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WILLEM VAN AELST

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The Mysteries of consciousness as revealed by the Still Life Art of Willem Van Aelst and accompanied by the music of Vieux Gaultier;played on the 11 course,(entirely Gut-Strung),French Lute by Hopkinson Smith

Willem van Aelst (Utrecht?, 1625 of 1626 – Amsterdam, ca. 1683) was een Nederlands schilder van bloem- en jachtstillevens. Hij introduceerde de asymmetrie in het stilleven. Hij ondertekende zijn werk soms met Gullielmo, de Italiaanse vorm van zijn naam.


Biografie...
Willem van Aelst werd geboren als zoon van een notaris. Hij leerde het schildersvak bij zijn oom, de stillevenschilder Evert van Aelst in Delft. In 1643 werd van Aelst opgenomen in het Sint-Lucasgilde, het gilde van schilders.
Van 1645 tot 1649 woonde hij in Frankrijk, wat belangrijk was voor de ontwikkeling van zijn kunst. Vervolgens reisde hij door naar Italië, waar hij schilderde aan het hof van Ferdinando II de' Medici in Florence. Hij ontving van de groothertog van Toscane een gouden medaille als beloning voor zijn diensten.

Er zijn nog verschillende bloem- en wildstillevens uit die tijd overgebleven in het Palazzo Pitti te Florence. Van Aelst werd lid van de Bentvueghels en is door zijn vakgenoten vogelverschrikker genoemd. In Italië had hij gezelschap van Matthias Withoos en Paulus Bor jr.
In 1657 keerde Van Aelst terug naar Nederland samen met Otto Marseus van Schrieck. Hij vestigde hij zich eerst in Delft, maar trok al spoedig naar Amsterdam. Van Aelst specialiseerde zich als een van de eerste op jachtstilleven. Zijn voornaamste navolgers waren Rachel Ruysch en Jan van Huysum.


Werken van Van Aelst zijn o.a. te vinden in het Mauritshuis te Den Haag, in de National Gallery of Art te Washington D.C. en in het Rijksmuseum te Amsterdam.

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Aelst de camionnette de Willem (Utrecht?, 1625 ou 1626 - Amsterdam) était autour de 1683 un peintre hollandais de fleurs et de vie calme. C'était l'asymétrie dans nature morte.Il calme a signé le Gullielmo de travail quelquefois avec la forme italienne de son nom. L'Aelst de camionnette de Willem de biographie était né le fils d'un notaire. Il a appris la profession de tableau avec son oncle, un peintre d'Aelst de camionnette d'Evert de vie calme dans la faïence de Delft. Dans 1643, Aelst est devenu membre de l'Association de Rue. Lucas, le peintre ‹ l'association de s. De 1645 à 1649, il a habité en la France, qui était importante pour le développement de son art.

Alors, il a transféré à l'Italie, où il a peint dans la cour de Ferdinando deux Du Medici dans Florence. Il a reçu une médaille d'or dans le Grand-duc de Toscane comme une récompense pour ses services. Il y a les divers tableaux de fleur et les vies calmes cette fois sont restées dans le Palazzo Pitti dans Florence. Van Aelst était membre du Bentvueghels et ses collègues dans le vogelverschrikker sont appelés. En Italie il a eu la compagnie de Matthias Blanc Jr. et Paul Bor. Dans 1657 Van Aelst retourné à l'Hollande avec le Schrieck. de camionnette de Marseus d'Otto. Il s'est établi premier dans la faïence de delft, mais est allé peu aprés à Amsterdam. Van Aelst, comme la première vie sur la chasse. Ses la plupart des successeurs importants étaient Rachel Ruysch et Huysum de camionnettes de Jan.

L'Aelst de camionnette de travail peut être trouvé, parmi d'autres, le Mauritshuis dans La Haye, dans la Galerie d'art Nationale dans Washington DC et dans le Rijksmuseum dans Amsterdam.

