Degeneration

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D. Appleton, 1895 - Comparative literature - 560 pages

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Page 87 - THE blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven ; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters stilled at even ; She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven.
Page 89 - 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.
Page 293 - Le silence, l'espace affreux et captivant... Sur le fond de mes nuits Dieu de son doigt savant Dessine un cauchemar multiforme et sans trêve.
Page 557 - This book is a preservation photocopy. It is made in compliance with copyright law and produced on acid-free archival 60# book weight paper which meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (permanence of paper) Preservation photocopying and binding by Acme Bookbinding Charlestown, Massachusetts...
Page 319 - Where, if not from the Impressionists, do we get those wonderful brown fogs that come creeping down our streets, blurring the gas-lamps and changing the houses into monstrous shadows? To whom, if not to them and their master, do we owe the lovely silver mists that brood over our river, and turn to faint forms of fading pace curved bridge and swaying barge?
Page 89 - Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves. The whole year sets apace,) It was the rampart of God's house That she was standing on; By God built over the sheer depth The which is Space begun; So high, that looking downward thence She scarce could see the sun.
Page 85 - A pitiful poor woman, shrunk and old, I am, and nothing learn'd in letter-lore. Within my parish-cloister I behold A painted Heaven where harps and lutes adore, And eke an Hell whose damned folk seethe full sore: One bringeth fear, the other joy to me.
Page 89 - will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is, With her five handmaidens, whose names Are five sweet symphonies, Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, Margaret and Rosalys.
Page 287 - Le végétal irrégulier, Et, peintre fier de mon génie, Je savourais dans mon tableau L'enivrante monotonie Du métal, du marbre et de l'eau. Babel d'escaliers et d'arcades, C'était un palais infini, Plein de bassins et de cascades Tombant dans l'or mat ou bruni ; Et des cataractes pesantes, Gomme des rideaux de cristal, Se suspendaient, éblouissantes, A des murailles de métal.
Page 125 - Flottent gris les chênes Des forêts prochaines Parmi les buées. Le ciel est de cuivre Sans lueur aucune ; On croirait voir vivre Et mourir la lune. Corneille poussive, Et vous, les loups maigres. Par ces bises aigres Quoi donc vous arrive ? Dans l'interminable Ennui de la plaine, La neige incertaine Luit comme du sable.

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