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I have known some grim bells, with not a single joyous note in the whole peal, so forced to hurry for a human festival, with their harshness made light of, as though the Bishop of Hereford had again been forced to dance in his boots by a merry highwayman.

Alice Meynell

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Alice Meynell
Age: 75 †
Born: 1847
Born: September 22
Died: 1922
Died: November 27
Essayist
Literary Critic
Poet
Writer
Barnes
England
Alice Christiana Gertrude Meynell
Alice Christiana Gertrude Thompson
Sound
Boots
Festival
Light
Note
Bishops
Human
Forced
Grim
Humans
Notes
Festivals
Highwayman
Whole
Dance
Hurry
Peal
Made
Single
Merry
Highwaymen
Though
Joyous
Harshness
Known
Bells
Bishop

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The sense of humor has other things to do than to make itself conspicuous in the act of laughter.
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It is principally for the sake of the leg that a change in the dress of man is so much to be desired. The leg is the best part of the figure and the best leg is the man s. Man should no longer disguise the long lines, the strong forms, in those lengths of piping or tubing that are of all garments the most stupid.
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... I am dark but fair, / Black but fair.
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Solitude is separate experience.
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Assuredly it would be a pity if laughter should ever become, like rhetoric and the arts, a habit.
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Happiness is not a matter of events it depends upon the tides of the mind.
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Rome in the ages, dimmed with all her towers, / Floats in the mist, a little cloud at tether.
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From the shaken tower A flock of bells take flight, And go with the hour.
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Our fathers valued change for the sake of its results we value it in the act.
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In childhood we all have ... a far higher sensibility for April and April evenings - a heartache for them, which in riper years is gradually and irretrievably consoled.
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Rich meanings of the prophet-Spring adorn, / Unseen, this colorless sky of folded showers, / And folded winds...
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I come from nothing: but from where come the undying thoughts I bear?
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Let us turn to our own childhoods-no further-if we will renew our sense of remoteness, and of the mystery of change.
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With mimicry, with praises, with echoes, or with answers, the poets have all but outsung the bell. The inarticulate bell has found too much interpretation, too many rhymes professing to close with her inaccessible utterance, and to agree with her remote tongue. The bell, like the bird, is a musician pestered with literature.
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It is easy to replace man, and it will take no great time, when Nature has lapsed, to replace Nature.
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Rich meanings of the prophet-Spring adorn, Unseen, this colourless sky of folded showers, And folded winds no blossom in the bowers A poet's face asleep in this grey morn. Now in the midst of the old world forlorn A mystic child is set in these still hours. I keep this time, even before the flowers, Sacred to all the young and the unborn.
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A child is beset with long traditions. And his infancy is so old, so old, that the mere adding of years in the life to follow will not seem to throw it further back -- it is already so far.
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The traveling heart went free / With endless streams that strife was stopped / And down a thousand vales I dropped, / I flowed to Italy.
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recurrence is sure. What the mind suffered last week, or last year, it does not suffer now but it will suffer again next week or next year. Happiness is not a matter of events it depends upon the tides of the mind.
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The cloud controls the light ... It is the cloud that, holding the sun's rays in a sheaf as a giant holds a handful of spears, strikes the horizon, touches the extreme edge with a delicate revelation of light, or suddenly puts it out and makes the foreground shine.
Alice Meynell