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Willem фургон Aelst (Utrecht? , 1625 или 1626 - Амстердам) было вокруг 1683 голландский колеривщик цветков и все еще жизни. Было асимметрией в неподвижную натюрморт. Он подписывал работу Gullielmo иногда с итальянской формой его имени. Жизнеописание Willem фургон Aelst было рождено сынок notary. Он выучил профессию картины с его дядюшкой, колеривщик неподвижной жизни выворачивает фургон Aelst в Delft. В 1643, Aelst пошло членом гильдии St. Lucas, колеривщик ' гильдия s. От 1645 до 1649, он жил в франция, который был важн для развития его для его искусства.

После этого, он двинул к Италия, где он покрасил в дворе Ferdinando II de Medici в Флоренс. Он получил золотую медаль в великом князе Тосканы как вознаграждение для его обслуживаний. Различные картины цветка и все еще lifes это время остали в Palazzo Pitti в Флоренс. Van Aelst был членом Bentvueghels и своими коллегаами в (vogelverschrikker) по мере того как оно вызвано. В Италия он имел товарищество Jr. Matthias белых и Паыля Bor. В 1657 возвратил Van Aelst к Нидерланды с Otto Marseus фургоном Schrieck. Он установил сперва в Delft, но скоро после пошл к Амстердам. Van Aelst, как первое в реальном маштабе времени на охоте. Его самые важные продолжатели были Rachel Ruysch и январем фургоном Huysum.

Работа фургон Aelst можно найти, среди других, Mauritshuis в Гаага, в национальной художественной галерее в Вашингтон и в Rijksmuseum в Амстердам






Willem van Aelst (Utrecht? , 1625 o 1626 - Amsterdam) era intorno 1683 un pittore olandese dei fiori ed ancora della vita. Era l'asimmetria in vita tranquilla. Ha firmato a volte il lavoro Gullielmo con la forma italiana di suo nome. La biografia Willem van Aelst nasceva il figlio di un notaio. Ha imparato la professione della pittura con il suo zio, un pittore di vita tranquilla rovescia van Aelst a Delft. In 1643, Aelst ha stato bene ad un membro della cooperativa della st Lucas, pittore ' cooperativa di s. 1645 - 1649, ha vissuto in Francia, che era importante per lo sviluppo del suo art. Allora, si è mosso in Italia, in cui ha verniciato nel cortile di Ferdinando II de The Medici a Firenze.

 Ha ricevuto una medaglia di oro nel grande duca della Toscana come ricompensa per i suoi servizi. Ci sono varie pitture del fiore ed ancora i lifes questo volta sono rimanere nel Palazzo Pitti a Firenze. Van Aelst era un membro del Bentvueghels ed i relativi colleghi in (vogelverschrikker) come è denominato. In Italia ha avuto la compagnia del Jr. di Matthias e di Paul bianchi Bor. In 1657 ha restituito Van Aelst nei Paesi Bassi con Otto Marseus van Schrieck. Si è stabilito in primo luogo a Delft, ma presto dopo è andato ad Amsterdam. Van Aelst, come il primo in tensione sulla caccia. I suoi successori più importanti erano Rachel Ruysch e gennaio van Huysum.

Il lavoro van Aelst può essere trovato, tra l'altro, il Mauritshuis a L'aia, nella galleria di arte nazionale in Washington DC e nel Rijksmuseum a Amsterdam.

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Willem war Lieferwagen Aelst (Utrecht?, 1625 oder 1626 - Amsterdam) um 1683 ein holländischer Maler von Blumen und Stillleben. Es war die Ungleichmäßigkeit in Stillleben. Er hat unterzeichnet die Arbeit Gullielmo manchmal mit der italienischen Form von seinem Namen. Die Biografie Willem Lieferwagen Aelst war geboren der Sohn von einem Notar. Er hat den Gemäldeberuf mit seinem Onkel gelernt, ein Maler von Stillleben Evert Lieferwagen Aelst in delfter Keramik. In 1643 ist Aelst ein Mitglied von der Zunft der Str. geworden. Lucas, der Maler ‚s Zunft. Von 1645 zu 1649 hat er in Frankreich gelebt, das wichtig für die Entwicklung von seiner Kunst war.

