Literature and Composition 

Summer Reading 

Mrs. Gilkey Mr. Klinger Mr. Micheletto 

mguerragilkey@d211.org nklinger@d211.org rmicheletto@d211.org 

(Click on the names to enter their websites) 

Table of Contents 

Summer Reading—One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey ............................................................ 2 

Summer Reading—Poetry ...................................................................................................................................... 4 

TP-CASTT: ANALYZING POETRY ................................................................................................................ 6 

Sample Annotated Poem ..................................................................................................................................... 7 

30 Poems ............................................................................................................................................................. 8 

Strongly Recommended –Biblical Lit .................................................................................................................. 26 

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Summer Reading—One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey 

Over the summer, read and annotate One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, a novel by Ken 

Kesey. Elements from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest will infuse many of the other works 

in the 419 curriculum. Be advised that you should have the novel completed before 

returning to school. When reading, think in terms of motifs, allusions, archetypes, 

symbols, and social issues, as well as the rhetorical strategies learned in English 319. 

In addition, consider the following points as you read and mark the text: 

• Trace the psychological progress of the main characters in the story. 

• Consider Kesey’s choice of Chief Bromden as narrator instead of McMurphy. What 

does the author achieve through this choice? 

• Explore the religious and Biblical themes in the novel. 

• Think about the role of women in the novel. Delineate their effect on the men in the 

story. 

• Explore Kesey’s treatment of African Americans within the story. Is his portrayal 

racist? (Consider the year of publication.) 

• Trace literary elements/devices and their contribution to meaning. See the poetry 

assignment for a list of devices to consider 

Be prepared to take an objective, multiple choice test during the first week of class. 

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Assignment #1: Write an AP-style essay which answers the following prompt. 

A symbol is an object, action, or event that represents something or that creates a 

range of associations beyond itself. In literary works, a symbol can express an idea, 

clarify meaning, or enlarge literal meaning. Focusing on one symbol in One Flew Over 

the Cuckoo’s Nest, write an essay analyzing how that symbol functions in the work 

and what it reveals about the characters or themes of the work as a whole. Do not 

merely summarize the plot 

Assignment #2: Choose one of the following two prompts to answer in an AP-style essay. 

1. One of the strongest human drives seems to be a desire for power. Write an essay in 

which you discuss how a character in a novel or a drama struggles to free himself or 

herself from the power of others or seeks to gain power over others. Be sure to 

demonstrate in your essay how the author uses this power struggle to enhance the 

meaning of the work. 

2. One definition of madness is “mental delusion or the eccentric behavior arising from 

it.” But Emily Dickinson wrote 

Much madness is divinest Sense- 

To a discerning Eye- 

Novelists and playwrights have often seen madness with a “discerning Eye.” Select a 

novel or play in which a character’s apparent madness or irrational behavior plays an 

important role. Then write a well-organized essay in which you explain what this 

delusion or eccentric behavior consists of and how it might be judged reasonable. 

Explain the significance of the “madness” to the work as a whole. Do not merely 

summarize the plot. 

Both essays will be: 

• two double-spaced pages in length 

• typed in standard MLA format 

• collected on the first day of school 

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Summer Reading—Poetry 

Complete steps 1-3 for the 1st day of school. 

1. Print out the list of 30 Poems on page 8 

• Look at the TP-CASTT: ANALYZING POETRY on page 6 to guide your reading, organization, and analysis. 

2. Annotate the 30 poems using the guidelines below. 

• What does the poem mean? It is not simply underlining! Generally speaking, annotation involves having 

an active dialogue with whatever it is you are reading (aka, active reading). Fill the margins around the 

poem with your words that comment on and clarify the text. What does that mean? Not in any 

hierarchal order, annotating a poem involves the following: 

a. Knowing the vocabulary of the poem...look up words you don't know...how and why might the poet 

have used such diction? 

b. Catalogue questions... do not be afraid to ask questions of the language ... remember, the poem is 

speaking to you 

c. Catalogue your insights... what are you thinking as you read? What associations are you making? 

