Old-world Idylls and Other Verses

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Kegan Paul, Trench, 1884 - 252 pages
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Page 239 - There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever the May-blood stirs and glows, And the young year draws to the
Page 233 - CHICKEN-SKIN, delicate, white, Painted by Carlo Vanloo, Loves in a riot of light, Roses and vaporous blue; Hark to the dainty frou-frou! Picture above, if you can, Eyes that could melt as the dew, — This was the Pompadour's fan ! See how they rise at the sight, Thronging the...
Page 214 - Love comes back to his vacant dwelling — The old, old Love that we knew of yore ! We see him stand by the open door, With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling. " He makes as though in our arms repelling He fain would lie, as he lay before ; Love comes back to his vacant dwelling...
Page 104 - My book in turn avers (No author's name is stated) That sometimes those Philosophers Are sadly mis-translated." " But hear, — the next's in stronger style : The Cynic School asserted That two red lips which part and smile May not be controverted ! " She smiled once more — "My book, I find, Observes some modern doctors Would make the Cynics out a .kind Of album-verse concoctors." Then I— "Why not? ' Ephesian law, No less than time's tradition, Enjoined fair speech on all who saw Diana's apparition.
Page 158 - HE had played for his lordship's levee, He had played for her ladyship's whim, Till the poor little head was heavy, And the poor little brain would swim. And the face grew peaked and eerie, And the large eyes strange and bright, And they said — too late — "He is weary I He shall rest for, at least, To-night...
Page 237 - Musician, the piece that you played Is nought but a copy of Chopin or Spohr; That the ballad you sing is but merely "conveyed" From the stock of the Arnes and the Purcells of yore; That there's nothing, in short, in the words or the score That is not as out-worn as the "Wandering Jew," Make answer— Beethoven could scarcely do more— That the man who plants cabbages imitates, too! If they tell you, Sir Artist, your light and your shade Are simply adapted from other men's lore; That— plainly to...
Page 235 - His carackes were christened of dames To the kirtles whereof he would tack us ; With his saints and his gilded stern-frames, He had thought like an egg-shell to crack us. Now Howard may get to his Flaccus, And Drake to his Devon again, And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus, — For where are the galleons of Spain i
Page 103 - Then read him — do ; And I'll read mine in answer." I read. " My Plato (Plato, too, — That wisdom thus should harden !) Declares ' blue eyes look doubly blue Beneath a Dolly Varden.' " She smiled. " My book in turn avers (No author's name is stated) That sometimes those Philosophers Are sadly mis-translated.
Page 207 - All passes. ART alone Enduring stays to us ; The Bust outlasts the throne, — The Coin, Tiberius ; Even the gods must go ; Only the lofty Rhyme Not countless years o'erthro\v,Not long array of time.
Page 81 - hold the boards," and still are played, "With new effects and dresses." Small, lonely " three-pair-backs " behold, To-day, Alcestis dying; To-day, in farthest Polar cold, Ulysses' bones are lying ; Still in one's morning " Times " one reads How fell an Indian Hector ; Still clubs discuss Achilles...

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