The Way of the MakersMacmillan, 1925 - Всего страниц: 316 |
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Стр. 16
... writing of verses . " Why , sir , " replied Johnson , “ our tastes greatly alter . The lad does not care for the child's rattle . . . . As we advance in the journey of life , we drop some of the things which have pleased us ; whether it ...
... writing of verses . " Why , sir , " replied Johnson , “ our tastes greatly alter . The lad does not care for the child's rattle . . . . As we advance in the journey of life , we drop some of the things which have pleased us ; whether it ...
Стр. 17
... writing . " Whereupon descended the crushing retort , " Sir , you may wonder . " Johnson then proceeded to discuss the ... written as many as a full hundred lines a day ; but he was then under forty , and had been in- spired by no less ...
... writing . " Whereupon descended the crushing retort , " Sir , you may wonder . " Johnson then proceeded to discuss the ... written as many as a full hundred lines a day ; but he was then under forty , and had been in- spired by no less ...
Стр. 21
... written before time was , and when- ever we are so finely organized that we can penetrate into that region where the air is music , we hear those primal warblings , and attempt to write them down , but we lose ever and anon a word , or ...
... written before time was , and when- ever we are so finely organized that we can penetrate into that region where the air is music , we hear those primal warblings , and attempt to write them down , but we lose ever and anon a word , or ...
Стр. 36
... written an ode to Napoleon Buonaparte -copied it - eaten six biscuits - drunk four bottles of soda water - redde away the rest of my time - besides giving poor a world of advice about this mistress of his , who is plaguing him into a ...
... written an ode to Napoleon Buonaparte -copied it - eaten six biscuits - drunk four bottles of soda water - redde away the rest of my time - besides giving poor a world of advice about this mistress of his , who is plaguing him into a ...
Стр. 37
... myself , I am tempted , considering that I have probably been more be - written and belied than any man since Byron , to pour myself out to a sincere ( distant ) friend a little more , telling any small thing that THE POETIC NATURE 37.
... myself , I am tempted , considering that I have probably been more be - written and belied than any man since Byron , to pour myself out to a sincere ( distant ) friend a little more , telling any small thing that THE POETIC NATURE 37.
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Стр. 11 - Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover and the poet Are of imagination all compact...
Стр. 103 - The primary imagination I hold to be the living power and prime agent of all human perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I AM.
Стр. 47 - I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem...
Стр. 126 - Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
Стр. 11 - The lunatic, the lover and the poet Are of imagination all compact : One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven ; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name.
Стр. 228 - I loved the man, and do honour his memory (on this side Idolatry) as much as any). He was (indeed) honest, and of an open and free nature : had an excellent Phantsie ; brave notions, and gentle expressions...
Стр. 126 - Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man. What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? When Jubal struck the chorded shell His listening brethren stood around. And, wondering, on their faces fell To worship that celestial sound. Less than a God they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so wel1.
Стр. 120 - Spirit of BEAUTY, that dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form, where art thou gone ? Why dost thou pass away and leave our state, This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate...
Стр. 29 - The poet, described in ideal perfection, brings the whole soul of man into activity, with the subordination of its faculties to each other, according to their relative worth and dignity. He diffuses a tone, and spirit of unity, that blends, and (as it were) fuses, each into each, by that synthetic and magical power, to which we have exclusively appropriated the name of imagination.
Стр. 32 - On a poet's lips I slept Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept; Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on the aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses.