The narrator of this poem claims that the "seraphs" (angels) in heaven are so envious of his and Annabel's love that they send a cool wind to murder her. The speaker mourns her passing, but he copes with it by claiming that his link with Annabel is greater than his fear of death.
<h3>How can fear, confusion, and bravery plays a role in these moments?</h3>
The emotions form the above which a person faces at the point of death depends largely on their most dominant memories.
Thus with love, one is able to brave fear.
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Answer:
Hide your wife. Hide your kids. He wants to eat your babies.
Answer:
This format has infinite variations, but imagine one that goes like this: A man is driving in his old car and pulls up next to a new, shiny car at a stop light. (paragraph 7)
Explanation: The coordinate conjunction "but" connects the two independent clauses in this sentence.
Answer:
The speaker's dream for America different than the reality he describes below in complete details.
Explanation:
The poem discourses the American dream that never endured for the cheap-class American and the sovereignty and justice that every foreigner wished for but never endured. In his poem, Hughes expresses not only African Americans but other economically weaker sections and minority organizations as well.
Answer:
And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament"—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.