Dann hat er nach Italien bewegt, wo er im Hof von Ferdinando II de Dem Medici in Florenz angestrichen hat. Er hat eine Goldmedaille im Großartigen Herzog von Toskana als eine Belohnung für seine Dienste empfangen. Es gibt verschiedene Blumengemälde und Stillleben sind diesmal im Palazzo Pitti in Florenz geblieben. Lieferwagen Aelst war ein Mitglied des Bentvueghels und seiner Kollegen im (vogelverschrikker) als es gerufen ist. In Italien hat er die Gesellschaft von Matthias Weißen Jr. und Paul Bor gehabt. In 1657 zurückgekehrtem Lieferwagen Aelst zur Niederlande mit Otto Marseus Lieferwagen Schrieck. Er hat sich selbst zuerst in Delft etabliert, aber bald eingerichtet, nachdem nach Amsterdam gefahren ist. Lieferwagen Aelst, als das erste das lebend ist auf der Jagd. Seine wichtigsten Nachfolger waren Rachel Ruysch und Jan der Lieferwagen Huysum.

Die Arbeit Lieferwagen Aelst kann, unter anderen, der Mauritshuis in Den Haag, in der Nationalen Kunstgalerie in Washington GLEICHSTROM und im Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam gefunden werden.

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Willem van Aelst (Utrecht?, 1625 o 1626 - Amsterdam) era alrededor 1683 un pintor holandés de flores y de la vida inmóvil. Era la asimetría en life.He inmóvil firmó el trabajo Gullielmo a veces con la forma italiana de su nombre. La biografía Willem van Aelst fue llevada el hijo de un notario. Él aprendió la profesión de la pintura con su tío, un pintor de la vida inmóvil vuelca a furgoneta Aelst en Delft. En 1643, Aelst sintió bien a un miembro del gremio de St. Lucas, gremio de s del pintor '. A partir la 1645 a 1649, él vivió en Francia, que era importante para el desarrollo de su arte. Entonces, él se trasladó a Italia, en donde él pintó en el patio de Ferdinando II de The Medici en Florencia.

 Él recibió una medalla de oro en el duque magnífico de Toscana como recompensa por sus servicios. Hay varias pinturas de la flor y todavía seguía habiendo los lifes este vez en el Palazzo Pitti en Florencia. Van Aelst era un miembro del Bentvueghels y sus colegas en (vogelverschrikker) como se llama. En Italia él tenía el compañerismo del Jr. blanco de Matthias y el In 1657 de Paul Bor volvió a Furgoneta Aelst a los Países Bajos con la furgoneta Schrieck. de Otto Marseus. Él se estableció primero en Delft, pero pronto después de fue a Amsterdam. Van Aelst, como el primer vivo en la caza. Sus sucesores más importantes eran Rachel Ruysch y enero van Huysum.

 El trabajo van Aelst se puede encontrar, entre otros, el Mauritshuis en el Hague, en la galería de arte nacional en la C.C. de Washington y en el Rijksmuseum en Amsterdam.

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Willem van Aelst (Utrecht?, 1625 or 1626 - Amsterdam) was around 1683 a Dutch painter of flowers and still life. It was the asymmetry into still life.He signed the work Gullielmo sometimes with the Italian form of his name. The biography Willem van Aelst was born the son of a notary. He learned the painting profession with his uncle, a painter of still life Evert van Aelst in Delft. In 1643, Aelst became a member of the Guild of St. Lucas, the   painter 's guild. From 1645 to 1649, he lived in France, which was important for the development of his art.

