The South Atlantic Quarterly, Volume 19John Spencer Bassett, Edwin Mims, William Henry Glasson, William Preston Few, William Kenneth Boyd, William Hane Wannamaker Duke University Press, 1902 - Civilization |
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Page 5 - In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place ; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Page 340 - Coleridge sat on the brow of Highgate Hill in those years looking down on London and its smoke tumult like a sage escaped from the inanity of life's battle, attracting towards him the thoughts of innumerable brave souls still engaged there. His express contributions to poetry, philosophy, or any specific province of human literature or enlightenment had been small and sadly intermittent...
Page 11 - I have a rendezvous with Death , At some disputed barricade When spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air. I have a rendezvous with Death When spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath. It may be I shall pass him, still I have a rendezvous with Death...
Page 343 - CARLYLE, — For the first time for many months • it seems possible to send you a few words ; merely, however, ' for Remembrance and Farewell. On higher matters there ' is nothing to say. I tread the common road into the great ' darkness, without any thought of fear, and with very much of t ' hope. Certainty indeed I have none.
Page 67 - From that still look of hers: Albeit, to them she left, her day Had counted as ten years. (To one, it is ten years of years. — Yet now, and in this place, Surely she leaned o'er me — her hair Fell all about my face.
Page 339 - Come back into memory, like as thou wert in the dayspring of thy fancies, with hope like a fiery column before thee — the dark pillar not yet turned — Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Logician, Metaphysician, Bard ! How have I seen the casual passer through the cloisters stand still, entranced with admiration, (while he weighed the disproportion between the speech and the garb of the young Mirandula,) to hear thee unfold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mysteries of...
Page 69 - ... spheres All angels lay their wings to rest, — How shall my soul stand rapt and awed, When, by the new birth borne abroad Throughout the music of the suns, It enters in her soul at once And knows the silence there for God ! Here with her face doth memory sit Meanwhile, and wait the day's decline, Till other eyes shall look from it, Eyes of the spirit's Palestine, Even than the old gaze tenderer : While hopes and aims long lost with her Stand round her image side by side, Like tombs of pilgrims...
Page 11 - It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.
Page 65 - mid the tide of all emergency Now notes my separate wave, and to what sea Its difficult eddies labour in the ground ? Oh ! what is this that knows the road I came, The flame turned cloud, the cloud returned to flame, The lifted shifted steeps and all the way ? — That draws round me at last this wind-warm space. And in regenerate rapture turns my face Upon the devious coverts of dismay...
Page 165 - I look at her as the very gizzard of a trifle, the product of a quarter of a cipher, the epitome of nothing, fitter to be kickt, if she were of a kickable substance, than either honored or humored.