The Dial, Volume 53

Front Cover
Francis Fisher Browne, Scofield Thayer, Waldo Ralph Browne
Jansen, McClurg & Company, 1912
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Page 133 - WHEN I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me ; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree : Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet ; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain ; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain ; And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget.
Page 12 - If we regard his sufferings, one plain reflection presents itself: " greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friend.
Page 486 - Soyez béni, mon Dieu, qui donnez la souffrance Comme un divin remède à nos impuretés Et comme la meilleure et la plus pure essence Qui prépare les forts aux saintes voluptés!
Page 327 - Streets, streets, streets, markets, theatres, churches, Covent Gardens, shops sparkling with pretty faces of industrious milliners, neat sempstresses, ladies cheapening, gentlemen behind counters lying, authors in the street with spectacles, George Dyers (you may know them by their gait), lamps lit at night, pastry-cooks
Page 246 - Just in the nick, neither too early to be tedious, nor too late to sit a reasonable time. He is a most pleasant hand : a fine rattling fellow, has gone through life laughing at solemn apes ; himself hugely literate, oppressively full of information in all stuff of conversation, from matter of fact to Xenophon and Plato — can talk Greek with...
Page 104 - polacks " — and " scum o' the earth." Ill Genoese boy of the level brow, Lad of the lustrous, dreamy eyes A-stare at Manhattan's pinnacles now In the first sweet shock of a hushed surprise; Within your far-rapt seer's eyes I catch the glow of the wild surmise That played on the Santa Maria's prow In that still gray dawn, Four centuries gone, When a world from the wave began to rise. Oh...
Page 230 - ... audience there, when all the while this eternal court is open to you, with its society wide as the world, multitudinous as its days, the chosen, and the mighty, of every place and time...
Page 101 - To get the whole world out of bed And washed, and dressed, and warmed, and fed, To work, and back to bed again, Believe me, Saul, costs worlds of pain.
Page 44 - Delight itself, however, is a weak term to express the feelings of a naturalist who, for the first time, has wandered by himself in a Brazilian forest.
Page 122 - Between realism and idealism there is no natural conflict. This completes that. Realism is the basis of good composition: it implies study, observation, artistic power, and (in those who can do more) humility. Little writers should be realistic. They would then at least do solid work. They afflict the world because they will attempt that it is given to none but noble workmen to achieve.

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