You and I

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Macmillan, 1914 - Poetry - 234 pages
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Page 61 - LOVE MY LIFE, BUT NOT TOO WELL" I LOVE my life, but not too well To give it to thee like a flower, So it may pleasure thee to dwell Deep in its perfume but an hour. I love my life, but not too well. I love my life, but not too well To sing it note by note away, So to thy soul the song may tell The beauty of the desolate day. I love my life, but not too well...
Page 16 - Look — if I but lay a wire Across the terminals of yonder switch She'll burst her windings, rip her casings off, And shriek till envious Hell shoots up its flames, Shattering her very throne.
Page 18 - To ruin her pomp and set her spirit free. Then with this puny hand, swift as her threat, Must I beat back the chaos, hold in leash Destructive furies, rescue her — even her — From the fierce rashness of her truant mood, And make me lord of far and near a moment, Startling the mystery. Last night I did it — Alone here with my hand upon her heart I faced the mounting fiends and whipped them down ; And never a wink from the long file of lamps Betrayed her to the world. So there she sits, Mounted...
Page 66 - FAREWELL GOOD-BYE! — no, do not grieve that it is over, The perfect hour; That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover, Flits from the flower. Grieve not — it is the law. Love will be flying — Yes, love and all. Glad was the living — blessed be the dying. Let the leaves fall.
Page 239 - The real poetical imagination of it is unchangeable; the allegory, subtle and profound and yet simple, is cast into the form of a dramatic narrative, which moves with unconventional freedom to a finely impressive climax; and the reader, who began in idle curiosity, finds his intelligence more and more engaged until, when he turns the last page, he has the feeling of one who has been moving in worlds not realized, and communing with great if mysterious The London Globe.
Page 6 - The white-tiled immaculate kitchen, with many little round blue fires, where white-clad cooks are making spiced and flavored dishes. The cool cellars filled with meats and fruits, or layered with sealed and bottled wines mellowing softly in the darkness. The invisible stories of furnaces and machines, burrowing deep down into the earth, where grimy workmen are heavily laboring. The many-windowed stories of little homes and shelters and sleeping-places, reaching up into the night like some miraculous...
Page 241 - Robinson tells a story that is largely humorous, one which by a clever arrangement of incident and skillful characterization arouses strongly the reader's curiosity and keeps it unsatisfied to the end. The dialogue is bright and the construction of the plot shows the work of one well versed in the technique of the drama. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York Plaster Saints BY ISRAEL ZANGWILL.
Page 5 - ... the silver band over their hair and the little black caps obliterating their ears. The telegraph tickers sounding their perpetual chit — chit-chit from the uttermost ends of the earth. The waiters, in black swallow-tails and white aprons, passing here and there with trays of bottles and glasses. The quiet and sumptuous bar-room, with purplish men softly drinking in little alcoves, while the barkeeper, mixing bright liquors, is rapidly plying his bottles. The great bedecked and gilded...
Page 100 - Hanks PRAIRIE child! Brief as dew, What winds of wonder Nourished you? Rolling plains Of billowy green; Far horizons, Blue, serene; Lofty skies The slow clouds climb, Where burning stars Beat out the time: These, and the dreams Of fathers bold, Baffled longings, Hopes untold, Gave to you A heart of fire, Love like deep waters, Brave desire. Ah, when youth's rapture Went out in pain, And all seemed over, Was all in vain? O soul obscure, Whose wings life bound, And soft death folded Under the ground...
Page 145 - The invisible wheels go softly round and round — Light is the tread of brazen'footed Power. Spirits of air, caged in the iron tower, Sing as they labor with a purring sound. The abysmal fires, grated and chained and bound, Burn white and still, in swift obedience cower; While far and wide and myriad lamps, aflower, Glow like star'gardens and the night confound.

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