The Bookman: A Review of Books and Life ..., 2 tomas

Priekinis viršelis
Dodd, Mead, 1890
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504 psl. - My poems represent, on the whole, the main movement of mind of the last quarter of a century, and thus they will probably have their day as people become conscious to themselves of what that movement of mind is, and interested in the literary productions which reflect it.
316 psl. - And the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and of one soul: neither said any of them that aught of the things which he possessed was his own; but they had all things common.
394 psl. - We live in better times ; and we are not afraid to say, that, though there were many clever men in England during the latter half of the seventeenth century, there were only two minds which possessed the imaginative faculty in a very eminent degree. One of those minds produced the Paradise Lost, the other the Pilgrim's Progress.
418 psl. - In all poor foolish things that live a day, Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
224 psl. - The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit; In every street these tunes our ears do greet: Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring, the sweet spring!
470 psl. - FIELD WHERE A THOUSAND CORPSES LIE. DO NOT WEEP, BABE, FOR WAR IS KIND. BECAUSE YOUR FATHER TUMBLED IN THE YELLOW TRENCHES, RAGED AT HIS BREAST, GULPED AND DIED, Do NOT WEEP. WAR is KIND.
268 psl. - BEHOLD me waiting — waiting for the knife. A little while, and at a leap I storm The thick, sweet mystery of chloroform, The drunken dark, the little death-in-life. The gods are good to me : I have no wife, No innocent child, to think of as I near The fateful minute ; nothing ail-too dear Unmans me for my bout of passive strife.
xii psl. - Floods of light on the ration d'ttre, origin, and methods of the dark figure that directs the destinies of our cities. ... So strongly imagined and logically drawn that it satisfies the demand for the appearance of truth in art.
417 psl. - But seek alone to hear the strange things said By God to the bright hearts of those long dead, And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know.
200 psl. - There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood — Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry Of bugles going by.

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