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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!

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
Lover
Lovers
Friend
Cannot
Ends
Become
Would
Stoop
Love
Stoops

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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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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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I heard the sighing of the reedsAt noontide and at evening,And some old dream I had forgottenI seemed to be remembering.
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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.
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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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Life is a dream in the night, a fear among fears, A naked runner lost in a storm of spears.
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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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Without charm there can be no fine literature, as there can be no perfect flower without fragrance.
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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.
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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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Art begins when a man wishes to immortalize the most vivid moment he has ever lived.
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Love is a flaming heart, and its flames aspire / Till they cloud the soul in the smoke of a windy fire.
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There are certain natures to whom work is nothing, the act of work everything.
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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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The desert of virginity Aches in the hotness of her mouth.
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It is in their eyes that their magic resides.
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Here in a little lonely room I am master of earth and sea, And the planets come to me.
Arthur Symons
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My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring.
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.
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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.
Arthur Symons