What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Alfred Kreymborg Ambrose Bierce American Arthur Symons artist Aunt Martha beauty Benjamin De Casseres Cabell called Chicago color critics dance dark dead death door Double Dealer dream earth Elisabeth Voronzof eyes face FAROUN Gay Thomas genius girl Grand Duke hair hand head heard heart Honeyville human Imperial Highness James Branch Cabell KASIM knew lady Lafcadio Hearn laugh letter light literary literature living look magazine matter Mattie Belle ment mind Miss Lulu Bett moon negro never night novel once Orleans passed Paul Eldridge perhaps play poems poet poetry Poniatowski Scamander seemed SHABIYAH Sharon Sharrington smile soul stars story strange street Symons tell thing thou thought tion truth ture turned Verna verse Vincent Starrett voice woman women word write young youth
Page 140 - Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on ; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
Page 61 - They are not long, the weeping and the laughter, Love and desire and hate: I think they have no portion in us after We pass the gate. They are not long, the days of wine and roses: Out of a misty dream Our path emerges for a while, then closes Within a dream.
Page 51 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for Heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'da splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven...
Page 61 - I think poetry should surprise by a fine excess, and not by singularity ; it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Page 249 - AFTERNOON ON A HILL I will be the gladdest thing Under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one. I will look at cliffs and clouds With quiet eyes, Watch the wind bow down the grass, And the grass rise. And when lights begin to show Up from the town, I will mark which must be mine, And then start down!
Page 123 - What little town by river or sea-shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
Page 59 - I cried for madder music and for stronger wine. But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire, Then falls thy shadow, Cynara ! the night is thine ; And I am desolate and sick of an old pass1on. Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
Page 59 - UPON the eyes, the lips, the feet, On all the passages of sense, The atoning oil is spread with sweet Renewal of lost innocence. The feet, that lately ran so fast To meet desire, are soothly sealed ; The eyes, that were so often cast On vanity, are touched and healed. From troublous sights and sounds set free ; In such a twilight hour of breath, Shall one retrace his life, or see, Through shadows, the true face of death r Vials of mercy ! Sacring oils ! I know not where nor when I come, Nor through...
Page 68 - JACK and Jill went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down and broke his crown And Jill came tumbling after.
Page 58 - Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; And I was desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.