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2006-08-24 05:19:44 · 5 answers · asked by Anonymous in Education & Reference Other - Education

5 answers

An ode is a form of a stately and elaborate lyrical verse. A classic ode is structured in three parts, the “strophe” the “antistrophe” and “epode” but different forms such as the “homostropic ode” and the “irregular ode” exist.

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It is also the name of a poem called "Ode" by Wordsworth - here it is:

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it has been of yore;--
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

The Rainbow comes and goes, . . . . . . . . . . . .
And lovely is the Rose,
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young Lambs bound . . . . . . . . . . . .
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong.
The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep,
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,

And all the earth is gay,
Land and sea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every Beast keep holiday,
Thou Child of Joy
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd Boy!

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath it's coronal, . . . . . . . . . . . .
The fullness of your bliss, I feel--I feel it all.
Oh evil day! if I were sullen
While the Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,
And the Children are pulling,
On every side,
In a thousand vallies far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the Babe leaps up on his mother's arm:--
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! . . . . . . . . . . . .
--But there's a Tree, of many one,
A single Field which I have look'd upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere it's setting, . . . . . .
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home;
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy; . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Youth, who daily farther from the East
Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a Mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim, . . . . . .
The homely Nurse doth all she can
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A four year's Darling of a pigmy size!
See, where mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his Mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his Father's eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, . . . . . .
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shap'd by himself with newly-learned art;
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;

But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside, . . . . . . . . . . . .
And with new joy and pride
The little Actor cons another part,
Filling from time to time his "humourous stage"
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with her in her Equipage;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy Soul's immensity;
Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep . . . . . .
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,--
Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality

Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,
A Presence which is not to be put by;
To whom the grave . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
Of day or the warm light,
A place of thought where we in waiting lie;
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of untam'd pleasures, on thy Being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The Years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight, . . . . . .
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!

The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benedictions: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest;
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of Childhood, whether fluttering or at rest, . . . . .
With new-born hope for ever in his breast:--
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise;
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realiz'd,
High instincts, before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surpriz'd: . . . . . .
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain light of all our day,
Are yet a master light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish us, and make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, . . . . . .
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence, in a season of calm weather,
Though inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the Children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. . . . . . .

Then, sing ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young Lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour . . . . . .
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind,
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be,
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering,
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

And oh ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, . . . . . .
Think not of any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquish'd one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye . . . . . .
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

2006-08-24 05:28:38 · answer #1 · answered by confused 4 · 0 0

Do you know what your IQ, or intelligent quotient is?

A lot of people do, especially if their intelligent quotient is over the average range of one hundred. Your intelligence quotient is considered to be the level of learning you will achieve in your lifetime. Some employers still use this method to find out how well an applicant is able to learn.

Generally, if a person is tested and his or her intelligence quotient is within a certain range, the person is considered to be placed in one of nine classifications, the lowest one being below twenty. This classification means that the person is capable of learning only very minimal life skills. This person would need a life-long caretaker in order to fulfill their needs.

The next level is a person who has an intelligent quotient between twenty and thirty-nine. This person is considered to need a life-long caretaker as well. The only exception is that this person should be able to communicate in simple words and phrases as well as learn and perform some basic self-care techniques.

A person who is placed in the forty to fifty-four intelligence quotient level is a bit more trainable than the last level. However, this person is expected to only be able to acquire the intelligence level of an average child who is about seven or eight years old.
The next level of a fifty-five to sixty-nine intelligence quotient pertains to a person who is expected to be able to learn to read and write. This person can successfully learn as much as an average twelve year old. As an adult, the person can learn enough to live on his or her own.

The seventy to seventy-nine intelligence quotient range is usually considered to be reached by a person who may be considered to be able to learn, but possibly not as quickly as the other persons their same age.

A learning disability is defined as a condition that causes a student's academic achievement to fall well below their potential, usually interpreted as their IQ. The vast majority of people who have been diagnosed with a learning disability have average to above average intelligence.

An average intelligence quotient is considered to be one hundred. However, the range actually extends from ninety to one hundred and nine.

Just one point higher and the person is catapulted into the one hundred and ten to one hundred and nineteen intelligence quotient range. This person is considered to be mentally superior to his or her average counterparts. Add one more point, and the person who has an intelligence level from the one hundred and twenty to one hundred and forty range is considered to be even more superior in intelligence. And, finally, if a person's intelligence quotient is found to be above one hundred and forty, that person is considered to be a genius in mental intelligence. This level is not reached very often, though.

To find out your intelligence level, you might try contacting the high school that you graduated from, as schools often give tests to find out a person's mental ability. Actually, the test results are not used to label a person as being "dumb" or "smart". Rather, they are used to predict in what areas the person being tested will be successful.

Plz go thru the below mentioned sites for more meanings.... if IQ....

Cheers.....

Source(s):

http://wi.essortment.com/whatmyiq_rewj.h...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/.iq...

2006-08-24 14:47:18 · answer #2 · answered by Anonymous · 0 1

Which one and what about it?

2006-08-24 05:20:31 · answer #3 · answered by welsh_witch_sally 5 · 0 0

daffodils , ode to duty is dat enough!

2006-08-24 05:29:42 · answer #4 · answered by supercooll 1 · 0 0

I wandered lonely as a cloud........

2006-08-24 05:20:42 · answer #5 · answered by JeffE 6 · 0 0

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