Why? What led you there? 

d. What poetic devices seem important/popular/significant/speak to you? WHY is the poet using 

them? What effect/function do these devices have? In other words, how does the poet construct 

meaning through his/her poetic devices? 

These are some common devices, but you may choose other devices; you are not limited to only 

the ones listed here: 

imagery metaphor simile personification symbolism 

assonance consonance alliteration onomatopoeia allegory 

meter rhythm rhyme scheme patterns punctuation 

allusion denotation connotation tone mood 

irony paradox juxtaposition apostrophe theme 

redundancy repetition 

Remember to zero in on the devices that create a specific effect and/or meaning; don’t 

just create a list of devices… 

e. Please keep in mind that you must read a poem literally (Who is the speaker? What is the situation? 

How can I paraphrase the events?) before you read it figuratively. 

• Check out the Sample Annotated Poem on page 7 provided as a model for your own text marking. 

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3. 10 Poetry Responses: On a separate document, choose 10 of the poems you annotated and write two welldeveloped 

paragraphs (per poem) that: 

• Discuss what you feel the poem means. What has the author described, expressed, or communicated? 

Explain how you came to this interpretation. 

• Describe your reading and annotation experience. Get metacognitive; think about your thought 

process. Why did you isolate and annotate certain elements? What drew your attention? Why? How 

did you read? Did your reading change? How? 

• Here is a Sample Written Response to the annotated poem to serve as an example. (Still to come) 

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TP-CASTT: ANALYZING POETRY 

The following is a breakdown of the TP-CASTT method for reading and analyzing poetry. You can use this 

method to prepare responses to the poems that follow. There is not a required length for each entry, but your 

writing will be checked, and you will be evaluated on the quality of your entries. Set up your responses to 

include the following. 

1. Title: Examine the title and predict what the poem will be about. Consider the various 

denotative/connotative meanings of the title. 

2. Paraphrase: Translate the poem into your own words. Resist the urge to jump to interpretation. 

Paraphrase the literal meaning or “plot” of the poem. A true understanding of the poem must evolve from 

comprehension of “what’s going on in the poem.” 

3. Connotation: Contemplate the poem for meaning beyond the literal level Connotation indicates that 

students should examine any and all poetic devices, focusing on how such devices contribute to the meaning, 

the effect, or both of a poem. Students may consider imagery, simile, metaphor, personification, symbolism, 

diction, point of view, and sound devices (alliteration, onomatopoeia, rhythm, and rhyme). Find and explain 

examples of literary devices used in the poem. 

4. Attitude: Observe both the speaker’s and the poet’s attitude (tone). Having examined the poem’s devices 

and clues closely, you are ready to explore the multiple attitudes that may be present in the poem. Don’t confuse 

the author with the person that he/she creates in the poem. Discuss the tone of the poem and what literary 

devices help to convey the tone. 

5. Shifts: Note shifts in speakers and attitudes. Rarely does a poet begin and end the poetic experience in the 

same place. Trace and explain the feelings of the speaker from the beginning to the end, paying particular 

attention to the conclusion. What effects do shifts have? How does it reflect/affect meaning? 

Look for the following to find shifts: 

• Key words (but, yet, however, although) 

• Punctuation (dashes, periods, colons, ellipsis) 

• Stanza division 

• Changes in line or stanza length or both 

• Irony (sometimes irony hides shifts) 

• Effect of structure on meaning 

• Changes in sound (rhyme) may indicate changes in meaning 

• Changes in diction (slang to formal language) 

6. Title: Examine the title again, this time on an interpretive level. Discuss how the title’s significance is 

clearer once the poem has been more closely analyzed. 

7. Theme: List what the poem is about (subjects); then determine what the poet says/implies about each of 

those subjects (theme). Identify the theme by recognizing the human experience, motivation, or condition 

suggested by the poem. Move beyond abstract concepts such as war, death, discovery; to, determine what the 

poet is saying about each subject in a complete sentence or two of explanation. 

