The Theory of Beauty

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Methuen, 1914 - 304 pages
 

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Page 128 - Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on,— Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: 319 While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the...
Page 130 - Nature never did betray The heart that loved her ; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues...
Page 120 - Lady ! we receive but what we give, And in our life alone does Nature live: Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud! And would we aught behold, of higher worth, Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd...
Page 260 - ... the emotion is contemplated till, by a species of re-action, the tranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, kindred to that which was before the subject of contemplation, is gradually produced, and does itself actually exist in the mind.
Page 136 - Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
Page 136 - Ye know why the forms are fair, ye hear how the tale is told ; It is all triumphant art, but art in obedience to laws, Painter and poet are proud in the artist-list enrolled : — VII But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can...
Page 44 - Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature, they being both servants of his providence. Art is the perfection of nature. Were the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a chaos. Nature hath made one world, and art another. In...
Page 144 - And that gentle Bard, Chosen by the Muses for their Page of State — Sweet Spenser, moving through his clouded heaven With the moon's beauty and the moon's soft pace, I called him Brother, Englishman, and Friend!
Page 49 - Love is too young to know what conscience is: Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss. Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. For thou betraying me, I do betray My nobler part to my gross body's treason; My soul doth tell my body that he may Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason; But, rising at thy name, doth point out...

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