 Then, he moved to Italy, where he painted in the courtyard of Ferdinando II de  The Medici in Florence. He received a gold medal in the Grand Duke of Tuscany as a reward for his services. There are various flower paintings and  still lifes this time remained in the Palazzo Pitti in Florence. Van Aelst was a member of the Bentvueghels and its colleagues in the (vogelverschrikker) as it is called. In Italy he had the companionship of  Matthias White Jr. and Paul Bor .In 1657 returned Van Aelst to the Netherlands with Otto Marseus van Schrieck.. He established himself first in Delft, but  soon after went to Amsterdam. Van Aelst, as the first live on the hunt. His most important successors were  Rachel Ruysch and Jan van Huysum.

The work van Aelst can be found, among others, the Mauritshuis in The Hague, in the National Art Gallery in Washington DC and in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam.






 
"Un amateur de jardinage,
            Demi-bourgeois, demi-manant,
            Possédait en certain village
Un jardin assez propre, et le clos attenant.
Il avait de plant vif fermé cette étendue.
Là croissait à plaisir l'oseille et la laitue,
De quoi faire à Margot pour sa fête un bouquet,
Peu de jasmin d'Espagne, et force serpolet.
Cette félicité par un lièvre troublée
Fit qu'au seigneur du bourg notre homme se plaignit:
«Ce maudit animal vient prendre sa goulée
Soir et matin, dit-il, et des pièges se rit;
Les pierres, les bâtons y perdent leur crédit:
Il est sorcier, je crois. - Sorcier? je l'en défie,
Repartit le seigneur: fut-il diable, Miraut,
En dépit de ses tours, l'attrapera bientôt.
Je vous en déferai, bon homme, sur ma vie.
- Et quand? - Et dès demain, sans tarder plus longtemps.»
La partie ainsi faite, il vient avec ses gens.
« Cà, déjeunons, dit-il: vos poulets sont-ils tendres?
La fille du logis, qu'on vous voie, approchez.
Quand la marierons-nous, quand aurons-nous des gendres?
Bon homme, c'est ce coup qu'il faut; vous m'entendez,
            Qu'il faut fouiller à l'escarcelle.»
Disant ces mots, il fait connaissance avec elle,
            Auprès de lui la fait asseoir,
Prend une main, un bras, lève un coin du mouchoir,
            Toutes sottises dont la belle
            Se défend avec grand respect;
Tant qu'au père  la fin cela devient suspect.
Cependant on fricasse, on se rue en cuisine:
" De quand sont vos jambons? ils ont fort bonne mine.
- Monsieur, ils sont à vous. - Vraiment, dit le Seigneur,
            Je les reçois, et de bon coeur."
Il déjeune très bien; aussi fait sa famille,
Chiens, chevaux, et valets, tous gens bien endentés;
Il commande chez l'hôte, y prend des libertés,
            Boit son vin, caresse sa fille.
L'embarras des chasseurs succède au déjeuné.
            Chacun s'anime et se prépare:
Les trompes et les cors font un tel tintamarre
            Que le bon homme est étonné.
Le pis fut que l'on mit en piteux équipage
Le pauvre potager: adieu planches, carreaux;
            Adieu chicorée et porreaux;
            Adieu de quoi mettre au potage.
Le lièvre était gîté dessous un maître chou,
On le quête, on le lance: il s'enfuit par un trou,
Non pas trou, mais trouée, horrible et large plaie
            Que l'on fit à la pauvre haie
Par ordre du seigneur; car il eût été mal
Qu'on n'eût pu du jardin sortir tout à cheval.
Le bon homme disait: "Ce sont là jeux de prince."
Mais on le laissait dire; et les chiens et les gens
Firent plus de dégâts en une heure de temps
            Que n'en auraient fait en cent ans
           Tous les lièvres de la province.Petits princes, videz vos débats entre vous;
De recourir aux rois vous seriez de grands fous.
Il ne les faut jamais engager dans vos guerres,
            Ni les faire entrer sur vos terres.

Jean de la Fontaine



/THE GARDENER AND HIS LANDLORD


A man who had a great fondness for gardening, being half a countryman
and half town-bred, possessed in a certain village a fair-sized plot
with a field attached, and all enclosed by a quickset hedge. Here sorrel
and lettuce grew freely, as well as such flowers as Spanish jasmine and
wild thyme, and from these his good wife Margot culled many a posy for
her high days and holidays.

