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abundance angel of light anguish appreciate artist Auber beauty birds blessings bloom century Chopin and Poe chord color coming Corot dear death Diisseldorf schools dreams dry realism eyes faith Farewell fate feel figure drawing flowers forget genius give gladness happy heart heart-throbs heaven hope human hunger idea influence inspired Japanese art jects JOHN ALFRED WOODS knowledge landscape painting life's literature live lovers Lubbock lutes Millet modern art modern painters Munich and Diisseldorf musicians mystery nature nature's naught ness never night pain perfect pessimistic pleasures poetic sentiment poetry poets pray Prix de Rome reason Schopenhauer seeds of love sere somber sorrow Spring Spring's warm showers Stevens storm suffering sweet teach tears teenth ters thee things thorn Thou thought tion Titian tree treme true truth ture understood waiting WILD ROSE wings Winter's wisdom wonder
Page 110 - Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Page 106 - It is important, therefore, to hold fast to this: that poetry is at bottom a criticism of life; that the greatness of a poet lies in his powerful and beautiful application of ideas to life,— to the question: How to live.
Page 79 - Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be; They are but broken lights of thee, And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
Page 94 - We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles. Meantime within man is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related; the eternal ONE.
Page 103 - The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere — The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir — It was down by the dark tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Page 103 - The skies they were ashen and sober ; The leaves they were crisped and sere — The leaves they were withering and sere ; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year...
Page 99 - ... sooth, And heaven a lie, invented but in ruth, To hide the horror of eternal death, — Knowing that madness would be born of Truth ? Who knows ? who knows ? Since God hath shut the door That opens out into the waste before, Vainly we peep and pry, vainly we talk, And vain is all our logic and our lore. What will be, will be, though we laugh or weep ; Love is the happy dream of Life's brief sleep. And we shall wake at last, and know — or else In death's kind arms find slumber — dreamless...
Page 93 - ... many here as now we are, As happy in their perfectness of love, — And seen, unmoved, as many in despair. She will arise, and through the darkling trees Gaze down, as now, through countless centuries, While other lovers here shall breathe their vows, When we have vanished like this passing breeze. Oh, dreadful mystery ! Thought beats its wings, And strains against the utmost bound of things, And drops exhausted back to earth again, And moans, distressed by vague imaginings.
Page 105 - In this attitude there was a great deal of naivete and there was to be much disillusion. Nevertheless it was widespread and, during the last three decades of the eighteenth century, optimistically believed by most important sections of English society. The position, therefore, at the end...