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Sample Annotated Poem 

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30 Poems 

If I Could Tell You by W. H. Auden 

Time will say nothing but I told you so, 

Time only knows the price we have to pay; 

If I could tell you I would let you know. 

If we should weep when clowns put on their show, 

If we should stumble when musicians play, 

Time will say nothing but I told you so. 

There are no fortunes to be told, although, 

Because I love you more than I can say, 


The winds must come from somewhere when they blow, 

There must be reasons why the leaves decay; 

Time will say nothing but I told you so. 

Perhaps the roses really want to grow, 

The vision seriously intends to stay; 


Suppose all the lions get up and go, 

And all the brooks and soldiers run away; 

Will Time say nothing but I told you so? 


A Miracle for Breakfast by Elizabeth Bishop 

At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee, 

waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb 

that was going to be served from a certain balcony 

--like kings of old, or like a miracle. 

It was still dark. One foot of the sun 

steadied itself on a long ripple in the river. 

The first ferry of the day had just crossed the river. 

It was so cold we hoped that the coffee 

would be very hot, seeing that the sun 

was not going to warm us; and that the crumb 

would be a loaf each, buttered, by a miracle. 

At seven a man stepped out on the balcony. 

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He stood for a minute alone on the balcony 

looking over our heads toward the river. 

A servant handed him the makings of a miracle, 

consisting of one lone cup of coffee 

and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb, 

his head, so to speak, in the clouds--along with the sun. 

Was the man crazy? What under the sun 

was he trying to do, up there on his balcony! 

Each man received one rather hard crumb, 

which some flicked scornfully into the river, 

and, in a cup, one drop of the coffee. 

Some of us stood around, waiting for the miracle. 

I can tell what I saw next; it was not a miracle. 

A beautiful villa stood in the sun 

and from its doors came the smell of hot coffee. 

In front, a baroque white plaster balcony 

added by birds, who nest along the river, 

--I saw it with one eye close to the crumb-- 

and galleries and marble chambers. My crumb 

my mansion, made for me by a miracle, 

through ages, by insects, birds, and the river 

working the stone. Every day, in the sun, 

at breakfast time I sit on my balcony 

with my feet up, and drink gallons of coffee. 

We licked up the crumb and swallowed the coffee. 

A window across the river caught the sun 

as if the miracle were working, on the wrong balcony. 

Sestina by Elizabeth Bishop 

September rain falls on the house. 

In the failing light, the old grandmother 

sits in the kitchen with the child 

beside the Little Marvel Stove, 

reading the jokes from the almanac, 

laughing and talking to hide her tears. 

She thinks that her equinoctial tears 

and the rain that beats on the roof of the house 

were both foretold by the almanac, 

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ut only known to a grandmother. 

The iron kettle sings on the stove. 

She cuts some bread and says to the child, 

It's time for tea now; but the child 

is watching the teakettle's small hard tears 

dance like mad on the hot black stove, 

the way the rain must dance on the house. 

Tidying up, the old grandmother 

hangs up the clever almanac 

on its string. Birdlike, the almanac 

hovers half open above the child, 

hovers above the old grandmother 

and her teacup full of dark brown tears. 

She shivers and says she thinks the house 

feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove. 

It was to be, says the Marvel Stove. 

I know what I know, says the almanac. 

With crayons the child draws a rigid house 

and a winding pathway. Then the child 

puts in a man with buttons like tears 

and shows it proudly to the grandmother. 

But secretly, while the grandmother 

busies herself about the stove, 

the little moons fall down like tears 

from between the pages of the almanac 

into the flower bed the child 

has carefully placed in the front of the house. 

Time to plant tears, says the almanac. 

The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove 

and the child draws another inscrutable house. 

London by William Blake 

I wander thro' each charter'd street, 

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow, 

And mark in every face I meet 

Marks of weakness, marks of woe. 

