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Flower Of The Mind Flower Of The Mind

Flower Of The Mind
INTRODUCTION Partial collections of English poems, decided by a common subject or bounded by narrow dates and periods of literary history, are made at very short intervals, and the makers are safe from the reproach of proposing their own personal taste as a guide for the reading of others. But a general Anthology gathered from the whole of English literature--the whole from Chaucer to Wordsworth--by a gatherer intent upon nothing except the quality of poetry, is a more rare enterprise. It is hardly to be made without tempting the suspicion--nay, hardly without seeming to hazard the confession--of some measure... Essays - Post by : kkraai - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 3089

Some Thoughts Of A Reader Of Tennyson Some Thoughts Of A Reader Of Tennyson

Some Thoughts Of A Reader Of Tennyson
Fifty years after Tennyson's birth he was saluted a great poet by that unanimous acclamation which includes mere clamour. Fifty further years, and his centenary was marked by a new detraction. It is sometimes difficult to distinguish the obscure but not unmajestic law of change from the sorry custom of reaction. Change hastes not and rests not, reaction beats to and fro, flickering about the moving mind of the world. Reaction--the paltry precipitancy of the multitude--rather than the novelty of change, has brought about a ferment and corruption of opinion on Tennyson's poetry. It may be said... Essays - Post by : bpinyan - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 2853

Swinburne's Lyrical Poetry Swinburne's Lyrical Poetry

Swinburne's Lyrical Poetry
The makers of epigrams, of phrases, of pages--of all more or less brief judgements--assuredly waste their time when they sum up any one of all mankind; and how do they squander it when their matter is a poet! They may hardly describe him; nor shall any student's care, or psychologist's formula, or man-of-letters' summary, or wit's sentence define him. Definitions, because they must not be inexact or incomprehensive, sweep too wide, and the poet is not held within them; and out of the mere describer's range and capture he may escape by as many doors as there are outlets from... Essays - Post by : Redrocks - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 3875

Charlotte And Emily Bronte Charlotte And Emily Bronte

Charlotte And Emily Bronte
The controversy here is with those who admire Charlotte Bronte throughout her career. She altered greatly. She did, in fact, inherit a manner of English that had been strained beyond restoration, fatigued beyond recovery, by the "corrupt following" of Gibbon; and there was within her a sense of propriety that caused her to conform. Straitened and serious elder daughter of her time, she kept the house of literature. She practised those verbs, to evince, to reside, to intimate, to peruse. She wrote "communicating instruction" for teaching; "an extensive and eligible connexion"; "a small competency"; "an establishment... Essays - Post by : rupert - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 2325

Charmian Charmian

"She is not Cleopatra, but she is at least Charmian," wrote Keats, conscious that his damsel was not in the vanward of the pageant of ladies. One may divine that he counted the ways wherein she was not Cleopatra, the touches whereby she fell short of and differed from, nay, in which she mimicked, the Queen. In like manner many of us have for some years past boasted of our appreciation of the inferior beauty, the substitute, the waiting gentlewoman of corrupt or corruptible heart; Keats confessed, but did not boast. It is a vaunt now, an emulation, who... Essays - Post by : mattmcdaniel - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 2438

The Century Of Moderation The Century Of Moderation

The Century Of Moderation
After a long literary revolt--one of the recurrences of imperishable Romance--against the eighteenth-century authors, a reaction was due, and it has come about roundly. We are guided back to admiration of the measure and moderation and shapeliness of the Augustan age. And indeed it is well enough that we should compare--not necessarily check--some of our habits of thought and verse by the mediocrity of thought and perfect propriety of diction of Pope's best contemporaries. If this were all! But the eighteenth century was not content with its sure and certain genius. Suddenly and repeatedly it aspired to... Essays - Post by : Derrick - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 2082

Veneration Of Images Veneration Of Images

Veneration Of Images
Thou man, first-comer, whose wide arms entreat, Gather, clasp, welcome, bind,Lack, or remember! whose warm pulses beat With love of thine own kind;Unlifted for a blessing on yon sea, Unshrined on this high-way,O flesh, O grief, thou too shalt have our knee, Thou rood of every day!(The end)Alice Meynell's poem: Veneration Of Images... Poems - Post by : Duane - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 1036

A Poet's Wife A Poet's Wife

A Poet's Wife
I saw a tract of ocean locked in-land Within a field's embrace--The very sea! Afar it fled the strand And gave the seasons chase,And met the night alone, the tempest spanned, Saw sunrise face to face.O Poet, more than ocean, lonelier! In inaccessible restAnd storm remote, thou, sea of thoughts, dost stir, Scattered through east to west,--Now, while thou closest with the kiss of her Who locks thee to her breast.(The end)Alice Meynell's poem: Poet's Wife... Poems - Post by : Ruthemon1 - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 3670

A Dead Harvest A Dead Harvest

A Dead Harvest
(IN KENSINGTON GARDENS)Along the graceless grass of townThey rake the rows of red and brown,Dead leaves, unlike the rows of hay,Delicate, neither gold nor grey,Raked long ago and far away.A narrow silence in the park;Between the lights a narrow dark.One street rolls on the north, and one,Muffled, upon the south doth run.Amid the mist the work is done.A futile crop; for it the fireSmoulders, and, for a stack, a pyre.So go the town's lives on the breeze,Even as the sheddings of the trees;Bosom nor barn is filled with these.(The end)Alice Meynell's poem: Dead Harvest... Poems - Post by : Ryan_Roxas - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 3420

