The Celtic Dawn: A Survey of the Renascence in Ireland, 1889-1916

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Macmillan Company, 1917 - English literature - 251 pages
 

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Page 45 - All Art that is not mere storytelling, or mere portraiture, is symbolic, and has the purpose of those symbolic talismans which mediaeval magicians made with complex colours and forms, and bade their patients ponder over daily, and guard with holy secrecy ; for it entangles, in complex colours and forms, a part of the Divine Essence.
Page 53 - Your mother Eire is always young, Dew ever shining and twilight gray ; Though hope fall from you and love decay, Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue. Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill : For there the mystical brotherhood Of sun and moon and hollow and wood And river and stream work out their will...
Page 78 - Even if we grant that exalted poetry can be kept successful by itself, the strong things of life are needed in poetry also, to show that what is exalted or tender is not made by feeble blood. It may almost be said that before verse can be human again it must learn to be brutal.
Page 48 - I believe in the practice and philosophy of what we have agreed to call magic, in what I must call the evocation of spirits though I do not know what they are, in the power of creating magical illusions, in the visions of truth in the depths of the mind when the eyes are closed...
Page 95 - If the real world is not altogether rejected, it is but touched here and there, and into the places we have left empty we summon rhythm, balance, pattern, images that remind us of vast passions, the vagueness of past times, all the chimeras that haunt the edge of trance...
Page 52 - FASTEN your hair with a golden pin, And bind up every wandering tress; I bade my heart build these poor rhymes: It worked at them, day out, day in, Building a sorrowful loveliness Out of the battles of old times.
Page 128 - In all the circumstances of this tramp life there is a certain wildness that gives it romance and a peculiar value for those who look at life in Ireland with an eye that is aware of the arts also.
Page 51 - The Rose of the World Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips, with all their mournful pride, Mournful that no new wonder may betide, Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam, And Usna's children died.
Page 76 - Surely your thoughts are of Pan, or of Wotan, or Dana? " Yet, why give thought to the gods? Has Pan led your brutes where they stumble? " Has Dana numbed pain of the child-bed, or Wotan put hands to your plough ? "What matter your foolish reply! O, man, standing lone and bowed earthward, " Your task is a day near its close. Give thanks to the night-giving God.
Page 31 - ITS edges foamed with amethyst and rose, Withers once more the old blue flower of day : There where the ether like a diamond glows Its petals fade away.

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