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Short story writers normally write a story and then think of a title for their pieces. Today, we are going to do the opposite. We shall begin with choosing a title and then write a story for the chosen title.

How do we go about choosing the perfect title to pen our story? We do that with the help of some of the greatest masters of English Literature. Today, we take a look at some of the greatest poems of Literature and write a story as a tribute to our favorite poet. Naturally, the title you choose shall reflect the flavours of the original poems the words were chosen from. Thereby, your story you write would serve as an effective tribute for your chosen poet.

To narrow things down a little, I have chosen one major part of the history of English Literature namely the ROMANTIC period. The key characteristics of the Romantic period were :

Power of Imagination, Precedence to Nature, Importance to the Common Man, Elements of the Supernatural and Rhetorical Symbolism.

Now, that really narrows down the topics for you to choose from, doesn’t it? Your story may include one or more of any of the above characteristics as a backdrop of our plot. This means that you may let your imagination soar, to create a story set amidst nature, with an ordinary protagonist, who gets involved in an extraordinary supernatural plot, with a symbolic twist in the end…

Too overwhelming? To put things more into perspective, we use the premise of the poems themselves as prompts for our storylines.

Today, we are going to look at a few select poems of 5 important poets of the Romanic era, and the Bard of Avon, of the Elizabethan era, to lay a foundation of inspiration, for our stories.

  William Blake (1757 – 1827)  William Wordsworth (1770 -1850)Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 – 1834)     Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 – 1822)John Keats (1795 – 1821)William Shakespeare (1564-1616)  
William Blake:   In every cry of every Man,
In every Infants cry of fear,
In every voice: in every ban,
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear   But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse   (Poem: London) Title : The Manacles / The Marriage Hearse.   *** O Rose thou art sick.  The invisible worm,  That flies in the night  In the howling storm:  Has found out thy bed  Of crimson joy:  And his dark secret love  Does thy life destroy.   (Poem : The Sick Rose) Titles : The Invisible Worm / Dark Secret Love   *** Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice! He is meek and he is mild He became a little child.   (Poem: The Lamb) Title : A tender Voice / A little Child.  
William Wordsworth   What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale                10Shall be my harbour? underneath what groveShall I take up my home? and what clear streamShall with its murmur lull me into rest?The earth is all before me. With a heartJoyous, nor scared at its own liberty,I look about; and should the chosen guideBe nothing better than a wandering cloud,I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!   (Poem: The Prelude) Title : My Harbour / Liberty   *** And serious mood; but after I had seen                     That spectacle, for many days, my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being; o’er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes Remained, no pleasant images of trees, Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields; But huge and mighty forms, that do not live Like living men, moved slowly through the mind By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.     (Poem : The Prelude) Title : Spectacle / Solitude                 
Samuel Taylor Coleridge   But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!   (Poem: Kubla Khan) Title: Chasm / Demon-Lover *** For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!     And overspread with phantom light,      With swimming phantom light o’erspread           But rimmed and circled by a silver thread        My genial spirits fail;                  And what can these avail      To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?      What, and wherein it doth exist,            This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist.       (Poem : Dejection: An Ode) Title : Phantom Light / Weight / Mist   Percy Bysshe Shelley           Swift as a spirit hastening to his task          Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth          Rejoicing in his splendour, & the mask          Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth.          The smokeless altars of the mountain snows          Flamed above crimson clouds, & at the birth          Of light, the Ocean’s orison arose           To which the birds tempered their matin lay,          All flowers in field or forest which unclose     Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day       (Poem: The Triumph of Day)     Title: The Mask  / Kiss of day ***        Scatter, as from an unextinguish’d hearth         Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!         Be through my lips to unawaken’d earth         The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,         If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?      (Poem: Ode to the West Wind)    Title: A Prophecy / Spring.
John Keats           Deep in the shady sadness of a vale          Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,          Far from the fiery noon, and eve’s one star,          Sat gray-hair’d Saturn, quiet as a stone,          Still as the silence round about his lair;          Forest on forest hung about his head          Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,          Not so much life as on a summer’s day          Robs not one light seed from the feather’d grass,          But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.          A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more          By reason of his fallen divinity.      (Poem: Hyperion)     Title: The Silence  / A Summer’s day /  The Dead Leaf 6)  William Shakespeare   To be or not to be, That is the question.   (Play : Hamlet Act III, Scene i) Title: The Question   ***   Oh, when she’s angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school. And though she be but little, she is fierce.   (Play :Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act III Scene ii) Title : A Vixen
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