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Arthur Symons Quotes (1865-1945)
Poet
About Arthur Symons
Arthur William Symons (February 28, 1865 – January 22, 1945) was a British poet and critic.
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“The mystic too full of God to speak intelligibly to the world.”
“All art is a form of artifice.For in art there can be no prejudices.”
“Without charm there can be no fine literature, as there can be no perfect flower without fragrance.”
“And I would have, now love is over,
An end to all, an end:
I cannot, having been your lover,
Stoop to become your friend!”
An end to all, an end:
I cannot, having been your lover,
Stoop to become your friend!”
“I heard the sighing of the reeds
At noontide and at evening,
And some old dream I had forgotten
I seemed to be remembering.”
At noontide and at evening,
And some old dream I had forgotten
I seemed to be remembering.”
“The wind is rising on the sea,
The windy white foam-dancers leap;
And the sea moans uneasily,
And turns to sleep, and cannot sleep.”
The windy white foam-dancers leap;
And the sea moans uneasily,
And turns to sleep, and cannot sleep.”
“Criticism is properly the rod of divination: a hazel switch for the discovery of buried treasure, not a birch twig for the castigation of offenders.”
“I have loved colours, and not flowers;
Their motion, not the swallows wings;
And wasted more than half my hours
Without the comradeship of things.”
Their motion, not the swallows wings;
And wasted more than half my hours
Without the comradeship of things.”
“My life is like a music-hall,
Where, in the impotence of rage,
Chained by enchantment to my stall,
I see myself upon the stage
Dance to amuse a music-hall.”
Where, in the impotence of rage,
Chained by enchantment to my stall,
I see myself upon the stage
Dance to amuse a music-hall.”
“He knew that the whole mystery of beauty can never be comprehended by the crowd, and that while clearness is a virtue of style, perfect explicitness is not a necessary virtue.”
“They weave a slow andante as in sleep,
Scaled yellow, swampy black, plague-spotted white;
With blue and lidless eyes at watch they keep
A treachery of silence; infinite.”
Scaled yellow, swampy black, plague-spotted white;
With blue and lidless eyes at watch they keep
A treachery of silence; infinite.”
“O my child, who wronged you first, and began
First the dance of death that you dance so well?
Soul for soul: and I think the soul of a man
Shall answer for yours in hell.”
First the dance of death that you dance so well?
Soul for soul: and I think the soul of a man
Shall answer for yours in hell.”
“Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses?
How soft is this one, how subtle this is,
How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is,
As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice;
How this one clings and how that uncloses
From bud to flower in the way of roses.”
How soft is this one, how subtle this is,
How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is,
As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice;
How this one clings and how that uncloses
From bud to flower in the way of roses.”
“They pass upon their old, tremulous feet,
Creeping with little satchels down the street,
And they remember, many years ago,
Passing that way in silks. They wander, slow
And solitary, through the city ways,
And they alone remember those old days
Men have forgotten.”
Creeping with little satchels down the street,
And they remember, many years ago,
Passing that way in silks. They wander, slow
And solitary, through the city ways,
And they alone remember those old days
Men have forgotten.”
“The gray-green stretch of sandy grass,
Indefinitely desolate;
A sea of lead, a sky of slate;
Already autumn in the air, alas!
One stark monotony of stone,
The long hotel, acutely white,
Against the after-sunset light
Withers gray-green, and takes the grass's tone.”
Indefinitely desolate;
A sea of lead, a sky of slate;
Already autumn in the air, alas!
One stark monotony of stone,
The long hotel, acutely white,
Against the after-sunset light
Withers gray-green, and takes the grass's tone.”
Arthur Symons Quotes by Topic
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Arthur Symons on Divination
“Criticism is properly the rod of divination.”
Arthur Symons on Kissing
“Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses? How soft is this one, how subtle this is, How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is, As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice; How this one clings and how that uncloses From bud to flower in the way of roses.”
What Arthur Symons Said About Others
Discover personal opinions Arthur Symons shared regarding contemporaries.
Arthur Symons on François Villon
“There has been no greater artist in French verse, as there has been no greater poet; and the main part of the history of poetry in France is the record of a long forgetting of all that Villon found out for himself.”
About Arthur Symons
Arthur William Symons (February 28, 1865 – January 22, 1945) was a British poet and critic.