Literature Quiz / Poetic Terms

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QUIZ: Can you name the poetic terms based on these examples?

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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
The free bird leaps on the back of the wind// and floats downstream till the current ends// and dips his wings in the orange sun rays// and dares to claim the sky.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;// Coral is far more red than her lips' red;// If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;// If hairs be wires, black wires grow on h
Zing boom tararrel, ring out a song of good cheer
Cruising down 8th street Off-white Lexus Driving so slow (but BK, it's from Texas!!)
THE fog comes// on little cat feet.// It sits looking// over harbor and city// on silent haunches//and then moves on.
I heard a fly buzz when I died;// The stillness round my form// Was like the stillness in the air// Between the heaves of storm.
Each beach beast thinks he's the best beast.
I sat in the dark//Nursing my broken heart.
There was a Young Lady whose eyes,// Were unique as to colour and size;// When she opened them wide,// People all turned aside,// And started away in surprise.
I am a rock. I am an island.
She lived her life like a candle in the wind,
I won't ask you why you're running and// I won't ask you if you care// But the subject's going to come up// Sooner or later, and it might as well be// Now that I'm thinking about i
John Henry was a railroad man.// He worked from six 'till five,// 'Raise 'em up bullies and let 'em drop down,// I'll beat you to the bottom or die.'// John Henry said to his capta
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,// The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,// The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,// An
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,// The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.
The red blossom bends// and drips its dew to the ground.//Like a tear it falls
And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
But O heart! heart! heart!// O the bleeding drops of red,// Where on the deck my Captain lies,// Fallen cold and dead.
Just as Walt Whitman would say,// if he were with me today.....// There is a 'Song of Myself',// A song that sings of my internal wealth.
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout would not take the garbage out.

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