The Bookman: A Review of Books and Life, Volumen2
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able American Anthony Hope appear artistic beauty Bonnie Brier Bush called cents Century character comes Company contains criticism Dodd edition England English experience eyes fact feel France French friends George give given hand Harper heart Hope human ideas illustrations interest issued kind Lady less letters Library light lines literary literature living London look Maclaren Macmillan matter Mead means ment Messrs mind Miss month nature never novel once original Paris passed perhaps play poems poet popular present printed published reader Roberts scenes Scribner seems side sketches story success taken tell things thought tion translation true vols volume whole woman writing written York young
Página 504 - 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.
Página 316 - 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.
Página 394 - 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.
Página 418 - In all poor foolish things that live a day, Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
Página 224 - 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!
Página 470 - 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.
Página 268 - 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.
Página xii - 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.
Página 417 - 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.
Página 200 - 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.