This happy state of things was soon troubled by the visits of a hare,
and to such an extent that the man had to go to his landlord and lodge a
complaint. "This wretched animal," he said, "comes here and stuffs
himself night and morning, and simply laughs at traps and snares. As for
stones and sticks they make no difference whatever to him. He must be
enchanted."

"Enchanted!" cried the landlord. "I defy enchantment! Were he the devil
himself old Towler would soon rout him out in spite of his tricks. I'll
rid you of him, my man, never fear!"

"And when?" asked the man.

"Oh, to-morrow, without more delay!"

The affair being thus arranged, on the morrow came the landlord with all
his following. "First of all," he said, "how about breakfast? Your
chickens are tender I'll be bound. Come here, my dear," he added,
addressing the man's daughter, and then, to her father, "When are you
going to let her marry? Hasn't a son-in-law come on the scene yet? My
dear fellow, this is a thing that positively must be done you know,
you'll have to put your hand in your pocket to some purpose." So saying
he sat down beside the damsel, took her hand, held her by the arm, toyed
with her fichu, and took other silly and trifling liberties which the
girl resented with great self-respect, whilst the father grew a little
uneasy in his mind.

Nevertheless, the cooking went on. There was quite a run on the kitchen.

"How ripe are your hams? They look good."

"Sir," replied the flattered host, "they are yours."

"Oh, really now! Well I'll take them, and that right gladly."

The landlord and his family, his dogs, his horses, and his men-servants,
all take breakfast with hearty appetites. He assumes the host's place
and privileges, drinks his wine and caresses his daughter. After this a
crowd of hunters take seats at the breakfast table.

Now everybody is lively and busy with preparations for the hunt. They
wind the horns to such purpose that the good man is dumbfounded by the
din. Worse than that they make terrible havoc in the poor garden.
Good-bye to all the neat rows and beds! Good-bye to the chickory and the
leeks! Good-bye to all the pot-herbs!

The hare lies hidden under the leaves of a great cabbage, but being
discovered is quickly started, whereupon he rushes to a hole--nay, worse
than a hole, a great and horrible gap in the poor hedge, made by the
landlord's order, so that they might all burst out of the garden in fine
style; for it would have looked ridiculous for them to ride out at the
gate.

The poor man objected. "This is fine fun for princes, no doubt----"; but
they let him talk, whilst dogs and men together did more harm in one
hour than all the hares in the province would have done in a century.


Little princes, settle your own quarrels amongst yourselves. It is
madness to have recourse to kings. You should never let them engage in
your wars, nor even enter your domains.


 Jean de la Fontaine


     THIS is the end of him, here he lies    The dust in his throat, the worm in his eyes,              The mould in his mouth, the turf on his breast;              This is the end of him, this is best.              He will never lie on his couch awake,             Wide-eyed, tearless, till dim daybreak.              Never again will he smile and smile              When his heart is breaking all the while.              He will never stretch out his hands in vain             Groping and groping--never again.            Never ask for bread, get a stone instead,             Never pretend that the stone is bread.             Never sway and sway 'twixt the false and true,            Weighing and noting the long hours through.             Never ache and ache with chok'd-up sighs;            This is the end of him, here he lies.

