Consider the poems."She Walks in Beauty" by George Gordon ByronAn excerpt from "To Helen" by Edgar Allan PoeShe walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his own native shore.On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land!
Consider the poems."The Corn Harvest" by William Carlos WilliamsAn excerpt from "After Apple Picking" by Robert FrostSummer !the painting is organizedabout a youngreaper enjoying hisnoonday restcompletelyrelaxedfrom his morning laborssprawledin fact sleepingunbuttonedon his backthe womenhave brought him hislunchperhapsa spot of winethey gather gossipingunder a treewhose shadecarelesslyhe does not share theresting center of their workaday world.My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a treeToward heaven still.And there's a barrel that I didn't fillBeside it, and there may be two or threeApples I didn't pick upon some bough.But I am done with apple-picking now.Essence of winter sleep is on the night,The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.I cannot shake the shimmer from my sightI got from looking through a pane of glassI skimmed this morning from the water-trough,And held against the world of hoary grass.It melted, and I let it fall and break.But I was wellUpon my way to sleep before it fell,And I could tellWhat form my dreaming was about to take. Magnified apples appear and reappear, Stem end and blossom end,And every fleck of russet showing clear.
Consider the painting entitled L’Ambulance de la Gare de Poitiers by Henri Gervex.

What can be observed from this painting? Select 3 options.
Consider the poems."She Walks in Beauty" by George Gordon ByronAn excerpt from "To Helen" by Edgar Allan PoeShe walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his own native shore.On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land!
In "Landscape with the Fall of Icarus", Williams mentions "a splash quite unnoticed.” Which words from Auden’s "Musée des Beaux Arts" best illustrate this idea of people’s distraction and indifference?
Consider this painting entitled The Astronomer by Vermeer.

Which statement best defines ekphrastic poetry?
Read the poem entitled "The Poison Tree" by William Blake.I was angry with my friend:I told my wrath, my wrath did end.I was angry with my foe:I told it not, my wrath did grow.And I watered it in fearsNight and morning with my tears,And I sunned it with smilesAnd with soft deceitful wiles.And it grew both day and night,Till it bore an apple bright,And my foe beheld it shine,And he knew that it was mine, —And into my garden stoleWhen the night had veiled the pole;In the morning, glad, I seeMy foe outstretched beneath the tree.
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