|
Showing 1 - 17 of
17 matches in All Departments
Under a canopied platform stood a young girl, modeling in clay. The
glare of the California sunshine, filtering through the canvas,
became mellowed, warm and golden. Above the girl's head-yellow like
the stalk of wheat-there hovered a kind of aureola, as if there had
risen above it a haze of impalpable gold dust. A poet I know might
have cried out that here ended his quest of the Golden Girl.
Straight she stood at this moment, lovely of face, rounded of form,
with an indescribable suggestion of latent physical power or
magnetism. On her temples there were little daubs of clay, caused
doubtless by impatient fingers sweeping back occasional wind blown
locks of hair. There was even a daub on the side of her handsome
sensitive nose.
|
Arms and the Woman (Hardcover)
Macgrath Harold Macgrath, Harold MacGrath; Edited by 1stworld Library
|
R624
Discovery Miles 6 240
|
Ships in 12 - 17 working days
|
The first time I met her I was a reporter in the embryonic state
and she was a girl in short dresses. It was in a garden, surrounded
by high red brick walls which were half hidden by clusters of green
vines, and at the base of which nestled earth-beds, radiant with
roses and poppies and peonies and bushes of lavender lilacs, all
spilling their delicate ambrosia on the mild air of passing May. I
stood, straw hat in hand, wondering if I had not stumbled into some
sweet prison of flowers which, having run disobe-dient ways in the
past, had been placed here by Flora, and forever denied their
native meadows and wildernesses. And this vision of fresh youth in
my path, perhaps she was some guardian nymph. I was only
twenty-two-a most impressionable age. Her hair was like that rare
October brown, half dun, half gold; her eyes were cool and restful,
like the brown pools one sees in the heart of the forests, and her
lips and cheeks cozened the warm vermilion of the rose which lay
ever so lightly on the bosom of her white dress. Close at hand was
a table upon which stood a pitcher of lemonade. She was holding in
her hand an empty glass. As my eyes encountered her calm, inquiring
gaze, my courage fled precipitately, likewise the object of my
errand. There was a pause; diffi-dence and embarrassment on my
side, placidity on hers.
|
The Goose Girl (Hardcover)
Macgrath Harold Macgrath, Harold MacGrath; Edited by 1stworld Library
|
R646
Discovery Miles 6 460
|
Ships in 12 - 17 working days
|
An old man, clothed in picturesque patches and tatters, paused and
leaned on his stout oak staff. He was tired. He drew off his rusty
felt hat, swept a sleeve across his forehead, and sighed. He had
walked many miles that day, and even now the journey's end, near as
it really was, seemed far away. Ah, but he would sleep soundly that
night, whether the bed were of earth or of straw. His peasant garb
rather enhanced his fine head. His eyes were blue and clear and
far-seeing, the eyes of a hunter or a woodsman, of a man who
watches the shadows in the forest at night or the dim, wavering
lines on the horizon at daytime; things near or far or roundabout.
His brow was high, his nose large and bridged; a face of more
angles than contours, bristling with gray spikes, like one who has
gone unshaven several days. His hands, folded over the round,
polished knuckle of his staff, were tanned and soiled, but they
were long and slender, and the callouses were pink, a certain
indication that they were fresh.
Under a canopied platform stood a young girl, modeling in clay. The
glare of the California sunshine, filtering through the canvas,
became mellowed, warm and golden. Above the girl's head-yellow like
the stalk of wheat-there hovered a kind of aureola, as if there had
risen above it a haze of impalpable gold dust. A poet I know might
have cried out that here ended his quest of the Golden Girl.
Straight she stood at this moment, lovely of face, rounded of form,
with an indescribable suggestion of latent physical power or
magnetism. On her temples there were little daubs of clay, caused
doubtless by impatient fingers sweeping back occasional wind blown
locks of hair. There was even a daub on the side of her handsome
sensitive nose.
|
The Goose Girl (Paperback)
Macgrath Harold Macgrath, Harold MacGrath; Edited by 1stworld Library
|
R435
Discovery Miles 4 350
|
Ships in 10 - 15 working days
|
An old man, clothed in picturesque patches and tatters, paused and
leaned on his stout oak staff. He was tired. He drew off his rusty
felt hat, swept a sleeve across his forehead, and sighed. He had
walked many miles that day, and even now the journey's e
|
Arms and the Woman (Paperback)
Macgrath Harold Macgrath, Harold MacGrath; Edited by 1stworld Library
|
R435
Discovery Miles 4 350
|
Ships in 10 - 15 working days
|
The first time I met her I was a reporter in the embryonic state
and she was a girl in short dresses. It was in a garden, surrounded
by high red brick walls which were half hidden by clusters of green
vines, and at the base of which nestled earth-beds, radiant with
roses and poppies and peonies and bushes of lavender lilacs, all
spilling their delicate ambrosia on the mild air of passing May. I
stood, straw hat in hand, wondering if I had not stumbled into some
sweet prison of flowers which, having run disobe-dient ways in the
past, had been placed here by Flora, and forever denied their
native meadows and wildernesses. And this vision of fresh youth in
my path, perhaps she was some guardian nymph. I was only
twenty-two-a most impressionable age. Her hair was like that rare
October brown, half dun, half gold; her eyes were cool and restful,
like the brown pools one sees in the heart of the forests, and her
lips and cheeks cozened the warm vermilion of the rose which lay
ever so lightly on the bosom of her white dress. Close at hand was
a table upon which stood a pitcher of lemonade. She was holding in
her hand an empty glass. As my eyes encountered her calm, inquiring
gaze, my courage fled precipitately, likewise the object of my
errand. There was a pause; diffi-dence and embarrassment on my
side, placidity on hers.
Sir Anthony Hope Hawkins, better known as Anthony Hope, (1863-1933)
was a British novelist and playwright best remembered today for his
novel "The Prisoner of Zenda" (1894), a prequel "The Heart of
Princess Osra" (1896), and a sequel "Rupert of Hentzau" (1898).
These works were all set in the contemporaneous fictional kingdom
of Ruritania.
Sir Anthony Hope Hawkins, better known as Anthony Hope, (1863-1933)
was a British novelist and playwright best remembered today for his
novel "The Prisoner of Zenda" (1894), a prequel "The Heart of
Princess Osra" (1896), and a sequel "Rupert of Hentzau" (1898).
These works were all set in the contemporaneous fictional kingdom
of Ruritania.
|
You may like...
Ab Wheel
R209
R149
Discovery Miles 1 490
Tenet
John David Washington, Robert Pattinson, …
DVD
(1)
R51
Discovery Miles 510
|