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An Artist Of The Beautiful
George Fuller Haunted of Beauty, like the marvellous youth Who sang Saint Agnes' Eve! How passing fair Her shapes took color in thy homestead air! How on thy canvas even her dreams were truth! Magician! who from commonest elements Called up divine ideals, clothed upon By mystic lights soft blending into one Womanly grace and child-like innocence. Teacher I thy lesson was not given in vain. Beauty is goodness; ugliness is sin; Art's place is sacred: nothing foul therein May crawl or tread with bestial feet profane. If rightly choosing is the painter's test, Thy choice, O master, ever was the best
By John Greenleaf Whittier
https://www.public-domain-poetry.com/john-greenleaf-whittier/an-artist-of-the-beautiful-5859
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Good Novel A Riverina Road
Now while so many turn with love and longingTo wan lands lying in the grey North Sea,To thee we turn, hearts, mem�ries, all belonging,Dear land of ours, to thee.West, ever west, with the strong sunshine marchingBeyond the mountains, far from this soft coast,Until we almost see the great plains arching,In endless mirage lost.A land of camps where seldom is sojourning,Where men like the dim fathers of our raceHalt for a time, and next day, unreturning,Fare ever on apace.Last night how many a leaping blaze affrightedThe wailing birds of passage in their file:&nb
Good Novel One Day And Another A Lyrical Eclogue Part IV Late Autumn
By Madison Julius CaweinPart IVLate AutumnThey who die young are blest. -Should we not envy such? They are Earth's happiest,God-loved and favored much! - They who die young are blest.1Sick and sad, propped among pillows, she sits at her window.'Though the dog-tooth violet comeWith April showers,And the wild-bees' music humAbout the flowers,We shall never wend as whenLove laughed leading us from menOver violet vale and glen,Where the bob-white piped for hours,And we heard the rain-crow's drum.Now November heavens are gray;Autumn killsEvery joy - like leaves of MayIn the rills. -Still I sit
Good Novel The Marionettes
The Marionettes ByWalter De La Mare Let the foul Scene proceed:There's laughter in the wings;'Tis sawdust that they bleed,But a box Death brings.How rare a skill is theirsThese extreme pangs to show,How real a frenzy wearsEach feigner of woe!Gigantic dins uprise!Even the gods must feelA smarting of the eyesAs these fumes upsweal.Strange, such a Piece is free,While we Spectators sit,Aghast at its agony,Yet absorbed in it!Dark is the outer air,Cold the night
Good Novel The Bonnie Wee Thing.
Tune - "Bonnie wee thing."I.Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,I wad wear thee in my bosom,Lest my jewel I should tine.Wishfully I look and languishIn that bonnie face o' thine;And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,Lest my wee thing be na mine.II.Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty&n
Good Novel The Juggler's Song
When the drums begin to beatDown the street,When the poles are fetched and guyed,When the tight-rope's stretched and tied,When the dance-girls make salaam,When the snake-bag wakes alarm,When the pipes set up their drone,When the sharp-edged knives are thrownWhen the red-hot coals are shown,To be swallowed by-and-by,Arre, Brethren, here come I!Stripped to loin-cloth in the sun,Search me well and watch me close!Tell me how my tricks are done,Tell me how the mango grows!Give a man who is not madeTo his tradeSwords to fling and catch again,Coins to ring and snatch again,Men to harm and cure again,Snakes to charm and lure again,He'll be hurt by his own blade,By his serpents disobeyed,By his clumsiness bewrayed,By the people laughed to scorn,So 'tis not with juggler born! Pinch of dust or withered flower,Chance-flung nut or borrowed staff,Serve his need and shore
Good Novel Mummia
As those of old drank mummiaTo fire their limbs of lead,Making dead kings from AfricaStand pandar to their bed;Drunk on the dead, and medicinedWith spiced imperial dust,In a short night they reeled to findTen centuries of lust.So I, from paint, stone, tale, and rhyme,Stuffed love's infinity,And sucked all lovers of all timeTo rarify ecstasy.Helen's the hair shuts out from meVerona's livid skies;Gypsy the lips I press; and seeTwo Antonys in your eyes.The unheard invisible
Good Novel The Suicide
Vast was the wealth I carried in life's pack - Youth, health, ambition, hope and trust; but Time And Fate, those robbers fit for any crime,Stole all, and left me but the empty sack.Before me lay a long and lonely track Of darkling hills and barren steeps to climb; Behind me lay in shadows the sublimeLost lands of Love's delight.Alack!Alack!Unwearied, and with springing steps elate, I had conveyed my wealth along the road. The empty sack proved now a heavier load:&n
Good Novel Told By "The Noted Traveler"
Coming, clean from the Maryland-endOf this great National Road of ours,Through your vast West; with the time to spend,Stopping for days in the main towns, whereEvery citizen seemed a friend,And friends grew thick as the wayside flowers, -I found no thing that I might narrateMore singularly strange or queerThan a thing I found in your sister-stateOhio, - at a river-town - down hereIn my notebook:Zanesville - situateOn the stream Muskingum - broad and clear,And navigable, through half the year,North, to Coshocton; south, as farAs Marietta.- But these f
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Good Novel The Marionettes
Good Novel One Day And Another A Lyrical Eclogue Part IV Late Autumn
Good Novel A Riverina Road
Good Novel An Artist Of The Beautiful
Good Novel Upon Cupid.
Good Novel The Knight's Song
Good Novel The City That Will Not Repent
Good Novel In Memoriam 3: O Sorrow, Cruel Fellowship
Good Novel Some One & From A Full Heart