In every cry of every man, 

In every Infant's cry of fear, 

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In every voice, in every ban, 

The mind-forg'd manacles I hear. 

How the Chimney-sweeper's cry 

Every blackning Church appalls; 

And the hapless Soldier's sigh 

Runs in blood down Palace walls. 

But most thro' midnight streets I hear 

How the youthful Harlot's curse 

Blasts the new-born Infant's tear, 

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse. 

The Tiger by William Blake 

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 

In the forests of the night, 

What immortal hand or eye 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

In what distant deeps or skies 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 

On what wings dare he aspire? 

What the hand dare sieze the fire? 

And what shoulder, & what art. 

Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 

And when thy heart began to beat, 

What dread hand? & what dread feet? 

What the hammer? what the chain? 

In what furnace was thy brain? 

What the anvil? what dread grasp 

Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 

When the stars threw down their spears, 

And watered heaven with their tears, 

Did he smile his work to see? 

Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 

In the forests of the night, 

What immortal hand or eye 

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 

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Introduction to Poetry by Billy Collins 

I ask them to take a poem 

and hold it up to the light 

like a color slide 

or press an ear against its hive. 

I say drop a mouse into a poem 

and watch him probe his way out, 

or walk inside the poem’s room 

and feel the walls for a light switch. 

I want them to waterski 

across the surface of a poem 

waving at the author’s name on the shore. 

But all they want to do 

is tie the poem to a chair with rope 

and torture a confession out of it. 

They begin beating it with a hose 

to find out what it really means. 

Weighing The Dog by Billy Collins 

It is awkward for me and bewildering for him 

as I hold him in my arms in the small bathroom, 

balancing our weight on the shaky blue scale, 

but this is the way to weigh a dog and easier 

than training him to sit obediently on one spot 

with his tongue out, waiting for the cookie. 

With pencil and paper I subtract my weight 

from our total to find out the remainder that is his, 

and I start to wonder if there is an analogy here. 

It could not have to do with my leaving you 

though I never figured out what you amounted to 

until I subtracted myself from our combination. 

You held me in your arms more than I held you 

through all those awkward and bewildering months 

and now we are both lost in strange and distant 

neighborhoods 

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712 by Emily Dickinson 

Because I could not stop for Death – 

He kindly stopped for me – 

The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 

And Immortality. 

We slowly drove – He knew no haste 

And I had put away 

My labor and my leisure too, 

For His Civility – 

We passed the School, where Children strove 

At Recess – in the Ring – 

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – 

We passed the Setting Sun – 

Or rather – He passed us – 

The Dews drew quivering and chill – 

For only Gossamer, my Gown – 

My Tippet – only Tulle – 

We paused before a House that seemed 

A Swelling of the Ground – 

The Roof was scarcely visible – 

The Cornice – in the Ground – 

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet 

Feels shorter than the Day 

I first surmised the Horses' Heads 

Were toward Eternity – 

585 by Emily Dickinson 

We talked as Girls do— 

Fond, and late— 

We speculated fair, on every subject, but the Grave— 

Of ours, none affair— 

We handled Destinies, as cool— 

As we—Disposers—be— 

And God, a Quiet Party 

To our Authority— 

But fondest, dwelt upon Ourself 

As we eventual—be— 

When Girls to Women, softly raised 

We—occupy—Degree— 

We parted with a contract 

To cherish, and to write 

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But Heaven made both, impossible 

Before another night. 

Holy Sonnet 10 by John Donne 

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 

Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so; 

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow 

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. 

Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 

And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. 

The Flea by John Donne 

MARK but this flea, and mark in this, 

How little that which thou deniest me is ; 

It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee, 

And in this flea our two bloods mingled be. 

Thou know'st that this cannot be said 

A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ; 

Yet this enjoys before it woo, 

And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ; 

And this, alas ! is more than we would do. 

O stay, three lives in one flea spare, 

Where we almost, yea, more than married are. 

This flea is you and I, and this 

Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is. 

