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Rough-hew them how we will ... report me and my cause aright ... To tell my story. (Hamlet's dying request to Horatio)... The rest is silence. (Hamlet's last words) Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest....so shall you hear Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts,
In Cosmopolitan, "The Man Upstairs" was illustrated by James Montgomery Flagg, [25] "Rough-Hew Them How We Will" was illustrated by Dan Sayre Groesbeck, [26] and "The Man, the Maid and the Miasma" was illustrated by G. F. Kerr. [27] In Pictorial Review, "By Advice of Counsel" was illustrated by Phillips Ward, [28] and "Three From Dunsterville ...
"Rough-Hew Them How We Will" The Man Upstairs (1914) April 1910 The Strand Magazine: August 1910 Cosmopolitan – 6 19 "The Man Who Disliked Cats" ("The Fatal Kink in Algernon") The Man Upstairs (1914) May 1912 The Strand Magazine: January 1916 Ladies' Home Journal – 7 33 "Ruth in Exile" The Man Upstairs (1914) July 1912 The Strand Magazine ...
No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of ...
Hugh Selwyn Mauberley addresses Pound's alleged failure as a poet. F. R. Leavis considered it "quintessential autobiography." [2]Speaking of himself in the third person, Pound criticises his earlier works as attempts to "wring lilies from the acorn", that is to pursue aesthetic goals and art for art's sake in a rough setting, America, which he calls "a half-savage country".
Lays of Ancient Rome, 1881 edition. Lays of Ancient Rome is an 1842 collection of narrative poems, or lays, by Thomas Babington Macaulay.Four of these recount heroic episodes from early Roman history with strong dramatic and tragic themes, giving the collection its name.
Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like am'rous birds of prey, Rather at once our Time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapt pow'r. Let us roll all our Strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one Ball: And tear our Pleasures with rough strife, Thorough the Iron gates of Life. Thus, though we cannot make our Sun
I have of late, (but wherefore I know not) lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition; that this goodly frame the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave o'er hanging firmament, this majestical roof, fretted with golden fire ...