Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music: Together with Music as a Representative Art : Two Essays in Comparative ÆstheticsG.P. Putnam's Sons, 1894 - 344 σελίδες |
Άλλες εκδόσεις - Προβολή όλων
Συχνά εμφανιζόμενοι όροι και φράσεις
accented syllables according æsthetic alliteration arranged Art in Theory ART-METHODS artistic assonance blank verse cadence cæsura cause Chapter chord color composed connection consonance corresponding developed double measures duration effects Elocutionary emotions expression fact Faerie Queene fifth G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS Genesis of Art-Form Götterdämmerung gradation Greek harmony hear hexameter human voice iambic Idem imitative indicated inharmonic instance instruments length lines major melody ments methods metre mind minor mood Motive movement musical scale nature notes Notice octave Paradise Lost partial tones phrases pitch poetic poetry Poetry and Music poets principle produced quotation ratios reason recognized representation Representative Art result rhyme rhythm scale sense Shakespeare singing song sounds speech stanza suggested tendency termed terminal tetrameter thee thou thought tion tonic trimeter triple measures Trochaic unaccented syllables unity unlike complex uttered verse vibrations voice vowels W. S. Gilbert Wagner's words
Δημοφιλή αποσπάσματα
Σελίδα 139 - And the muttering grew to a grumbling ; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling ; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers ; Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives — Followed the Piper for their lives.
Σελίδα 85 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity...
Σελίδα 163 - In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people They that dwell up in the steeple...
Σελίδα 72 - Sleepless! and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: So do not let me wear...
Σελίδα 163 - Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE ; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.
Σελίδα 68 - Rivers to the ocean run, Nor stay in all their course ; Fire, ascending, seeks the sun ; Both speed them to their source : So a soul, that's born of God, Pants to view His glorious face, Upward tends to His abode, To rest in His embrace.
Σελίδα 65 - THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
Σελίδα 155 - For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling— my darling— my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Σελίδα 46 - There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdst But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls ; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it.
Σελίδα 39 - The night is chill ; the forest bare ; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.