"An Epitaph on a Commonplace Person who died in Bed"...by Amy Levy

СТАРИК И ТРОЕ МОЛОДЫХ



Старик садить сбирался деревцо.
"Уж пусть бы строиться; да как садить в те лета,
Когда уж смотришь вон из света!-
Так, Старику смеясь в лицо,
Три взрослых юноши соседних рассуждали.-
Чтоб плод тебе твои труды желанный дали,
То надобно, чтоб ты два века жил.
Неужли будешь ты второй Мафусаил?
Оставь, старинушка, свои работы:
Тебе ли затевать столь дальние расчеты,
Едва ли для тебя текущий верен час?
Такие замыслы простительны для нас:
Мы молоды, цветем и крепостью и силой,
А старику пора знакомиться с могилой".-
"Друзья!- смиренно им ответствует Старик,-
Из детства я к трудам привык;
А если от того, что делать начинаю,
Не мне лишь одному я пользы ожидаю,
То, признаюсь,
За труд такой еще охотнее берусь.
Кто добр, не все лишь для себя трудится.
Сажая деревцо, и тем я веселюсь,
Что если от него сам тени не дождусь,
То внук мой некогда сей тенью насладится,
И это для меня уж плод.
Да можно ль и за то ручаться наперед,
Кто здесь из нас кого переживет?
Смерть смотрит ли на молодость, на силу,
Или на прелесть лиц?
Ах, в старости моей прекраснейших девиц
И крепких юношей я провожал в могилу!
Кто знает: может быть, что ваш и ближе час
И что сыра земля покроет прежде вас".
Как им сказал Старик, так после то и было.
Один из них в торги пошел на кораблях:
Надеждой счастие сперва ему польстило;
Но бурею корабль разбило,-
Надежду и пловца - все море поглотило.
Другой в чужих землях,
Предавшися порока власти,
За роскошь, негу и за страсти
Здоровьем, а потом и жизнью заплатил.
А третий - в жаркий день холодного испил
И слег: его врачам искусным поручили,
А те его до смерти залечили.
Узнавши о кончине их,
Наш добрый Старичок оплакал всех троих.
 


Иван Крылов

               Stand still, and I will read to thee                A lecture, love, in love's philosophy.                        These three hours that we have spent,                      Walking here, two shadows went              Along with us, which we ourselves produc'd.               But, now the sun is just above our head,                     We do those shadows tread,       And to brave clearness all things are reduc'd.               So whilst our infant loves did grow,               Disguises did, and shadows, flow              From us, and our cares; but now 'tis not so.               That love has not attain'd the high'st degree,               Which is still diligent lest others see.               Except our loves at this noon stay,               We shall new shadows make the other way.                     As the first were made to blind                     Others, these which come behind               Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes.               If our loves faint, and westwardly decline,                     To me thou, falsely, thine,                     And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.               The morning shadows wear away,               But these grow longer all the day;               But oh, love's day is short, if love decay.               Love is a growing, or full constant light,               And his first minute, after noon, is night

..."A Lecture upon the Shadow"...by John Donne

Wer von der Schönen zu scheiden verdammt ist
Fliehe mit abgewendetem Blick
Wie er , sie schauend , im Tiefsten entflammt ist,
Zieht sie , ach ! reißt sie ihn ewig zurück.

Frage dich nicht in der Nähe der Süßen :
Scheidet sie ? scheid ich ? Ein grimmiger Schmerz
Fasset im Krampf dich ? du liegst ihr zu Füßen
Und die Verzweiflung zerreißt dir das Herz.

Kannst du dann weinen und siehst sie durch Tränen,
Fernende Tränen , als wäre sie fern:
Bleib ! Noch ists möglich ! Der Liebe , dem Sehnen
Neigt sich der Nacht unbeweglichster Stern.

Fasse sie wieder ! Empfindet selbander
Euer Besitzen und euren Verlust !
Schlägt nicht ein Wettersrahl euch auseinander,
Inniger dränget sich Brust nur an Brust.

Wer von der Schönen zu scheiden verdammt ist ,
Fliehe mit abgewendetem Blick !
Wie er , sie schauend , im Tiefsten entflammt ist,
Zieht sie , ach ! reißt sie ihn ewig zurück !

