sapphosrose

[sapphosrose]

The broken battlements, enwreathed with ivy, proclaimed the fallen grandeur of the place, while the shattered vacant window-frames exhibited its desolation, and the high grass that overgrew the threshold seemed to say how long it was since mortal foot had entered.

Ann Radcliffe, A Sicilian Romance

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[sapphosrose]

Plead with the swift frost

That it should spare the eldest flower of spring; [...]

Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Cenci

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[sapphosrose]

“I like this spot,” [...] “the bubbling murmur of the clear fountain, the waving of the trees, the profusion of grass and wild- flowers that rise among the ruins, make it like a scene in romance.

Walter Scott, The Bride of Lammermoor

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[sapphosrose]

Catching glimpses of her, then, you would have fancied that an oak had sundered its rough bark to let her dance freely forth, endowed with the same spirit in her human form as that which rustles in the leaves; or that she had emerged through the pebbly bottom of a fountain, a water-nymph, to play and sparkle in the sunshine, flinging a quivering light around her, and suddenly disappearing in a shower of rainbow drops.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Marble Faun

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[sapphosrose]

They now descended into a deep valley, which appeared more like a scene of airy enchantment than reality. Along the bottom flowed a clear majestic stream, whose banks were adorned with thick groves of orange and citron trees.

Ann Radcliffe, A Sicilian Romance

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[sapphosrose]

When to wake? Never again.

O World! farewell!

Listen to the passing bell!

It say, thou and I must part,

With a light and a heavy heart.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Cenci

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[sapphosrose]

She sate upon one of the disjointed stones of the ancient fountain, and seemed to watch the progress of its current, as it bubbled forth to daylight, in gay and sparkling profusion, from under the shadow of the ribbed and darksome vault, with which veneration, or perhaps remorse, had canopied its source.

Walter Scott, The Bride of Lammermoor

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[sapphosrose]

Again, there were avenues of cypress, resembling dark flames of huge funeral candles, which spread dusk and twilight round about them instead of cheerful radiance.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Marble Faun

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[sapphosrose]

The landscape was tinted with rich and variegated hues; and the autumnal lights, which streamed upon the hills, produced a spirited and beautiful effect upon the scenery. All the glories of the vintage rose to their view: the purple grapes flushed through the dark green of the surrounding foliage, and the prospect glowed with luxuriance.

Ann Radcliffe, A Sicilian Romance

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[sapphosrose]

Sad funeral flowers to deck a living corpse, [...]

Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Cenci

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[sapphosrose]

She was very youthful, and had what was usually thought to be a Jewish aspect; a complexion in which there was no roseate bloom, yet neither was it pale; dark eyes, into which you might look as deeply as your glance would go, and still be conscious of a depth that you had not sounded, though it lay open to the day. She had black, abundant hair, with none of the vulgar glossiness of other women’s sable locks; if she were really of Jewish blood, then this was Jewish hair, and a dark glory such as crowns no Christian maiden’s head. Gazing at this portrait, you saw what Rachel might have been, when Jacob deemed her worth the wooing seven years, and seven more; or perchance she might ripen to be what Judith was, when she vanquished Holofernes with her beauty, and slew him for too much adoring it.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Marble Faun

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[sapphosrose]

Her fine features had received the impressions not only of melancholy, but of grief.

Ann Radcliffe, A Sicilian Romance

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[sapphosrose]

[...] and the glorious ocean, crisped with a thousand rippling waves of silver, extended on the other side, in awful yet complacent majesty, to the verge of the horizon. With such scenes of calm sublimity the human heart sympathises even in its most disturbed moods, and deeds of honour and virtue are inspired by their majestic influence.

Walter Scott, The Bride of Lammermoor

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[sapphosrose]

There is a snake in thy smile, my dear;

And bitter poison within thy tear.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Cenci

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[sapphosrose]

[...] there appeared the portrait of a beautiful woman, such as one sees only two or three, if even so many times, in all a lifetime; so beautiful, that she seemed to get into your consciousness and memory, and could never afterwards be shut out, but haunted your dreams, for pleasure or for pain; holding your inner realm as a conquered territory, though without deigning to make herself at home there.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Marble Faun

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[sapphosrose]

Even the almighty

gods of old

never knew

such beauty:

on the river Tatsutain

autumn sunlight

a brocade—reds flowing above

blue water below.

Ariwara no Narihira

#Ariwara no Narihira #Japanese poetry #Poetry

[sapphosrose]

The sombrous and heavy sound of the billows, successively dashing against the rocky beach at a profound distance beneath, was to the ear what the landscape was to the eye–a symbol of unvaried and monotonous melancholy, not unmingled with horror.

Walter Scott, The Bride of Lammermoor

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