What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
American artist beauty become brain Bryan called Carl Schurz character Christian church color critic Cuba death Democratic Drago doctrine drama Duma earth election eyes face fact feel genius give Goethe hand Havana head heart Hellriegel Hilary human Ibsen ideal Irene Janet Jules Breton labor Lady light Lissiva living London look Marja matter ment mind Monroe doctrine moral mother nature never night Nina novel once organization Oscar Wilde party passion Peterhof Pippa play poem poet political present President Professor Rubek radium religion Rembrandt Republican Roosevelt Salome says seems Senator sense social Soindres soul spirit story Tammany Hall tell theater things thou thought tion to-day Trepoff Virgin Birth voice William Jennings Bryan woman words writes York York Evening Post young
Page 322 - Oh, our manhood's prime vigour ! no spirit feels waste, Not a muscle is stopped in its playing, nor sinew unbraced. Oh, the wild joys of living ! the leaping from rock up to rock — The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, — the cool silver shock Of the plunge in a pool's living water, — the hunt of the bear, And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair.
Page 577 - The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath. Only the wind here hovers and revels In a round where life seems barren as death. Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping, Haply, of lovers none ever will know, Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping Years ago. Heart handfast in heart as they stood,
Page 578 - Look forth from the flowers to the sea; For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither, And men that love lightly may die — but we?' And the same wind sang and the same waves whitened, And or ever the garden's last petals were shed , In the lips that had whispered , the eyes that had lightened , Love was dead. Or they loved their life through, and then went whither? And were one to the end — but what end who knows?
Page 52 - All the thoughts and experience of the world have etched and moulded there, in that which they have of power to refine and make expressive the outward form, the animalism of Greece, the lust of Rome, the mysticism of the middle age with its spiritual ambition and imaginative loves, the return of the Pagan world, the sins of the Borgias.
Page 446 - I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.
Page 289 - And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of...
Page 52 - Hers is the head upon which all "the ends of the world are come," and the eyelids are a little weary. It is a beauty 23 wrought out from within upon the flesh, the deposit, little cell by cell, of strange thoughts and fantastic reveries and exquisite passions. Set it for a...
Page 290 - Yet the character of his face had been at all times remarkable. A cadaverousness of complexion; an eye large, liquid, and luminous beyond comparison ; lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of a surpassingly beautiful curve ; a nose of a delicate Hebrew model, but with a breadth of nostril unusual in similar formations...
Page 577 - Night and day. The dense hard passage is blind and stifled That crawls by a track none turn to climb To the strait waste place that the years have rifled Of all but the thorns that are touched not of time.
Page 642 - We saw the swallows gathering in the sky, And in the osier-isle we heard them noise. We had not to look back on summer joys, Or forward to a summer of bright dye: But in the largeness of the evening earth Our spirits grew as we went side by side. The hour became her husband and my bride.