rssenglishworld, The English Literature and Grammar Digest

Abhisar, The Tryst / Upagupta  by Rabindranath Tagore Upagupta, the disciple of Buddha, lay asleep on the dust by the city wall of Mathura. Lamps were all out, doors were all shut, and stars were all hidden by the murky sky of August. Whose feet were those tinkling with anklets, touching his breast of a sudden? He woke up startled, and the light from a woman’s lamp struck his forgiving eyes. It was Vasavadatta the dancing girl, starred with jewels, clouded with a pale-blue mantle, drunk with the wine of her youth. She lowered her lamp and saw the young face, austerely beautiful. “Forgive me, young ascetic,” said the woman; “graciously come to my house. The dusty earth is not a fit bed for you.” The young ascetic answered, “Woman, go on your way; when the time is ripe I will come to you.” Suddenly the black night showed its teeth in a flash of lightning. The storm growled from the corner of the sky, and the woman trembled in fear. A Year had not yet passed. It was evening of a day i...

Telephone Conversation  by Wole Soyinka PROSE PARAPHRASE – TELEPHONE CONVERSATION The speaker telephones a landlady to enquire about renting a house. The rent seems reasonable and the location is acceptable. The landlady tells him that she does not live on the premises, so there should be no problem. Everything appears to be settled. Before going to see the house, the speaker honestly informs her that he is African because he does not want to waste his time or hers by making an unnecessary journey. After hearing this, the landlady suddenly becomes silent. This silence is awkward and full of tension. It shows her hidden prejudice, though she pretends to be polite. When she finally speaks, her voice sounds artificial and affected, as if she is a fashionable woman holding a cigarette. Then she shockingly asks, “How dark are you? Are you light or very dark?” The speaker is stunned and offended. He realizes that he has been trapped by her racism. The red telephone booth, the red postbox...

Tithonus  By Alfred Lord Tennyson The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world, A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dream The ever-silent spaces of the East, Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.          Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man— So glorious in his beauty and thy choice, Who madest him thy chosen, that he seem'd To his great heart none other than a God! I ask'd thee, 'Give me immortality.' Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile, Like wealthy men, who care not how they give. But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills, And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me, And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, A...