Though parents grudge, and you, we're met, 

And cloister'd in these living walls of jet. 

Though use make you apt to kill me, 

Let not to that self-murder added be, 

And sacrilege, three sins in killing three. 

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since 

Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence? 

Wherein could this flea guilty be, 

Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee? 

Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou 

Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now. 

'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ; 

Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me, 

Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee. 

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Fire and Ice by Robert Frost 

Some say the world will end in fire, 

Some say in ice. 

From what I've tasted of desire 

I hold with those who favor fire. 

But if it had to perish twice, 

I think I know enough of hate 

To say that for destruction ice 

Is also great 

And would suffice. 

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 

And sorry I could not travel both 

And be one traveler, long I stood 

And looked down one as far as I could 

To where it bent in the undergrowth; 

Then took the other, as just as fair, 

And having perhaps the better claim, 

Because it was grassy and wanted wear; 

Though as for that the passing there 

Had worn them really about the same, 

And both that morning equally lay 

In leaves no step had trodden black. 

Oh, I kept the first for another day! 

Yet knowing how way leads on to way, 

I doubted if I should ever come back. 

I shall be telling this with a sigh 

Somewhere ages and ages hence: 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- 

I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference. 

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Harlem by Langston Hughes 

What happens to a dream deferred? 

Does it dry up 

like a raisin in the sun? 

Or fester like a sore— 

And then run? 

Does it stink like rotten meat? 

Or crust and sugar over— 

like a syrupy sweet? 

Maybe it just sags 

like a heavy load. 

Or does it explode? 

Theme for English B by Langston Hughes 

The instructor said, 

Go home and write 

a page tonight. 

And let that page come out of you--- 

Then, it will be true. 

I wonder if it's that simple? 

I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem. 

I went to school there, then Durham, then here 

to this college on the hill above Harlem. 

I am the only colored student in my class. 

The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem 

through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas, 

Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y, 

the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator 

up to my room, sit down, and write this page: 

It's not easy to know what is true for you or me 

at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what 

I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you: 

hear you, hear me---we two---you, me, talk on this page. 

(I hear New York too.) Me---who? 

Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love. 

I like to work, read, learn, and understand life. 

I like a pipe for a Christmas present, 

or records---Bessie, bop, or Bach. 

I guess being colored doesn't make me NOT like 

the same things other folks like who are other races. 

So will my page be colored that I write? 

Being me, it will not be white. 

But it will be 

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a part of you, instructor. 

You are white--- 

yet a part of me, as I am a part of you. 

That's American. 

Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me. 

Nor do I often want to be a part of you. 

But we are, that's true! 

As I learn from you, 

I guess you learn from me--- 

although you're older---and white--- 

and somewhat more free. 

This is my page for English B. 

Ode on Melancholy by Keats 

1. 

NO, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist 

Wolfs-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; 

Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d 

By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; 

Make not your rosary of yew-berries, 5 

Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be 

Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl 

A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries; 

For shade to shade will come too drowsily, 

And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. 10 

2. 

But when the melancholy fit shall fall 

Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, 

That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, 

And hides the green hill in an April shroud; 

Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, 15 

Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, 

Or on the wealth of globed peonies; 

Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, 

Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, 

And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. 20 

3. 

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die; 

And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips 

Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, 

Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: 

Ay, in the very temple of Delight 25 

Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine, 

Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue 

Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine; 

His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, 

And be among her cloudy trophies hung. 30 

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Ode to a Nightingale by Keats 

1. 

MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 

’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, 5 

But being too happy in thine happiness,— 

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, 

In some melodious plot 

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 

Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 10 

2. 

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been 

Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth, 

Tasting of Flora and the country green, 

Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! 

O for a beaker full of the warm South, 15 

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 

And purple-stained mouth; 

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 

And with thee fade away into the forest dim: 20 

3. 

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 

What thou among the leaves hast never known, 

The weariness, the fever, and the fret 

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; 

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 25 

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; 

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow 

And leaden-eyed despairs, 

Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 30 

4. 

