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deannamascle: To a Daisy by Alice Meynell - Poems | Academy of American Poets
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litcharts: New guide! Renouncement by Alice Meynell
Azjackson: Double Dactyl of the Week is an Ace effort from Alice Meynell
Soulecting: Happiness is not a matter of events, it depends upon the tides of the mind.
Alice Meynell
SoulfullySue: Happiness is not a matter of events, it depends upon the tides of the mind.
Alice Meynell
SharinaAshley: ow Alice Meynell and some of
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LordShawnDK: Read this in 2014 - it really shaped the way I saw the world and also the way I wrote most of my poetry.
Trance between laughters unawares:
Thou are the shape of melodies,
And thou the ecstacy of prayers!
–Alice Meynell-
qadeersultan3: ow Alice Meynell and some of
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FRyuo94: ow Alice Meynell and some of
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Fastell3092: Happiness is not a matter of events it depends upon the tides of the mind.,Alice Meynell,Mind, Events, Matter ,
patrickvmiguel: just found out in our lit and religion class that Alice Meynell is the og fleabag
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ldkkei: We talk of sunshine & moonshine, but not of cloud-shine, which is yet one of the illuminations of our skies. Shining cloud is one of the most majestic of all secondary
lights.
~Alice Meynell
theterrifictide: eps crept down the passage--steps which were meant to be sil
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Alice Meynell and some of
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cyberalgo: “Happiness is not a matter of events it depends upon the tides of the mind.”
—Alice Meynell
dinafaqih66: ce in an incisive and positive tone
opened the conversation.
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cyberalgo: “Happiness is not a matter of events it depends upon the tides of the mind.”
—Alice Meynell
ryanwarner23: ce in an incisive and positive tone
opened the conversation.
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odujfrey: eps crept down the passage--steps which were meant to be sil
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mpr_iman: ce in an incisive and positive tone
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LeeAnnHowlettVO: West Wind in Winter : Alice Meynell : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive
sociostrateger: “Red is nobility and the color of life. But the true color of life is not red. Red is the color of violence, or of life broken open, edited, and published. Once fully visible, red is the color of life violated, and in the act of betrayal and of waste.”
– Alice Meynell author
snootgaze: The Visiting Sea by Alice Meynell ❤️
oneforjoybook: ‘Solitudes are not to be measured by miles; they are to be numbered by days.’ – Alice Meynell
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Soulecting: Happiness is not a matter of events, it depends upon the tides of the mind.
Alice Meynell
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oneforjoybook: ‘Solitudes are not to be measured by miles; they are to be numbered by days.’ – Alice Meynell
mr_exception_: NIMRIT DESERVES TROPHY
Our fathers valued change for the sake of its results; we value it in the act. - Alice Meynell..
RalphGailMM: Our fathers valued change for the sake of its results we value it in the act.
-Alice Meynell
RALPHGAIL FOR PASILYO MV
AP_Davison: A joy of writing this book was to include discussion of 3 poems: Alice Meynell’s ‘Christ in the Universe’ (a masterpiece of theological poetry), Yeats’ ‘The Indian Upon God’ (allowing a brief nod to Hinduism), and Rupert Booke’s ‘Heaven’ (in which cocks a clever snook at Xnity).
EnvChrisPNwa: "We talk of sunshine and moonshine, but not of cloud-shine, which is yet one of the illuminations of our skies. A shining cloud is one of the most majestic of all secondary lights."
— Alice Meynell
Mammatus clouds look like fluffy bubble wrap in the sky…
oneforjoybook: ‘Solitudes are not to be measured by miles; they are to be numbered by days.’ – Alice Meynell
Soulecting: Happiness is not a matter of events, it depends upon the tides of the mind.
Alice Meynell
oneforjoybook: ‘Solitudes are not to be measured by miles; they are to be numbered by days.’ – Alice Meynell
2embracechange: Happiness is not a matter of events, it depends upon the tides of the mind. ~Alice Meynell
graceeinkauf: “Sudden as sweet
Come the expected feet;
All joy is young, and new all art,
And he, too, whom we have by heart.” Alice Meynell
SoulfullySue: Happiness is not a matter of events, it depends upon the tides of the mind.
Alice Meynell
Soulecting: Happiness is not a matter of events, it depends upon the tides of the mind.
Alice Meynell
oneforjoybook: ‘Solitudes are not to be measured by miles; they are to be numbered by days.’ – Alice Meynell
BruleChevalier: UNTO US A SON IS GIVEN By Alice Meynell
Given, not lent,
And not withdrawn — once sent, This Infant of mankind, this One, Is still the little welcome Son.
New every year,
New born and newly dear,
He comes with tidings and a song,
The ages long, the ages long;
Charles09700300: We build with strength and deep tower wall
That shall be shattered thus and thus.
