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afar arms Azahel barouche bear a strangely birds blind blue caresses Centaurs chers Administres child Chimera City clouds colors Columbine cries crowd Cybele dark Andalusians divine dreams earth eyes flowers forest garden gaze gods gold grass green harpsichord heavens hippogriff King kiss Lady of Atocha lake lifted light lips little Dauphin little wood look lunar garden Macareus Melicerte Messieurs et chers Monsieur the sous-Prefet MONTBAZON moon mountains murmur mysterious night nocturnal palace pale passed perfumes Pierrot pink poet prettiest of little prose poems prose poetry robe roses salamander shadow shagreen silent sings sleep smiling solitary solitude song soul sound stars Stellus stone STORY IN WHITE strangely sorrowful heart Stuart Merrill swords thee thou hast thought trees tulip violets voice W. D. Howells walks walls wandering weary weep wind window wings words wouldst yonder young
Page 53 - The Queen tries to answer. Sobs prevent her from speaking. " Do not weep, Madame la reine; you forget that I am the Dauphin, and that Dauphins cannot die in this way.
Page 224 - Raising the book, she read with much emphasis : " Thou pursuest after wisdom, O Melampus ! which is the science of the will of the gods ; and thou roamest from people to people, like a mortal driven by the destinies. In the times when I kept my night-watches before the caverns, I have sometimes believed that I was about to surprise the...
Page 158 - Cease from tempting my desires and my pride ! The study of the beautiful is a duel in which the artist cries out with terror before he is vanquished.
Page 55 - Monsieur 1'Abbe; but one thing consoles me, and that is that up there, in the Paradise of the stars, I shall still be the Dauphin. I know that the good God is my cousin, and cannot fail to treat me according to my rank.
Page 81 - The young girl who works all day in her solitary chamber is moved to tenderness if she hears of a sudden the sound of a jade flute. And she imagines that she hears the voice of a young boy. Through the paper of the windows the shadow of the orangeleaves enters and sits on her knees; And she imagines that somebody has torn her silken dress.
Page i - ... of verse had put them on their honor, as it were, and bound them to brevity, to simplicity; as if they felt the responsibility they were under to be even more laconic, more delicate, more refined than they might have been in openly confessing the laws of prosody.
Page 59 - Monsieur the sous-Prefet, delighted with the silence and the coolness of the wood, lifts his coat-tails, deposits his cocked hat on the grass, and sits in the moss at the foot of a young oak. Then he opens on his knees his great portfolio of embossed shagreen, and takes from it a large sheet of official foolscap. " He is an artist," says a warbler. "No," says a bullfinch, "he is not an artist, since he wears silver breeches ; he is rather a prince.
Page 181 - By alone, I mean without a material being, and my cat is a mystical companion, a spirit. I...
Page 195 - Wine; there is no gold, pale gold or dusky gold, that gives out the tawny fulguration of the word Gold; there is no perfume that our deceived nostrils find equal to the word Perfume; no blue, no red that figures the tints with which our imaginations are colored; all is too little for the word All; and no nothingness is an empty enough vacuity as to be that arch-terrorist word Nothing.