The Procession of MasksB.J. Brimmer Company, 1923 - 256 pagine |
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Arthur Symons aspects assert beauty become brain cerebral character Chita color contemporary criticism dark Dartmoor dead death declared delicate delightful Dostoevski doubt dust EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON Emily Dickinson English Enoch Soames essays existence eyes face fiction figures flower Gauguin genius Georgian gesture Gogh gruesome Hardy heart Housman imagination INCOMPARABLE MAX influence J. C. Squire Jewish Jews LAFCADIO HEARN letters literary living magic masks Max Beerbohm ment mind modern mood Mottke mysticism nature never novels observe painted passion Patchouli perhaps period Phillpotts picture play poems poet poetry praise prose Raskolnikoff reader REVENANT Russian Shakespeare Sheila Kaye-Smith Sholom Asch Shropshire Lad spirit story strange style Swinburne SWINBURNE'S HOME things thought tion tragedy Turgenev utterance Variorum volume W. H. HUDSON Watts Dunton word writer written Yellow Nineties YIDDISH LITERATURE young Younger
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Pagina 46 - My life closed twice before its close; It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me, So huge, so hopeless to conceive, As these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell.
Pagina 15 - ... side Vibrate with her seclusion. We tell you, tapping on our brows, The story as it should be, — As if the story of a house Were told, or ever could be ; We'll have no kindly veil between Her visions and those we have seen, — As if we guessed what hers have been, Or what they are or would be. Meanwhile we do no harm; for they That with a god have striven, Not hearing much of what we say, Take what the god has given; Though like waves breaking it may be, Or like a changed familiar tree, Or...
Pagina 181 - Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour, And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping, With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power, To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping, Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary, Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move, And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary, And all the little emptiness of love!
Pagina 27 - To-day the clouds are with him, but anon He'll out of 'em enough to shake the tree Of life itself and bring down fruit unheard-of — And, throwing in the bruised and whole together, Prepare a wine to make us drunk with wonder; And if he live, there'll be a sunset spell Thrown over him as over a glassed lake That yesterday was all a black wild water.
Pagina 15 - And others, knowing how this youth Would shine, if love could make him great, When caught and tortured for the truth Would only writhe and hesitate ; While she, arranging for his days What centuries could not fulfill, Transmutes him with her faith and praise, And has him shining where she will. She crowns him with her gratefulness, And says again that life is good ; And should the gift of God...
Pagina 169 - Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough The land and not the sea, And leave the soldiers at their drill, And all about the idle hill Shepherd your sheep with me. Oh stay with company and mirth And daylight and the air; Too full already is the grave Of fellows that were good and brave And died because they were.
Pagina 166 - EPITAPH I NEVER cared for Life : Life cared for me, And hence I owed it some fidelity. It now says, " Cease ; at length thou hast learnt to grind Sufficient toll for an unwilling mind, And I dismiss thee — not without regard That thou didst ask no ill-advised reward, Nor sought in me much. more than thou couldst find.
Pagina 46 - VE seen a dying eye Run round and round a room In search of something, as it seemed, Then cloudier become ; And then, obscure with fog, And then be soldered down, Without disclosing what it be, 'Twere blessed to have seen.
Pagina 112 - How grey it all was! hardly less so near at hand than on the hazewrapped horizon, where the hills were dim and the outline blurred by distance. Sometimes I would see the large eagle-like, whitebreasted buzzard, Buteo erythronotus, perched on the summit of a bush half a mile away; and so long as it would continue stationed motionless before me my eyes would remain involuntarily fixed on it, just as one keeps his eyes on a bright light shining in the gloom; for the whiteness of the hawk seemed to exercise...
Pagina 49 - It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bells Put out their tongues, for noon. It was not frost, for on my flesh I felt siroccos crawl, Nor fire, for just my marble feet Could keep a chancel cool. And yet it tasted like them all...