Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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With a soul more subtle
With that breast and bearing,
Of the purple asters
Wise with all the silence
Walking on the sea;
One sweet lyric woman—
Such a hand as Beauty
Quiet as the days
Frailer than a moth's wing
With a voice more tender
Rhythmed and poised and free
In new shapes of art;
When they lift and stir —
Must have praised and known,
Dearer than the sun.
Such a head the victors
I give thanks for one,
Of the waiting hills,
Delicate as grasses
Seeking for her freedom
Lovelier than morning,
As superb, untrammeled,
When the gracious twilight
Soft as rain in April,
As the strong pure sea-wind
In the woods of June;
Hears among the thrushes
To the touch that mars;
Nike's very own—
And the autumn haze;
Wakes in them and thrills;
Than the light of stars,
Uses with full heart,
I give thanks for her.
Than the early moon
What do men give thanks for?
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You've successfully reconstructed the poem! Your understanding of poetry and attention to detail is impressive.
What do men give thanks for? I give thanks for one, Lovelier than morning, Dearer than the sun.
Such a head the victors Must have praised and known, With that breast and bearing, Nike's very own—
As superb, untrammeled, Rhythmed and poised and free As the strong pure sea-wind Walking on the sea;
Such a hand as Beauty Uses with full heart, Seeking for her freedom In new shapes of art;
Soft as rain in April, Quiet as the days Of the purple asters And the autumn haze;
With a soul more subtle Than the light of stars, Frailer than a moth's wing To the touch that mars;
Wise with all the silence Of the waiting hills, When the gracious twilight Wakes in them and thrills;
With a voice more tender Than the early moon Hears among the thrushes In the woods of June;
Delicate as grasses When they lift and stir — One sweet lyric woman— I give thanks for her.