Unto Us A Son Is Given Unto Us A Son Is Given

Unto Us A Son Is Given
Given, not lent, And not withdrawn--once sent--This Infant of mankind, this One,Is still the little welcome Son. New every year, New-born and newly dear,He comes with tidings and a song,The ages long, the ages long. Even as the cold Keen winter grows not old;As childhood is so fresh, foreseen,And spring in the familiar green; Sudden as sweet Come the expected feet.All joy is young, and new all art,And He, too, Whom we have by heart.(The end)Alice Meynell's poem:... Poems - Post by : edwood - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 2606

Chimes Chimes

Brief, on a flying night,From the shaken tower,A flock of bells take flight,And go with the hour.Like birds from the cote to the gales,Abrupt--O hark!A fleet of bells set sails,And go to the dark.Sudden the cold airs swing.Alone, aloud,A verse of bells takes wingAnd flies with the cloud.(The end)Alice Meynell's poem: Chimes... Poems - Post by : Faizal - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 4104

November Blue November Blue

November Blue
_The colour of the electric lights has a strange effect in giving a complementary tint to the air in the early evening_.--ESSAY ON LONDON.O, Heavenly colour! London town Has blurred it from her skies;And hooded in an earthly brown, Unheaven'd the city lies.No longer standard-like this hue Above the broad road flies;Nor does the narrow street the blue Wear, slender pennon-wise.But when the gold and silver lamps Colour the London dew,And, misted by the winter damps, The shops shine bright anew--Blue comes to earth, it walks the street,... Poems - Post by : virtualplayer - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 1828

West Wind In Winter West Wind In Winter

West Wind In Winter
Another day awakes. And who-- Changing the world--is this?He comes at whiles, the Winter through, West Wind! I would not missHis sudden tryst: the long, the new Surprises of his kiss.Vigilant, I make haste to close With him who comes my way.I go to meet him as he goes; I know his note, his lay,His colour and his morning rose; And I confess his day.My window waits; at dawn I hark His call; at morn I meetHis haste around the tossing park And... Poems - Post by : nadia - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 2820

The Modern Mother The Modern Mother

The Modern Mother
Oh what a kissWith filial passion overcharged is this! To this misgiving breastThe child runs, as a child ne'er ran to restUpon the light heart and the unoppressed. Unhoped, unsought!A little tenderness, this mother thought The utmost of her meedShe looked for gratitude; content indeedWith thus much that her nine years' love had bought. Nay, even with less.This mother, giver of life, death, peace, distress, Desired ah! not so muchThanks as forgiveness; and the passing touchExpected, and the slight, the brief caress. Oh filial lightStrong in these childish eyes,... Poems - Post by : jallenmorris - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 1752

Parentage Parentage

"When Augustus Caesar legislated against the unmarried citizens of Rome, he declared them to be, in some sort, slayers of the people." Ah no, not these!These, who were childless, are not they who gaveSo many dead unto the journeying wave,The helpless nurslings of the cradling seas;Not they who doomed by infallible decreesUnnumbered man to the innumerable grave. But those who slayAre fathers. Theirs are armies. Death is theirs,The death of innocences and despairs;The dying of the golden and the grey.The sentence, when these speak it, has no Nay.And she who slays is she... Poems - Post by : tikelz - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 3007

The Roaring Frost The Roaring Frost

The Roaring Frost
A flock of winds came winging from the North,Strong birds with fighting pinions driving forth With a resounding call!Where will they close their wings and cease their cries--Between what warming seas and conquering skies-- And fold, and fall?(The end)Alice Meynell's poem: Roaring Frost... Poems - Post by : wildfirebiz - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 3827

Cradle-song At Twilight Cradle-song At Twilight

Cradle-song At Twilight
The child not yet is lulled to rest. Too young a nurse, the slender NightSo laxly holds him to her breast That throbs with flight.He plays with her and will not sleep. For other playfellows she sighs;An unmaternal fondness keep Her alien eyes.(The end)Alice Meynell's poem: Cradle-Song At Twilight... Poems - Post by : Robert_J_Hardy - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 3472

The Fold The Fold

The Fold
Behold,The time is now! Bring back, bring backThy flocks of fancies, wild of whim.Oh lead them from the mountain-track-- Thy frolic thoughts untold.Oh bring them in--the fields grow dim-- And let me be the fold. Behold,The time is now! Call in, O callThy posturing kisses gone astrayFor scattered sweets. Gather them all To shelter from the cold.Throng them together, close and gay, And let me be the fold!(The end)Alice Meynell's poem: Fold... Poems - Post by : Inet2005 - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 3553

The Lady Poverty The Lady Poverty

The Lady Poverty
The Lady Poverty was fair:But she has lost her looks of late,With change of times and change of air.Ah slattern, she neglects her hair,Her gown, her shoes. She keeps no stateAs once when her pure feet were bare.Or--almost worse, if worse can be--She scolds in parlours; dusts and trims,Watches and counts. Oh, is this sheWhom Francis met, whose step was free,Who with Obedience carolled hymns,In Umbria walked with Chastity?Where is her ladyhood? Not here,Not among modern kinds of men;But in the stony fields clearThrough the thin trees the skies appear;In delicate spare soil and fen,And slender landscape... Poems - Post by : Brandy - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 2359

'why Wilt Thou Chide?' "why Wilt Thou Chide?"

'why Wilt Thou Chide?'
Why wilt thou chide,Who hast attained to be denied? Oh learn, aboveAll price is my refusal, Love. My sacred NayWas never cheapened by the way.Thy single sorrow crowns thee lordOf an unpurchasable word. Oh strong, Oh pure!As Yea makes happier loves secure, I vow thee thisUnique rejection of a kiss. I guard for theeThis jealous sad monopoly.I seal this honour thine. None dareHope for a part in thy despair.(The end)Alice Meynell's poem: "Why Wilt Thou Chide?"... Poems - Post by : jercarbra - Date : June 2011 - Author : Alice Meynell - Read : 1834