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The Old and the New Renaissance: A Group of Studies in Art and Letters
Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2009
Albrecht architecture artist attained ballads beauty beholding Brotherhood Burne-Jones century charm Church Cimabue color conception Correggio crude Dante Gabriel Dante Gabriel Rossetti death Diirer divine dream Durer earnestness engraving expression eyes fact father feel Ford Madox Brown friends genius German Giaconda Giotto give glorified glory Greek hand heart human ideal influence Italian Italy John Everett Millais John Ruskin Keats Knight lack landscape Leonardo Leonardo da Vinci less lives loveliness madonnas marvelous Masaccio master meaning mediaeval ment Michael Angelo Michael Wohlgemuth mind modern Morris's movement nature ness never Niirnberg noble pagan painter painting passion perfect perhaps Perugino picture poems poet poetry Pre-Raphaelites quest Raphael Renaissance revealed Ruskin saint sculpture seemed sion soul spirit strange striving Swinburne tells Teutonic Theodore Watts-Dunton things tion transcendent true verse vision wholly William Morris wonderful words youth
Сторінка 153 - Out of the circling charm ; Until her bosom must have made The bar she leaned on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. From the fixed place of Heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds.
Сторінка 51 - That arm is wrongly put — and there again A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines, Its body, so to speak: its soul is right, He means right - that, a child may understand. Still, what an arm ! and I could alter it : But all the play, the insight and the stretch Out of me, out of me...
Сторінка 245 - Ah! Then, if mine had been the Painter's hand, To express what then I saw, and add the gleam, The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream; I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile Amid a world how different from this!
Сторінка 154 - Are not two prayers a perfect strength ? And shall I feel afraid ? "When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white, I'll take his hand and go with him To the deep wells of light ; As unto a stream we will step down, And bathe there in God's sight.
Сторінка 104 - Baffled and beaten back she works on still, Weary and sick of soul she works the more, Sustained by her indomitable will: The hands shall fashion and the brain shall pore, And all her sorrow shall be turned to labour, Till Death the friend-foe piercing with his sabre That mighty heart of hearts ends bitter war.
Сторінка 130 - Turner their example, as his latest are to be their object of emulation, should go to nature in all singleness of heart, and walk with her laboriously and trustingly, having no other thoughts but how best to penetrate her meaning, and remember her instruction, rejecting nothing, selecting nothing, and scorning nothing; believing all things to be right and good, and rejoicing always in the truth.
Сторінка 210 - Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day.
Сторінка 182 - I first saw the city of Rouen, then still in its outward aspect a piece of the Middle Ages : no words can tell you how its mingled beauty, history, and romance took hold on me ; I can only say that, looking back on my past life, I find it was the greatest pleasure I have ever had : and now it is a pleasure which no one can ever have again : it is lost to the world for ever.
Сторінка 105 - The sense that every struggle brings defeat Because Fate holds no prize to crown success ; That all the oracles are dumb or cheat Because they have no secret to express ; That none can pierce the vast black veil uncerta:n Because there is no light beyond the curtain ; That all is vanity and nothingness.
Сторінка 210 - Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, Why should I strive to set the crooked straight t Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, Telling a tale not too importunate To those who in the sleepy region stay, Lulled by the singer of an empty day.