And fair and great are court and hall,
But how fair--this is not for us,
Who know the lack that lurks in all.
- Alice Meynell, ‘Builders Of Ruins.’
Photo: Chicago Southside. May 2021
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Popular Burlesque
. . . to pass the time, the holiday swain annoys the girl; and if he wears her hat, it is ten to one that he has plucked it off with a humorous disregard of her dreadful pins.
100YearsAgoNews: Nov. 27, 1922: Poet and essayist Alice Meynell dies in London at 75. Her Victorian-era verse was praised by writers including Ruskin and Rossetti, but she gained wider fame as a social and woman suffrage activist.
johnsimkin: On the day in 1922 feminist writer Alice Meynell died.
PechayNiGail: Our fathers valued change for the sake of its results we value it in the act.-Alice Meynell
MaKENsayatAYU SaRALPHGAIL
culham_mark: A few excerpts from Alice Meynell's essay The Spirit of Place.
DrSarahParker: Almost 100 years ago, on 27 November 1922, the poet and essayist Alice Meynell died aged 75. Today, a group of scholars will be gathering at her historic home Greatham to celebrate her life and work, including wonderful poems like 'The Poet to the Birds'
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
Decivilized
Trash, in the fullness of its insimplicity and cheapness, is impossible without a beautiful past. Its chief characteristic - which is futility, not failure - could not be achieved but by the long abuse . . . of the utterances of Art . .
GillyWhite8: Alice Meynell in 1916 on EBBrowning: "It was modern to write poetry as she wrote, with modern prose words; unlike Wordsworth's, not at all childlike, as were his...Nothing could be more sharply cut off from the eighteenth century...than the vocabulary of Aurora Leigh ."
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
Solitude
Who has painted solitude so that the solitary seemed to stand alone and inaccessible? There is the loneliness of the shepherdess in many a drawing of J. F. Millet. The little figure is always aloof. The girl stands so when the painter is gone. She waits
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
Solitude
. . . the natural solitude of a woman with a child . . . All is commonplace until the doors are closed upon the two. This unique intimacy at night is a profound retreat, an absolute seclusion. It is more than single solitude; it is a redoubled
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
The Hours of Sleep
Corot also took the brilliant opportunity of the hours of sleep. In some landscapes of his early manner he has the very light of dreams, and it was surely because he went abroad at the time when sleep and dreams claimed his eyes that he was able
LizEHansen: A poem by new-to-me Alice Meynell that made me go back and read again:
oneforjoybook: ‘Solitudes are not to be measured by miles; they are to be numbered by days.’ – Alice Meynell
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
Innocence and Experience
As the Franciscans wear each other's old habit, and one friar goes about darned because of another's rending, so the poet of a a certain order grows cynical for the sake of many poets' old loves. . . . if choice were, one might wish
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
Laughter
To none other of the several powers of our souls do we so give rein as to this of humour, and none other do we indulge with so little fastidiousness. It is as though there were honour in governing the other senses, and honour in refusing to govern this. It
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
Domus Angusta
It [Death] is destructive, because it not only closes but contradicts life. Unlikely people die. The only certain thing, it is also the one improbable. A dreadful paradox is perhaps wrought upon a little nature that is incapable of death and yet
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
Domus Angusta
I protest that I do not laugh at man or woman in the world. I thank my fellow mortals for their wit . . . [this] is to smile at. But the gay injustice of laughter is between me and the man or woman in a book, in fiction, or on the stage of a play.
Soulecting: Happiness is not a matter of events, it depends upon the tides of the mind.
Alice Meynell
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
Harlequin Mercutio
The first time that Mercutio fell upon the English stage, there fell with him a gay and hardly human figure; it fell, perhaps finally, for English drama. That manner of man - Harlequin . . .
What convinces me that he virtually died with Mercutio
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from The Little Language
Swift was the best prattler. He had caught the language, surprised it in Stella when she was veritably a child. He did not push her clumsily back into childhood he had not known; he simply prolonged in her a childhood he had
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
Composure
. . . words encountering as gay strangers, various in origin, divided in race, within a master's phrase. The most beautiful and the most sudden of such meetings are of course in Shakespeare. "Superfluous kings," "A lass unparalleled," "Multitudinous seas"
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Anima Pellegrina!
