Reputations: Essays in CriticismChapman & Hall, Limited, 1920 - 232 páginas |
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admire appear Arnold Bennett artist beautiful Bennett bottle Café Royal character clever novel colour Compton Mackenzie criticism D. H. Lawrence dark described drawing-room emotions England Evie Greene eyes favour feeling Ford Madox Hueffer Gabrielle Ray genius Gertie Millar Gilbert Cannan Gissing Gissing's give Golden Journey Goschens green casket H. M. Tomlinson heart Hueffer Hugh Walpole human humour ideas imagination inspiration intellectual interest JAMES ELROY FLECKER Journey to Samarkand kind King of Alsander lady letter literary literature live London low tastes Mackenzie Mackenzie's mind Miss Dane musical comedy never Oxford passion perhaps picture play poem called poetry poets produced published readers realise remember reputation romantic Sassoon seems sense Sinister Street story talent Tarr things thought tion to-day turn verse Victorian volume W. H. Hudson Walpole Watts-Dunton wine writing written young youth
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Página 192 - O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home!
Página 195 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined and unknown.
Página 108 - We're none of us the same!' the boys reply. 'For George lost both his legs; and Bill's stone blind; Poor Jim's shot through the lungs and like to die; And Bert's gone syphilitic: you'll not find A chap who's served that hasn't found some change.
Página 195 - Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore; — upon the waterv plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own. When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
Página 117 - Speak not — whisper not; Here bloweth thyme and bergamot; Softly on the evening hour, Secret herbs their spices shower. Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh, Lean-stalked purple lavender; Hides within her bosom, too, All her sorrows, bitter rue. Breathe not — trespass not; Of this green and darkling spot, Latticed from the moon's beams, Perchance a distant dreamer dreams: Perchance upon its darkening air, The unseen ghosts of children fare, Faintly swinging, sway and sweep, Like lovely sea-flowers...
Página 30 - ... deep in the door, And Fire, our Sun, Falls on the dark-laned meadows of the floor ; When from the clock's last chime to the next chime Silence beats his drum, And Space with gaunt grey eyes and her brother Time Wheeling and whispering come, She with the mould of form and he with the loom of rhyme: Then twittering out in the night my thought-birds flee, I am emptied of all my dreams : I only hear Earth turning, only see Ether's long bankless streams, And only know I should drown if you laid not...
Página 86 - LOST LEADER • JUST for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat — Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others she lets us devote; They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags — were they purple, his heart had been...
Página 74 - I it was the unknown. Ha, I was a blaze leaping up ! I was a tiger bursting into sunlight. I was greedy, I was mad for the unknown. I, new-risen, resurrected, starved from the tomb starved from a life of devouring always myself...
Página 32 - Oh shall I never never be home again ? Meadows of England shining in the rain Spread wide your daisied lawns...
Página 104 - Malvern men must die and kill, That wind may blow on Malvern Hill; Devonshire blood must fall like dew, That Devon's bays may yet be blue; London must spill out lives like wine, That London's lights may ever shine. This is not only feeble as poetry but false in sentiment : Sorley had achieved a deeper insight when he posited the indifference of nature to human affairs. Devon's bays would be equally blue in a German-occupied England. Goldring comments on these lines : This is precisely the doctrine...