Semiramis and Other Plays

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Brentano's, 1904 - 255 pages
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Page 184 - TO HELEN. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Page 245 - Horror the soul of the plot. But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes! - it writhes! - with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued.
Page 186 - With the fervor of thy lute: Well may the stars be mute! Yes, Heaven is thine; but this Is a world of sweets and sours; Our flowers are merely — flowers, And the shadow of thy perfect bliss Is the sunshine of ours. If I could dwell Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than this might swell From my lyre within the sky.
Page 130 - Countrymen, My heart doth joy that yet, in all my life, I found no man but he was true to me. I shall have glory by this losing day, More than Octavius and Mark Antony By this vile conquest shall attain unto. So fare you well at once; for Brutus...
Page 185 - On desperate seas .long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome. Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land! ISRAFEL IN Heaven a spirit doth dwell "Whose heart-strings are a lute...
Page 226 - m sorry, love, but last night you wanted the dark — don't you remember? Poe. No, I don't remember. Memory is a hyena, always scratching up our dead selves! You must not remember, Virginia! Vir. Yes, dear. Poe. Forgive me, love. O, I am driving myself mad ! Selling myself to the devil of prose that I may bring in that fool's litter — money, money, money — andfor what?
Page 99 - Gres die down. The moon clouds. He looks up invoking) Jua. Spirit of Montezuma, be thou here And on thy son drop wisdom out of Heaven, That these thy children he may lead to peace, And this thy country give again to him Who set his iron in the earth and said " Man, make thy weapon ; there shall be no slaves !
Page 231 - ... soon. I shall try so hard the gods for pity will not let me fail ! See how I have eaten ! You may give me more, love. You did not cook this, I know. You stole it from Jove's kitchen. Vir. (Getting- food) Yes, I did, and Jove caught me, but he let me go when I told him it was for a poet.
Page 26 - ... Semiramis, who rallies the soldiers and beats back the opposing Armenians, capturing Khosrove, the son of the Armenian king. Khosrove, however, during the battle had seen Semiramis, and because of her beauty and courage has fallen in love with her, which love he reveals in lines of especial poetic quality : Suddenly A missile struck your helmet and dislodged The glory of your face before my eyes. Your hair ran gold, the shining East looked black Behind the star you made upon its breast ! I knew...
Page 96 - To make in noble minds continual war Until our race be righted ! Trev. Many fly From our misfortunes. Amaldo and LeVal — Jua. Call't not misfortune that teaches us our friends. Now are we sifted and the chaff is known ! . . . LeVal! .... But Diaz is true ? Trev. On yonder mountain His fires make answer for him.

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