Quote

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.

Arthur Symons

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Arthur Symons
Age: 79 †
Born: 1865
Born: February 28
Died: 1945
Died: January 22
Art Historian
Literary Critic
Poet
Translator
Writer
Aberdaugleddau
Arthur William Symons
Arthur Symons
Way
Kiss
Fluttering
Love
Kissing
Bud
Rose
Kisses
Sing
Swift
Bird
Roses
Flower
Crush
Leafy
Sweet
Soft
Taps
Song
Subtle
Clings

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Life is a dream in the night, a fear among fears, A naked runner lost in a storm of spears.
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The gray-green stretch of sandy grass,Indefinitely desolateA sea of lead, a sky of slateAlready autumn in the air, alas!One stark monotony of stone,The long hotel, acutely white,Against the after-sunset lightWithers gray-green, and takes the grass's tone.
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The dead are happy, having no desire. I rise and fall, and rise and fall again, Something is in me, famishing for bread, Baffled and unappeasable as fire.
Arthur Symons
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Art begins when a man wishes to immortalize the most vivid moment he has ever lived.
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But we have been taught to see before our eyes have found out a way of seeing for themselves.
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To have loved, to have been made happy thus, / What better fate has life in store for us?
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A place has almost the shyness of a person, with strangers and its secret is not to be surprised by a too direct interrogation.
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My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring.
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Here in a little lonely room I am master of earth and sea, And the planets come to me.
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As perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me: all things leave me: You remain.
Arthur Symons
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I had my dreams of Venice, but nothing that I had dreamed was as impossible as what I found.
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The making of one's life into art is, after all, the first duty and privilege of every man.
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The mystic too full of God to speak intelligibly to the world.
Arthur Symons
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My life is like a music-hall,Where, in the impotence of rage,Chained by enchantment to my stall,I see myself upon the stageDance to amuse a music-hall.
Arthur Symons
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The wind is rising on the sea,The windy white foam-dancers leapAnd the sea moans uneasily,And turns to sleep, and cannot sleep.
Arthur Symons
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What we ask of him is, that he should find out for us more than we can find out for ourselves... He must have the passion of a lover.
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It is in their eyes that their magic resides.
Arthur Symons
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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!
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There is not a dream which may not come true, if we have the energy which makes, or chooses, our own fate.... It is only the dreams of those light sleepers who dream faintly that do not come true.
Arthur Symons
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The desert of virginity Aches in the hotness of her mouth.
Arthur Symons