This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated.1907 Excerpt: ... And quick to lose what all men seek. "Yet tottering as I am, and weak, Still have I left a little breath To seek within the jaws of death An entrance to that happy place, To seek the unforgotten face Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me Anigh the murmuring of the sea." She ceased her song, that lower for a while And slower too had grown, and a soft smile Grew up within her eyes as still she sung. Then she rose up, and over Hylas hung, For now he slept; wherewith the God in her Consumed the northern robe done round with fur That hid her beauty, and the light west wind Played with her hair no fillet now did bind, And through her faint grey garment her limbs seemed Like ivory in the sea, and the sun gleamed In the strange gems about her middle sweet, And in the jewelled sandals on her feet. So stood she murmuring, till a rippling sound She heard, that grew until she turned her round And saw her other sisters of the deep Her song had called while Hylas yet did sleep, Come swimming in a long line up the stream, And their white dripping arms and shoulders gleam Above the dark grey water as they went, And still before them a great ripple sent. But when they saw her, toward the bank they drew, And landing, felt the grass and flowers blue Against their unused feet; then in a ring Stood gazing with wide eyes, and wondering At all his beauty they desired so much. And then with gentle hands began to touch His hair, his hands, his closed eyes; and at last Their eager naked arms about him cast, And bore him, sleeping still, as by some spell, Unto the depths where they were wont to dwell; Then softly down the reedy bank they slid, And with small noise the gurgling river hid The flushed nymphs and the heedless sleeping man. But ere the water covered them, one ran Acro...
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Book Description
Editorial Reviews
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"More than any of Morris''s seventeen previous novels, the story takes off from the workaday world in search of the ineffable. . . . The question is never deemed worth asking, whether this life was worth living. There is nothing here of the noble Willa Cather nostalgia for a Nebraska full of giants, or the facile Hemingway nostalgia for a Michigan of pliant girls and truly good trout. By the time Floyd is murdered for his watch, he has swollen into a huge and lonely figure. His death can stand for that of the white man''s America, or of the whole human race."—Time
(Time )
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About the Author
One of the most distinguished American authors, Wright Morris (1910-1998) wrote thirty-three books including The Field of Vision, which won the National Book Award.
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