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

               Let us go hence: the night is now at hand;                     The day is overworn, the birds all flown;                     And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown;                Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land,                Broods like an owl; we cannot understand                    Laughter or tears, for we have only known                     Surpassing vanity: vain things alone               Have driven our perverse and aimless band.                Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold,                   To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust               Find end of labour, where's rest for the old,                    Freedom to all from love and fear and lust.               Twine our torn hands! O pray the earth enfold                 Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust

..."A Last Word"...by Ernest Dowson

            Or they loved their life through, and then went whither?                 And were one to the end--but what end who knows?            Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither,                 As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose.             Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them?                 What love was ever as deep as a grave?            They are loveless now as the grass above them                     Or the wave.             All are at one now, roses and lovers,                  Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea.            Not a breath of the time that has been hovers                  In the air now soft with a summer to be.             Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter                  Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep,             When as they that are free now of weeping and laughter                       We shall sleep.            Here death may deal not again for ever;                  Here change may come not till all change end.            From the graves they have made they shall rise up never,                  Who have left nought living to ravage and rend.             Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing,                  While the sun and the rain live, these shall be;             Till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing                       Roll the sea.             Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble,                 Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink,            Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble                 The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink,            Here now in his triumph where all things falter,                 Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,            As a god self-slain on his own strange altar,                     Death lies dead.

An Excerpt from..."A Forsaken garden"...by Algernon Charles Swinburne

         Like labour-laden moonclouds faint to flee                    From winds that sweep the winter-bitten wold,--                       Like multiform circumfluence manifold                      Of night's flood-tide,--like terrors that agree                     Of hoarse-tongued fire and inarticulate sea,--                 Even such, within some glass dimm'd by our breath,                    Our hearts discern wild images of Death,               Shadows and shoals that edge eternity.              Howbeit athwart Death's imminent shade doth soar           One Power, than flow of stream or flight of dove                  Sweeter to glide around, to brood above.      Tell me, my heart,--what angel-greeted door                           Or threshold of wing-winnow'd threshing floor                                                             Hath guest fire-fledged as thine, whose lord is Love?

From ..."Through Death To Love"...by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

             Amber husk                fluted with gold,               fruit on the sand                marked with a rich grain,                treasure              spilled near the shrub-pines               to bleach on the boulders:               your stalk has caught root               among wet pebbles             and drift flung by the sea            and grated shells             and split conch-shells.                  Beautiful, wide-spread,                fire upon leaf,                what meadow yields         so fragrant a leaf           as your bright leaf?

..."Sea Poppies"...by Hilda Doolittle

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains       My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,               Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains       One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:              'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,                  But being too happy in thine happiness,--            That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees                               In some melodious plot       Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,                       Singest of summer in full-throated ease.  O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been                  Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,         Tasting of Flora and the country green,                Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!                    O for a beaker full of the warm South,                 Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,                          With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,                             And purple-stained mouth;                   That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,                    And with thee fade away into the forest dim:               Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget                     What thou among the leaves hast never known,            The weariness, the fever, and the fret                   Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;             Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,                    Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;                          Where but to think is to be full of sorrow                             And leaden-eyed despairs,                     Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,                          Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.             Away! away! for I will fly to thee,                      Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,                But on the viewless wings of Poesy,                     Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:               Already with thee! tender is the night,                     And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,            Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;                            But here there is no light,                  Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown                         Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.            I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,                   Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,          But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet                    Wherewith the seasonable month endows             The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;                       White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;                        Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;                             And mid-May's eldest child,                   The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,                        The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.              Darkling I listen; and, for many a time                     I have been half in love with easeful Death,             Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,                     To take into the air my quiet breath;                         Now more than ever seems it rich to die,                   To cease upon the midnight with no pain,                        While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad                               In such an ecstasy!                   Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--                        To thy high requiem become a sod.             Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!                   No hungry generations tread thee down;               The voice I hear this passing night was heard                      In ancient days by emperor and clown:             Perhaps the self-same song that found a path                     Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,                   She stood in tears amid the alien corn;                               The same that oft-times hath                  Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam                        Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.               Forlorn! the very word is like a bell                     To toll me back from thee to my sole self!               Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well                    As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.               Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades                     Past the near meadows, over the still stream,                        Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep                               In the next valley-glades:                  Was it a vision, or a waking dream?                          Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?

..."Ode to a Nightingale"...by John Keats