The South Atlantic Quarterly, Volume 20

Front Cover
John Spencer Bassett, Edwin Mims, William Henry Glasson, William Preston Few, William Kenneth Boyd, William Hane Wannamaker
Duke University Press, 1921
 

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Page 128 - Approach strong deliveress, When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead. Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee, Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death.
Page 127 - Prais'd be the fathomless universe, For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, And for love, sweet love — but praise! praise! praise! For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.
Page 333 - A good man was ther of religioun, And was a povre PERSOUN OF A TOUN, But riche he was of hooly thoght and werk. He was also a lerned man, a clerk, That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche; His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche.
Page 128 - ... the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. The night in silence under many a star, The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know, And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil'd death, And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.
Page 133 - I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition ; They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins; They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God ; Not one is dissatisfied — not one is demented with the mania of owning things ; Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago; Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth.
Page 35 - Soli eravamo e senza alcun sospetto. Per più fiate gli occhi ci sospinse Quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso; Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse. Quando leggemmo il disiato riso Esser baciato da cotanto amante, Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso, La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante. Galeotto fu il libro e chi lo scrisse: Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante.
Page 136 - I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.
Page 38 - TELL me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman ? Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais, Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man, Only heard on river and mere, — She whose beauty was more than human? But where are the snows of yester-year?
Page 334 - Upon his feet, and in his hand a staf. This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf, That first he wroghte, and afterward he taughte. Out of the gospel he tho wordes caughte, And this figure he added eek therto, That if gold ruste, what shal iren do?
Page 109 - The removal, so far as possible, of all economic barriers and the establishment of an equality of trade conditions among all the nations consenting to the peace and associating themselves for its maintenance.

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