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Updated: July 2, 2025
Carlo bowed with a smile, and hastily said: "And are you ignorant, your eminence, that a much greater poetess and improvisatrice than our Corilla is in your society?" The cardinal smilingly threatened him with his finger. "Poor Carlo, has it already come to this?" said he. "You are jealous of our delight in Corilla, and would lessen her fame, that you may make her more your own!"
"Really," cried Goethe, laughing, "the king is an ingenious and extraordinary man in every thing, and no one is like him." "No one is like him, and no one would have treated me as he did. I addressed to him a poem, begging him with true inspiration and emotion to let a German poetess find favor in his sight and that he would be for me a Maecenas, if I were not a Horace.
London kills Nataly as well as Fredi and me: that is I can use the words to you I get back to primal innocence in the country. We all three have the feeling. You're a man to understand. My beasts, and the wild flowers, hedge-banks, and stars. Fredi's poetess will tell you. Quiet waters reflecting. I should feel it in Paris as well, though they have nightingales in their Bois.
Then she turned round to appeal to an American gentleman who had joined them, and Mr. Glascock made his escape. "I hold it to be the holiest duty which I owe to my country never to spare one of them when I meet him." "They are all very well in their way," said the American gentleman. "Down with them, down with them!" exclaimed the poetess, with a beautiful enthusiasm. In the meantime Mr.
A poetess, who looked forth from Casa Guidi windows upon the tragi-comedy of Florentine failure in those years, wrote that what was needed was a firmer union, a more practical and intelligent activity, on the part both of the people and of the future leader: A land's brotherhood Is most puissant: men, upon the whole, Are what they can be, nations, what they would.
In the society of those with whom she had no interest in common she well describes her state as feeling herself more alone than when alone. There was much to try her in the curiosity which prompted so many to call upon the strange poetess; but she treated this experience in a cheerful manner.
"And that you call honest!" cried the poetess, hitting the praetor a blow with the stick of the ostrich-feather fan she held in her hand. "Only listen, Lucilla, your husband declares he came here for my sake." The praetor looked reproachfully at the speaker, but she whispered: "Due punishment for a dishonest man."
The mother-in-law is a thing of beauty and a joy forever, compared to the mannish woman; the female book-agent takes on new lustre and even the poetess is a desirable companion beside her. The mannish woman wears a coat and vest and no, she doesn't wear trousers, because she doesn't dare, but a vertical strip of braid down the middle of her skirt suggests the effect.
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