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Page 5
... reds and yellows Shelley gathered in Italy , I thought for two days of setting things right , not as I should now by making my rhythms faint and nervous and filling my images with a certain coldness WHAT IS ' POPULAR POETRY ' ? 5.
... reds and yellows Shelley gathered in Italy , I thought for two days of setting things right , not as I should now by making my rhythms faint and nervous and filling my images with a certain coldness WHAT IS ' POPULAR POETRY ' ? 5.
Page 12
... things , Thou art the light of the beam of the sun , Thou art the door of the chief of hospitality , Thou art the surpassing pilot star , Thou art the step of the deer of the hill , Thou art the step of the horse of the plain , Thou art ...
... things , Thou art the light of the beam of the sun , Thou art the door of the chief of hospitality , Thou art the surpassing pilot star , Thou art the step of the deer of the hill , Thou art the step of the horse of the plain , Thou art ...
Page 13
... things , that its literary ideal belongs more to England than to other countries . I have hope that the new writers will not fall into its illusion , for they write in Irish , and for a people the counting - house has not made forgetful ...
... things , that its literary ideal belongs more to England than to other countries . I have hope that the new writers will not fall into its illusion , for they write in Irish , and for a people the counting - house has not made forgetful ...
Page 14
... things be better till that ten thousand have gone hither and thither to preach their faith that ' the imagination is the man him- self , ' and that the world as imagination sees it is the durable world , and have won men as did the ...
... things be better till that ten thousand have gone hither and thither to preach their faith that ' the imagination is the man him- self , ' and that the world as imagination sees it is the durable world , and have won men as did the ...
Page 30
... things now : I have been a hazel tree and $ 20 they hung The Pilot Star and the Crooked Plough Among my leaves in times out of mind : I became a rush that horses tread : I became a man , a hater of the wind , Knowing one , out of all things ...
... things now : I have been a hazel tree and $ 20 they hung The Pilot Star and the Crooked Plough Among my leaves in times out of mind : I became a rush that horses tread : I became a man , a hater of the wind , Knowing one , out of all things ...
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Common terms and phrases
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.