. . . no French or Italian poet has the words "unloved," "unforgiven." None such, therefore, has the opportunity of the gravest and the most majestic of all ironies. In our English, the words that are denied are still there - "loved,"
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Pathos
It may be only too true that the actual world is "with pathos delicately edged." For Malvolio living we should have had living sympathies; so much aspiration, so ill-educated a love of refinement; so unarmed a credulity, noblest of weaknesses, betrayed
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from The Tow Path
... in the effectual act of towing, is the ample revenge of the unmuscular upon the happy labourers with the oar, the pole, the bicycle, and all other means of violence. Here, on the long tow-path, between warm, embrowned meadows and opal waters,
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Rain
The long stroke of the raindrop, which is the drop and its path at once, being our impression of a shower, shows us how certainly our impression is the effect of the lagging, and not the haste of our senses. What we are apt to call our quick impression is
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Wells
The world at present is inclined to make sorry mysteries or unattractive secrets of the methods and supplies of the fresh and perennial means of life. A very dull secret is made of water, for example, and the plumber sets his seal upon the floods whereby
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Ceres' Runaway
... the wild summer growth of Rome ... breaks all bounds, flies to the summits, lodges in the sun, swings in the wind, takes wing to find the remotest ledges, and blooms aloft. It makes light of the sixteenth century, of the seventeenth, and of
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Eyes
There is no vulgarity like the vulgarity of vulgar eyelids. They have a slang all their own, of an intolerable kind. And eyelids have looked all the cruel looks that have ever made wounds in innocent souls meeting them surprised.
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
The Colour Of Life
And Other Essays On Things Seen Or Heard
1896
Warm, bam thank you mam!
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from The Illusion of Historic Time
... 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. That is it looks so remote to the memory of a man of thirty as to that
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from The Illusion of Historic Time
He who has survived his childhood intelligently ... must be aware of no less a thing than the destruction of the past. Its events and empires stand where they did, and the mere relation of time is as it was. But that which has
culham_mark: The Illusion of Historic Time is another gem amongst Alice Meynell's poetic prose essays.
With childhood over, the once mysterious vastness of history collapses into paltry dimensions and our childhood becomes infinitely distant.
mistressgemmali: "The true color of life is the color of the body, the color of the covered red, the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the modest color of the unpublished blood."
- Alice Meynell, 'The Colour Of Life'.
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Donkey Races
Nothing more incongruous than Juliet's hurry of phrase and the actress's leisure of phrasing. She seems to consider that there is plenty of time for her to discover which is slain - Tybalt or her husband; she is sure to know sometime; it can wait.
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Donkey Races
Verse is a flight.
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Eleonora Duse
When 'la femme de Claude' is trapped by the man who has come in search of the husband's secret, and when she is obliged to sit and listen to her own evil history as he tells it her, she does not interrupt the telling with the outcries
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Eleonora Duse
... between the Frenchwoman and the Italian there are the Alps.
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Winds of the World
Corot has painted so many south-west winds that one might question whether he ever painted, in his later manner at least, any others. His skies are thus in the act of flight,
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Winds of the World
In his "Classical Landscape: Italy," the master has indeed for once a sky that seems at anchor, or at least that moves with "no pace perceived." The vibrating wings are folded, and Corot's wind, that flew through so many springs, summers,
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Winds of the World
You will meet a wind of the world nimble and eager in a sorry street. But those are only accidents of the way - the winds goes free again. Those that do not go free, but close their course, are those that are breathed by the nostrils of
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Cloud
Every one knows the manifest work of the cloud when it descends and partakes in the landscape obviously, lies half-way across the mountain slope, stoops to rain heavily upon the lake, and
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from Cloud
The dullest thing perhaps in the London streets is that people take their rain there without knowing anything of the cloud that drops it. It is merely rain, and means wetness. The shower-cloud there has limits of time, but no limits of form, and
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
See the curious history of the political rights of woman under the Revolution. On the scaffold she enjoyed an ungrudged share in the fortunes of party. Political life might be denied her, but that seems a trifle when you consider how generously she was permitted
culham_mark: Alice Meynell
from A Point of Biography
It is a happy thing that minor artists have ceased, or almost ceased, to paint dead birds. Time was when they did it continually in that British school of water-colour art, stippled, of which surrounding nations, it was agreed, were
oneforjoybook: ‘Solitudes are not to be measured by miles; they are to be numbered by days.’ – Alice Meynell
JoveMeyer: "my heart shall be thy garden"
alice meynell
oneforjoybook: ‘Solitudes are not to be measured by miles; they are to be numbered by days.’ – Alice Meynell
ModernPhilology: British writer & suffragist Alice Meynell was born on this day in 1847!
Her “fearless poetic voice…sees motherhood as unavoidably complicit in an act of slaying.” Read more about Meynell’s poetics of pregnancy here:
johnsimkin: Today in history concerns stories about Elizabeth Fry (1845), Alice Meynell (1847), Henry Nevinson (1856), Emily Wilding Davison (1872), Mary Heaton Vorse (1874), Eleanor Roosevelt (1884), Albert Einstein (1939) and Chiang Kai-shek (1945).
johnsimkin: On this day in 1847 Alice Meynell, novelist and suffragist, was born.