Away! away! for I will fly to thee, 

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 

But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: 

Already with thee! tender is the night, 35 

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, 

Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays; 

But here there is no light, 

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 40 

5. 

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, 

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Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, 

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet 

Wherewith the seasonable month endows 

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; 45 

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; 

Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves; 

And mid-May’s eldest child, 

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, 

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 50 

6. 

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time 

I have been half in love with easeful Death, 

Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme, 

To take into the air my quiet breath; 

Now more than ever seems it rich to die, 55 

To cease upon the midnight with no pain, 

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 

In such an ecstasy! 

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— 

To thy high requiem become a sod. 60 

7. 

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 

No hungry generations tread thee down; 

The voice I hear this passing night was heard 

In ancient days by emperor and clown: 

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 65 

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, 

She stood in tears amid the alien corn; 

The same that oft-times hath 

Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam 

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 70 

8. 

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell 

To toil me back from thee to my sole self! 

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 

As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf. 

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 75 

Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 

Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep 

In the next valley-glades: 

Was it a vision, or a waking dream? 

Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep? 

Page19

When I Consider How My Light Is Spent by John Milton 

When I consider how my light is spent, 

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, 

And that one talent which is death to hide 

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 

To serve therewith my Maker, and present 

My true account, lest He returning chide; 

"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" 

I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent 

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need 

Either man's work or His own gifts. Who best 

Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state 

Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed, 

And post o'er land and ocean without rest; 

They also serve who only stand and wait." 

How Soon Hath Time by John Milton 

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, 

Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year! 

My hasting days fly on with full career, 

But my late spring no bud or blossom showeth. 

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, 5 

That I to manhood am arrived so near, 

And inward ripeness doth much less appear, 

That some more timely-happy spirits endueth. 

Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, 

It shall be still in strictest measure even, 10 

To that same lot, however mean or high, 

Toward which time leads me, and the will of heaven; 

All is, if I have grace to use it so, 

As ever in my great task master's eye. 

Famous by Naomi Shihab Nye 

The river is famous to the fish. 

The loud voice is famous to silence, 

which knew it would inherit the earth 

before anybody said so. 

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds 

watching him from the birdhouse. 

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek. 

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The idea you carry close to your bosom 

is famous to your bosom. 

The boot is famous to the earth, 

more famous than the dress shoe, 

which is famous only to floors. 

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it 

and not at all famous to the one who is pictured. 

I want to be famous to shuffling men 

who smile while crossing streets, 

sticky children in grocery lines, 

famous as the one who smiled back. 

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous, 

or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular, 

but because it never forgot what it could do. 

Half-and-Half by Naomi Shihab Nye 

You can't be, says a Palestinian Christian 

on the first feast day after Ramadan. 

So, half-and-half and half-and-half. 

He sells glass. He knows about broken bits, 

chips. If you love Jesus you can't love 

anyone else. Says he. 

At his stall of blue pitchers on the Via Dolorosa, 

he's sweeping. The rubbed stones 

feel holy. Dusting of powdered sugar 

across faces of date-stuffed mamool. 

This morning we lit the slim white candles 

which bend over at the waist by noon. 

For once the priests weren't fighting 

in the church for the best spots to stand. 

As a boy, my father listened to them fight. 

This is partly why he prays in no language 

but his own. Why I press my lips 

to every exception. 

A woman opens a window—here and here and here— 

placing a vase of blue flowers 

on an orange cloth. I follow her. 

She is making a soup from what she had left 

in the bowl, the shriveled garlic and bent bean. 

She is leaving nothing out. 

Page21

Mirror by Sylvia Plath 

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. 

Whatever I see, I swallow immediately. 

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike 

I am not cruel, only truthful – 

The eye of a little god, four-cornered. 

Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. 

It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long 

I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers. 

Faces and darkness separate us over and over. 

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me. 

Searching my reaches for what she really is. 

Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon. 

I see her back, and reflect it faithfully 

She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. 

