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About his path and about his bed, around his ears and under his eyes, an infinite play of spiritual life seethed and swarmed or shone and sang. To this strange artist-poet, in whose powerful but fantastic mind fact and imagination were inextricably blended, whose most intimate friends could not tell where talent ended and hallucination began, whom Wordsworth delighted in, and whose conversation in any country walk is described as having a marvellous power of kindling the imagination, and of making nature itself seem strangely more spiritual, almost as if a new sense had awakened in the mind of his hearer to William Blake the theories of Berkeley supplied a philosophy which exactly suited him.
Spence, from the fact that from the standpoint of the picturesque and romantic everything was on the side of the artist-poet. Tall, dashing, handsome, and brilliant, he was adapted and doubtless accustomed to carry hearts by storm. No woman could receive his admiring glances without that slight thrill and flutter of the heart which proves the presence of a fascinating man.
He assented, and the awkward pause that followed was relieved by the entrance, at the same moment, of Aunt Helen and Mr. Barr, though not in company it need scarcely be added. Aunt Helen was in one of her richest and most imposing street costumes, whereas the artist-poet wore black velveteen instead of brown, and a flowing yellow tie instead of a cherry one.
Besides this, those 'earthly charms and graces, which made Reynolds' style such an abomination to the delicate spiritual perceptions of the artist-poet Blake, were by no means calculated to create any elevated ideal among his countrymen of what Christian art should be.
I went down to my carriage with one on either hand, the artist-poet pouring out a flood of words which I scarcely heeded, while Mr. Spence in an occasional monosyllable endeavored to express the hope that he might meet me again. Just as I reached the threshold a superb rose, which had been the only ornament of my costume, chanced to fall from my corsage on the marble floor. It lay nearest to Mr.
She would have earlier indicated her disapproval had the artist-poet been the offender, for his glances had been unmistakable in their direction from the first. I felt in no wise to blame.
'If you want me to weep, said the old artist-poet, 'there must be tears in your own eyes. If you want me to believe, you yourself must be aflame with conviction which has penetrated to the very marrow of your bones.
Thackeray was a poet, and as such was often caught in the toils of doubt the crux of the inquiring spirit. He aspired for better things, and at times his imperfections stood out before him in monstrous shape, and he sought to hiss them down. In the heart of the artist-poet there is an Inmost Self that sits over against the acting, breathing man and passes judgment on his every deed.
Meanwhile everybody ate with appetite of the good things provided; and the artist-poet, as though to show his contempt for the doctrines of moderation, helped himself again and again from a crystal pitcher of claret-cup that was at his elbow. Of a sudden, to my great consternation, Mr. Spence looked directly at me and said, "Paris?" All my ideas seemed to desert me on the spot.
Spence looked bewildered; and as for me I was inwardly convulsed, so much so that I betrayed my feelings in a smile at the moment when Paul Barr was reciting a bloodcurdling piece of poetry of his own composing, an indiscretion which offended the artist-poet to such an extent that in my efforts to mollify him I failed to catch Mr. Spence's reply.
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