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To paint the wild romantic dream,
That meets the poet's musing eye. . . . in The Mysteries of Udopho (1794) |
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The music ceased; the noonday dream,
Like dream of night, withdrew; But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem Her fond creation true. from "A Day Dream" |
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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The form of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. in A Midsummer Night's Dream |
Private Collection
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--James McNeill Whistler (1834-1903) |
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--Joseph Story, U.S. Supreme Court Justice (nineteenth century) |
Private Collection |
Private Collections |
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Apples were they with which we were beguil'd,
Yet sin, not Apples, hath our souls defil'd. Apples forbid, if eat, corrupts the Blood; To eat such when commanded, does us good. Drink of his Flagons, then, thou Church, his Dove, And eat his Apples, who are sick of Love. |
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--Robert Browning (1812-1889), from "Fra Lippo Lippi" |
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--William Penn |
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Private Collection |
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--Deuternomy 8:3 |
No shipping for this drawing: pick-up in NC/SC only |
SOLD |
No shipping for this drawing: pick-up in NC/SC only |
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastised by sabler tints of woe. "Ode on the Pleasure Arising from Vicissitude" |
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--Noah Webster |
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Oh my black Soule! now thou art summoned
By sicknesse, deaths herald, and champion; Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled, Or like a thief, which till deaths doome be read, Wisheth himselfe delivered from prison; But damn'd and hal'd to execution, Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned; Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke; But who shall give thee that grace to beginne? Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke, And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne; Or wash thee in Christs blood, which hath this might That being red, it dyes red soules to white. |