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On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.
Up read more
On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.
Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter,
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades.
From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,
Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.
Weep not, child,
Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears,
The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition,
Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night,
the Pleiades shall emerge,
They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again,
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,
The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine.
Then dearest child mournest thou only for jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?
Something there is, (With my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper,
I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,)
Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter
Longer than sun or any revolving satellite,
Or the radiant sisters the Pleiades.
... it's a sort of bloom on a woman. If you have it you don't need to have anything else; read more
... it's a sort of bloom on a woman. If you have it you don't need to have anything else; and if you don't have it, it doesn't much matter what else you have.
Art supplies constantly to contemplation what nature seldom affords in concrete experience — the union of life and peace.
Art supplies constantly to contemplation what nature seldom affords in concrete experience — the union of life and peace.
Layer by layer art strips life bare.
Layer by layer art strips life bare.
No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly.
No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly.
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.
Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.
Beauty is the lover's gift.
Beauty is the lover's gift.
Any authentic work of art must start an argument between the artist and his audience.rn
Any authentic work of art must start an argument between the artist and his audience.rn
