The Yale Literary Magazine, Volume 85 |
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Page 117
They whirl my soul about with windy gusts As ' twere a weather - cock before the storm Twisting and urging it each time it stands . But faugh ! —is thy young brain so sick as this ? Thy brain that was God's balanced instrument Whose ...
They whirl my soul about with windy gusts As ' twere a weather - cock before the storm Twisting and urging it each time it stands . But faugh ! —is thy young brain so sick as this ? Thy brain that was God's balanced instrument Whose ...
Page 120
Music , painting , clay , scientific research discarded , the pen , anxious and willing , runs dry in the wind of doubt . How is the start , seemingly automatic , to be made ? Mr. Ford Matox Huefflin's advice " to sit down in the back ...
Music , painting , clay , scientific research discarded , the pen , anxious and willing , runs dry in the wind of doubt . How is the start , seemingly automatic , to be made ? Mr. Ford Matox Huefflin's advice " to sit down in the back ...
Page 127
Ah , sir , you don't know what eyes and hair she had ; eyes that were deep , and hair that flew about her face on windy days and caught me , caught me as a spider catches a fly in his net . Whom would it not ?
Ah , sir , you don't know what eyes and hair she had ; eyes that were deep , and hair that flew about her face on windy days and caught me , caught me as a spider catches a fly in his net . Whom would it not ?
Page 137
... they would drag my soul , too , from me . " Nothing ! " I said , and crumpling up the sheet , threw it away . The troop - train whistled again . Walter Millis . PORTFOLIO . MOONSET . There was a wind ; but October , 1919 ] 49 Mechanism.
... they would drag my soul , too , from me . " Nothing ! " I said , and crumpling up the sheet , threw it away . The troop - train whistled again . Walter Millis . PORTFOLIO . MOONSET . There was a wind ; but October , 1919 ] 49 Mechanism.
Page 138
There was a wind ; but at this ghostly hour It has grown still , and in the early morning hushAll natural and human life at lowest ebbRemains the tumult of a thousand marshy voicesDistinct , yet melting ( soft as muted hunting - horns ) ...
There was a wind ; but at this ghostly hour It has grown still , and in the early morning hushAll natural and human life at lowest ebbRemains the tumult of a thousand marshy voicesDistinct , yet melting ( soft as muted hunting - horns ) ...
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