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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Now bind it up for me, Alice; it has run to its tether." The glossy tower was roped with sequins, the bride was ready. Alice adored her. "Come and meet the bridegroom," said she. Prosper watched them coming over the sunny plat. He was not lettered, yet he should have heard the whisper of the Amorist "Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair, thou hast dove's eyes."
One knows it so well, that particular tone; the tone of the jaded amorist, for whom "the unspeakable rural solitudes" and "the sweet security of streets" mean, both of them, boredom and desolation. It is not their subtlety that makes them thus suffer; it is their lack of it. What?
"A knowledge of anatomy doesn't keep a broken bone from hurting," said she, "and all even you know about love won't keep off the heartache. I could have told you that long ago." "I know I'm a fool," he said, "but I can't help it. Sometimes I think I wouldn't help it if I could." "I know," she said, and something in her voice touched the trained sensibilities of the Amorist.
There followed the dedication to the Earl of Venus and Adonis; a poem likely to please any young amorist . Mr. Greenwood cries out at the audacity of a player dedicating to an Earl, without even saying that he has asked leave to dedicate. The mere fact that the dedication was accepted, and followed by that of Lucrece, proves that the Earl did not share the surprise of Mr. Greenwood.
This draining the secret wine of the great embalmed Sarcophagi of Thought is his Life-Lure, his secret madness, his grand obsession. Walter Pater approaches a System of Metaphysical Thought as a somewhat furtive amorist might approach a sleeping Nymph.
Frizzy straight-cut masses that would have charmed Rossetti abounded, and one gentleman, who was pointed out to Graham under the mysterious title of an "amorist", wore his hair in two becoming plaits a la Marguerite. The pigtail was in evidence; it would seem that citizens of Chinese extraction were no longer ashamed of their race.
He was not a professional amorist and, although not a puritan, would never set himself deliberately to make love to a married woman under her husband's roof. He was fond of Mrs. Norton as a sister, he thought. She was a delightful friend, a real pal, so understanding, so companionable, he said to himself frequently. It had not occurred to him that his feelings for her might be love.
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