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... PAINTING THE SYMBOLISM OF POETRY THE THEATRE THE CELTIC ELEMENT IN LITERATURE THE AUTUMN OF THE BODY THE MOODS · • THE BODY OF THE FATHER CHRISTIAN ROSEN- CRUX • " THE RETURN OF ULYSSES ' . 241 244 IRELAND AND THE ARTS 250 THE GALWAY ...
... PAINTING THE SYMBOLISM OF POETRY THE THEATRE THE CELTIC ELEMENT IN LITERATURE THE AUTUMN OF THE BODY THE MOODS · • THE BODY OF THE FATHER CHRISTIAN ROSEN- CRUX • " THE RETURN OF ULYSSES ' . 241 244 IRELAND AND THE ARTS 250 THE GALWAY ...
Page 64
... painted a flame or a blue distance , he painted as though he had seen the flame out of whose heart all flames had been taken , or the blue of the abyss that was before all life ; and if he painted a woman's face he painted it in some ...
... painted a flame or a blue distance , he painted as though he had seen the flame out of whose heart all flames had been taken , or the blue of the abyss that was before all life ; and if he painted a woman's face he painted it in some ...
Page 69
... painted for once the abundance of earth and not the half - hidden light of his star . They are not in love with love for its own sake , with a love that is apart from the world or at enmity with it , as Swinburne imagines Mary Stuart ...
... painted for once the abundance of earth and not the half - hidden light of his star . They are not in love with love for its own sake , with a love that is apart from the world or at enmity with it , as Swinburne imagines Mary Stuart ...
Page 92
... painted veil called life ' may be ' torn aside . ' There are also ministers of ugliness and all evil , like those that came to Prometheus- As from the rose which the pale priestess kneels To gather for her festal crown of flowers , The ...
... painted veil called life ' may be ' torn aside . ' There are also ministers of ugliness and all evil , like those that came to Prometheus- As from the rose which the pale priestess kneels To gather for her festal crown of flowers , The ...
Page 120
... painter , who hides it in light and mist , even pretends to love a street for its own sake ; and could we meet our friends and hear music and poetry in the country , none of us that are not captive would ever leave the thrushes . In ...
... painter , who hides it in light and mist , even pretends to love a street for its own sake ; and could we meet our friends and hear music and poetry in the country , none of us that are not captive would ever leave the thrushes . In ...
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ancient Aran Islands artist beauty become believe Blake body cave colour comes create Daemon Dante death delight desire divine Divine Comedy drama dream ecstasy emotion enchanted energy eternal eyes Faerie Queene fire FLORENCE FARR fountain genius happy heart images imagination intellectual Ireland Irish J. M. Synge knew labour Lady Gregory light literature living look lovers lyric magic Matthew Arnold memory mind modern mood moral move movement nature never painting pass passion perfect perhaps play players poems poet poetry praise psaltery remember rhythm Richard II saint Scholar Gipsy seemed shadow Shakespeare Shelley sing sleep song sorrow soul speak Spenser spoke stars story strange symbols Synge theatre things thought tion tradition Tree understand verses vision voice W. B. YEATS wandering William Blake woman women words write wrote young Young Ireland
Popular passages
Page 127 - Tired with all these, for restful death I cry: As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly doctor-like controlling skill, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill.
Page 107 - I can give not what men call love, But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not, The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow...
Page 9 - Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air, Queens have died young and fair, Dust hath closed Helen's eye.
Page 160 - For mercy, pity, peace, and love, Is God our Father dear ; And mercy, pity, peace, and love, Is man, His child and care. For Mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face ; And Love, the human form divine ; And Peace, the human dress.
Page 84 - That thus enchains us to permitted ill. We might be otherwise, we might be all We dream of happy, high, majestical. Where is the love, beauty and truth we seek, But in our mind? and if we were not weak, Should we be less in deed than in desire?' 'Ay, if we were not weak — and we aspire How vainly to be strong!' said Maddalo; 'You talk Utopia.
Page 215 - I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows ; Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine...
Page 88 - I dare not guess ; but in this life Of error, ignorance, and strife, Where nothing is, but all things seem, And we the shadows of the dream, It is a modest creed, and yet Pleasant if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery.
Page 28 - The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away, While the faeries dance in a place apart, Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring, Tossing their milk-white arms in the air: For they hear the wind laugh, and murmur and sing Of a land where even the old are fair, And even the wise are merry of tongue; But I heard a reed of Coolaney say, "When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung, The lonely of heart is withered away!
Page 90 - Fury The beauty of delight makes lovers glad, Gazing on one another : so are we. As from the rose which the pale priestess kneels To gather for her festal crown of flowers The aerial crimson falls, flushing her cheek, So from our victim's destined agony The shade which is our form invests us round, — Else we are shapeless as our mother Night.
Page 488 - We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.