Louise Imogen Guiney |
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Сторінка 5
Louise Imogen Guiney , poet , essayist and scholar , was an extraordinarily
limpid and valiant soul , whose death seems , in no sense referable to our own
responsive emotion , but one of bare fact and calm inevitableness , a rebirth into
a sort ...
Louise Imogen Guiney , poet , essayist and scholar , was an extraordinarily
limpid and valiant soul , whose death seems , in no sense referable to our own
responsive emotion , but one of bare fact and calm inevitableness , a rebirth into
a sort ...
Сторінка 45
tion is so often the effervescence of youth , the overplus of a richness of physical
life — the speed of the blood , a quick sensibility of the brain — that after the
pulse slows and the brain responds less eagerly the poet sings no more ; or he ...
tion is so often the effervescence of youth , the overplus of a richness of physical
life — the speed of the blood , a quick sensibility of the brain — that after the
pulse slows and the brain responds less eagerly the poet sings no more ; or he ...
Сторінка 46
To her , poetry is an unspoken allegiance to the very essence of mysticism ,
magic , glamourie . It is the echo from far It is never without the witchery of the
unknown , the guessed - at , the adores but never seen . Not all its dances are
woven ...
To her , poetry is an unspoken allegiance to the very essence of mysticism ,
magic , glamourie . It is the echo from far It is never without the witchery of the
unknown , the guessed - at , the adores but never seen . Not all its dances are
woven ...
Сторінка 56
We want to be borne along on a lilting wave , we who have not found it possible
to accommodate ourselves to the pegleg - to - market of free verse ( what our
poet herself once called , in a mischievous snapshot of judgment , “ the rag - tag
of ...
We want to be borne along on a lilting wave , we who have not found it possible
to accommodate ourselves to the pegleg - to - market of free verse ( what our
poet herself once called , in a mischievous snapshot of judgment , “ the rag - tag
of ...
Сторінка 66
But our poet , though she can write : " Help me endure the Pit , until Thou wilt not
have forgotten me , ” never challenges her God with mad interrogation . It is not
His justice she assails ; she but beseeches the quickening of His will to save .
But our poet , though she can write : " Help me endure the Pit , until Thou wilt not
have forgotten me , ” never challenges her God with mad interrogation . It is not
His justice she assails ; she but beseeches the quickening of His will to save .
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adventure beauty blood born breath bright cause century color critical dark dead dear death delight desire dull earth echoes England English essays eyes face fall fancy fighting figure follow give gods guess hand happy Hazlitt hear heart heaven hills hold imagination immortal individual knew later learned leaves less letters light living look lost Louise Guiney magic Mangan memory MICHIGAN mind mortal moved names nature never night once passion past perfect perhaps poem poet poetry printing rain remembers responsive rich riding road says sense singing smile song soul spirit Study suffered sweet Thee things thought touched tree turn verse voice walking wave wild wind wonder writing written wrote young youth
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Сторінка 109 - THEY told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead, They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. I wept as I remember'd how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky...
Сторінка 50 - We hurry with never a word in the track of our fathers. (I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses, All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing.) We spur to a land of no name, out-racing the storm-wind; We leap to the infinite dark like sparks from the anvil. Thou leadest, O God! All's well with Thy troopers that follow.
Сторінка 51 - ... hoofs of invisible horses, All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing. Let cowards and laggards fall back! but alert to the saddle Weatherworn and abreast, go men of our galloping legion, With a stirrup-cup each to the lily of women that loves him. The trail is through dolor and dread, over crags and morasses; There are shapes by the way, there are things that appal or entice us: What odds?
Сторінка 50 - The trail is through dolour and dread, over crags and morasses; There are shapes by the way, there are things that appal or entice us: What odds? We are Knights of the Grail, we are vowed to the riding.
Сторінка 71 - Are ye unwise who would not let me love you? Or must too bold desires be quieted? Only to ease you, never to reprove you, I will go back to heaven with heart unfed: Yet sisterly I turn, I bend above you, To kiss (ah, with what sorrow!) all my dead. Next to the Golden City of belief she had, as she began, continued to serve poetry, the "love of lovely words.
Сторінка 111 - Keep holy watch, with silence, prayer, and fasting, Till morning break and every bugle play. Unto the One aware from everlasting Dear are the winners : thou art more than they. Forth from this peace on manhood's way thou goest, Flushed with resolve, and radiant in mail ; Blessing supreme for men unborn thou sowest, O Knight elect ! O soul ordained to fail...
Сторінка 61 - Take Temperance to thy breast, While yet is the hour of choosing, As arbitress exquisite Of all that shall thee betide; For better than fortune's best Is mastery in the using, And sweeter than anything sweet The art to lay it aside!
Сторінка 50 - And friendship a flower in the dust, and glory a sunbeam : Not here is our prize, nor, alas ! after these our pursuing. A dipping of plumes, a tear, a shake of the bridle, A passing salute to this world and her pitiful beauty ; We hurry with never a word in the track of our fathers.
Сторінка 59 - THE gusty morns are here, When all the reeds ride low with level spear ; And on such nights as lured us far of yore, Down rocky alleys yet, and through the pine, The Hound-star and the pagan Hunter shine: But I and thou, ah, field-fellow of mine, Together roam no more.
Сторінка 59 - The cowslip's common gold that children spy, The plume upon the larch. There is a music fills The oaks of Belmont and the Wayland hills Southward to Dewing's little bubbly stream, The heavenly weather's call ! Oh, who alive Hastes not to start, delays not to arrive, Having free feet that never felt a gyve Weigh, even in a dream?
Бібліографічна інформація
| Назва | Louise Imogen Guiney |
| Автор | Alice Brown |
| Видавець | Macmillan, 1921 |
| Оригінал із | Мічиганський університет |
| Оцифровано | 10 лис. 2006 |
| Обсяг | 111 стор. |
| Експортувати бібліографічний опис | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |