The Yale Literary Magazine, Volumen74

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1909
 

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Página 265 - Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past ; which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done...
Página 419 - Then the devil taketh Him up into the holy city, and setteth Him on a pinnacle of the temple, and saith unto Him, If Thou be the Son of God, cast Thyself down; for it is written, He shall give His angels charge concerning Thee, and in their hands they shall bear Thee up, lest at any time Thou dash Thy foot against a stone.
Página 148 - All sounds, all colours, all forms, either because of their pre-ordained energies or because of long association, evoke indefinable and yet precise emotions, or, as I prefer to think, call down among us certain disembodied powers, whose footsteps over our hearts we call emotions; and when sound, and colour, and form are in a musical relation, a beautiful relation to one another, they become as it were one sound, one colour, one form, and evoke an emotion that is made out of their distinct evocations...
Página 152 - The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away, While the faeries dance in a place apart, Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring, Tossing their milk-white arms in the air: For they hear the wind laugh, and murmur and sing Of a land where even the old are fair, And even the wise are merry of tongue; But I heard a reed of...
Página 302 - ... a volley of small shot and three pieces of ordnance, and so lifting up our hands to each other, and our hearts for each other to the Lord our God, we departed, and found his presence with us in the midst of our manifold straits he carried us through.
Página 149 - THE dews drop slowly and dreams gather : unknown spears Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes, And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears. We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore, The grey cairn on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew, Being weary of the world's empires, bow down to you, Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.
Página 148 - It worked at them, day out, day in, Building a sorrowful loveliness Out of the battles of old times. You need but lift a pearl-pale hand, And bind up your long hair and sigh ; And all men's hearts must burn and beat ; And candle-like foam on the dim sand, And stars climbing the dew-dropping sky, Live but to light your passing feet.
Página 152 - While the fairies dance in a place apart, Shaking their milkwhite feet in a ring, Tossing their milkwhite arms in the air. For they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing Of a land where even the old are fair, And even the wise are merry of tongue. But I heard a reed of Coolaney say, When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung, The lonely of heart must wither away.
Página 151 - A writer of drama must observe the form as carefully as if it were a sonnet, but he must always deny that there is any subjectmatter which is in itself dramatic — any especial round of emotion fitted to the stage, or that a play has no need to await its audience or to create the interest it lives by.
Página 181 - Who first invented work, and bound the free And holiday-rejoicing spirit down To the ever-haunting importunity Of business in the green fields, and the town — To plough, loom, anvil, spade — and oh! most sad To that dry drudgery at the — desk's dead wood?

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