The Savoy . na no ats on yeryeds. Come in, Luce. Youmun hev bewitched the little waxwork, for I canna manage to raggle on wiim nohow. He wants is muther, is muther, an no un else ull do for mun surely hev bewitched im wi your winnin ways, I doubt. Her bewitches all on us, Mrs. Cowland, Luce do, said Moll, with a sadsmile. Oh, Moll! cried Luce, prettily. George KM 1 PIEUSEMENT A nuit dhiver eleve au ciel son pur calice. Et je leve mon cceur aussi, mon coeur nocturne,Seigneur, mon cceur! vers ton pale infini vide,Et neanmoins, je sais que rien nen pourra lurneCombler, et que rien
The Savoy . na no ats on yeryeds. Come in, Luce. Youmun hev bewitched the little waxwork, for I canna manage to raggle on wiim nohow. He wants is muther, is muther, an no un else ull do for mun surely hev bewitched im wi your winnin ways, I doubt. Her bewitches all on us, Mrs. Cowland, Luce do, said Moll, with a sadsmile. Oh, Moll! cried Luce, prettily. George KM 1 PIEUSEMENT A nuit dhiver eleve au ciel son pur calice. Et je leve mon cceur aussi, mon coeur nocturne,Seigneur, mon cceur! vers ton pale infini vide,Et neanmoins, je sais que rien nen pourra lurneCombler, et que rien nest dont ce cceur meurt avide ;Et je te sais mensonge et mes levres te prientEt mes genoux ; je sais et tes grandes mains closesEt tes grands yeux fermes aux desespoirs qui crient,Et que cest moi, qui, seul, me reve dans les choses ;Sois de pitie, Seigneur, pour ma toute demence,Jai besoin de pleurer mon mal vers ton silence! . . La nuit dhiver eleve au ciel son pur calice! Emile Verhaeren. IN PIOUS MOOD. HE winter lifts its chalice of pure night to heaven. And I uplift my heart, my night-worn heart, in turn,O Lord, my heart! to thy pale, infinite Inane,And yet I know that nought the implenishable urnMa) plenish, that nought is, whereof this heart dies fainAnd I know thee a lie, and with my lips make prayerAnd with my knees ; I know thy great, shut hands averse,Thy great eyes closed, to all the clamours of despair ;It is I, who dream myself into the universe ;Have pity on my wandering wits entire discord ;Needs must I weep my woe towards thy silence, Lord ! The winter lifts its chalice of pure night to heaven. Osman Edwards.
Size: 1581px × 1581px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., boo, bookcentury1800, booksubjectart, booksubjectliteraturemodern
