An awful tempest mashed the air, the clouds were gaunt and few; a black, as of a spectre's cloak, hid heaven and earth from view. 5 the creatures chuckled on the roofs and whistled in the air, and shook their fists and gnashed their teeth, and swung their frenzied hair. the morning lit, the birds arose; 10 the monster's faded eyes turned slowly to his native coast, and peace was paradise! this poem by american poet emily dickinson presents a convincing example that reflects the theme; a) generosity is pure. b) this too shall pass. c) grief is overwhelming. d) evil triumphs during adversity.

emerson essentially believes that traveling is overrated. he supports this perspective through an initial focus on "the idea" of places like italy, england, and egypt, and the fascination of "educated americans" with them. he argues that those places only took on the grand, majestic ideas that they represent because "they who made england, italy, or greece venerable in the imagination did so by sticking fast where they were, like an axis of the earth." yes, those places are grand, but only because they so clearly represent the places that they are. the art and culture of italy, england, and egypt is authentic, and therefore significant.

plz mark brainliest

it was surely an odd creature that one made up by reading the historians first and the poets afterwards a worm winged like an eagle; the spirit of life and elegance and charm,   in a kitchen chopping up suet. but these creatures, monst'r however entertaining to the imagination, hast no existence in fact. what one might doth to bringeth h'r to life wast to bethink poetically and prosaically at one and the same moment,   thus keeping in toucheth with fact—that the lady is mrs martin, ag'd thirty-six, did dress in blue, wearing a black coxcomb and brown shoeth; but not losing sight of fiction eith'r—that the lady is a vessel in which all s'rts of spirits and f'rces art coursing and flashing p'rpetually. the moment, howev'r, yond one tries this method with the elizabethan mistress, one brancheth of illumination fails; one is did hold up by the scarcity of facts.   one knoweth nothing detailed, nothing p'rfectly true and substantial about h'r.   hist'ry scarcely mentions h'r.   and i did turn to professeth'r trevelyan again to seeth what hist'ry meanteth to that gent.   i hath found by looking at his chapt'r headings yond t meanteth.