I am important to her. She comes and goes. 

Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. 

In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman 

Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish. 

Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath 

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; 

I lift my lids and all is born again. 

(I think I made you up inside my head.) 

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, 

And arbitrary blackness gallops in: 

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed 

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. 


God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: 

Exit seraphim and Satan's men: 


I fancied you'd return the way you said, 

But I grow old and I forget your name. 


I should have loved a thunderbird instead; 

At least when spring comes they roar back again. 


(I think I made you up inside my head.)" 

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Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 

Admit impediments. Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove: 

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken; 

It is the star to every wandering bark, 

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. 

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come: 

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 

If this be error and upon me proved, 

I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 

Sonnet 138 by William Shakespeare 

When my love swears that she is made of truth 

I do believe her, though I know she lies, 

That she might think me some untutor'd youth, 

Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. 

Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 

Although she knows my days are past the best, 

Simply I credit her false speaking tongue: 

On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd. 

But wherefore says she not she is unjust? 

And wherefore say not I that I am old? 

O, love's best habit is in seeming trust, 

And age in love loves not to have years told: 

Therefore I lie with her and she with me, 

And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. 

England in 1819 by Percy Bysshe Shelley 

An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,-- 

Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow 

Through public scorn,--mud from a muddy spring,-- 

Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know, 

But leech-like to their fainting country cling, 

Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,-- 

A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field,-- 

An army, which liberticide and prey 

Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield,-- 

Page23

Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay; 

Religion Christless, Godless--a book sealed; 

A Senate,--Time's worst statute unrepealed,-- 

Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may 

Burst, to illumine our tempestous day. 

Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley 

I met a traveller from an antique land 

Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 

Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, 

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, 

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, 

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, 

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed. 

And on the pedestal these words appear -- 

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: 

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" 

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare 

The lone and level sands stretch far away.' 

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas 

Do not go gentle into that good night, 

Old age should burn and rave at close of day; 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, 

Because their words had forked no lightning they 

Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright 

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, 


Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, 

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, 


Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight 

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, 


Page24

And you, my father, there on that sad height, 

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. 



Danse Russe by William Carlos Williams 

If I when my wife is sleeping 

and the baby and Kathleen 

are sleeping 

and the sun is a flame-white disc 

in silken mists 

above shining trees,— 

if I in my north room 

dance naked, grotesquely 

before my mirror 

waving my shirt round my head 

and singing softly to myself: 

"I am lonely, lonely. 

I was born to be lonely, 

I am best so!" 

If I admire my arms, my face, 

my shoulders, flanks, buttocks 

against the yellow drawn shades,— 

Who shall say I am not 

the happy genius of my household? 

This Is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams 

I have eaten 

the plums 

that were in 

the icebox 

and which 

you were probably 

saving 

for breakfast 

Forgive me 

they were delicious 

so sweet 

and so cold 

Page25

Strongly Recommended –Biblical Lit 

Many of the major works studied in E419 require basic knowledge of the Bible—one of the most 

influential books ever written. As a serious student of literature, you must make an effort to 

understand the Biblical literature listed below; consequently, you will be better prepared to fully grasp 

the impact of many allusions you will see throughout the novels, drama and poetry we will study in AP 

Lit. 

*Genesis (Creation, Cain and Abel, Noah and the Flood, Tower of Babel, Sodom and Gomorrah, Jacob, Joseph’s 

Dreams) 

*Exodus (chapters 1-20) (Moses, Plagues, Passover, The Exodus, Mount Sinai, The Ten Commandments) 

*Matthew (Birth of Jesus, John the Baptist, Temptation of Jesus, Sermon on the Mount, Jesus’ Miracles, Parables, 

Judas’ Betrayal, The Last Supper, Death, Resurrection, The Great Commission) 

*John (chapter 11, verses 1-46) (Lazarus) 

These recommended readings equal approximately 65 pages in a standard NIV Bible. 

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Summer Reading - Schaumburg High School

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