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A. C. McClurg American artistic beauty century character Charles Charles Leonard Moore College color criticism Dial drama E. P. Dutton edition Editor England English essays fact feel fiction France French frontispiece G. P. Putnam's Sons George German give Harper Henry Henry James Houghton Mifflin human idea ideal illus Illustrated interest issue J. C. Squire James John Lane large 8vo letters literary literature living London Macmillan ment Messrs mind Miss modern Monroe Doctrine nation nature never novel Paper perhaps Ph.D play poems poet poetry political portrait present Professor prose published reader recent Reilly & Britton Romain Rolland romance Scribner seems sense Shakespeare social spirit story Thammuz thing thought tion to-day translated University Press verse volume William words writing written York young
Page 370 - Thammuz came next behind, Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured The Syrian damsels to lament his fate In amorous ditties all a summer's day, While smooth Adonis from his native rock Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood Of Thammuz yearly wounded...
Page 105 - Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers, — Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics.
Page 541 - Socialism: half lamentation, half lampoon; half echo of the past, half menace of the future; at times, by its bitter, witty and incisive criticism, striking the bourgeoisie to the very heart's core; but always ludicrous in its effect, through total incapacity to comprehend the march of modern history.
Page 164 - And he spake of trees, from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall: he spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes.
Page 498 - Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? You cannot call it love; for at your age The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment Would step from this to this?
Page 63 - I have not chanted verse like Homer, no — Nor swept string like Terpander, no— nor carved And painted men like Phidias and his friend: I am not great as they are, point by point. But I have entered into sympathy With these four, running these into one soul, Who, separate, ignored each other's art. Say, is it nothing that I know them all...
Page 109 - Then came the cat, and ate the kid That my father bought For two pieces of money : A kid, a kid.
Page 331 - I'ma lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog, and lone; I'ma rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on my own ; I'ma bad dog, a mad dog, teasing silly sheep; I love to sit and bay the moon, to keep fat souls from sleep. I'll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet, A sleek dog, a meek dog, cringing for my meat, Not for me the fireside, the well-filled plate, But shut door, and sharp stone, and cuff and kick, and hate. Not for me the other dogs, running by my side, Some have run a short while, but none of them would...