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Updated: May 14, 2025
How many of us are there with whom law-abiding habits, decorous respectability, form but a thin covering of ice over unplumbed depths of lawless desire?
He saw the other competitors, whose 'exhibits, as Miss McCabe called them, were securely stored in the George Washington strange spoils of far-off mysterious forests, and unplumbed waters of the remotest isles. Occasionally a barbaric yap, or a weird yell or hoot, was wafted on the air at feeding time.
His silences had not proceeded from the unplumbed depths of his knowledge. He merely had nothing to say. She learned, too, that the ten thousand dollars, soon dispelled, had been made for him by an energetic and shrewd business partner with whom he had quarrelled and from whom he had separated a few months before. There never was another lump sum of ten thousand of Hermie Slocum's earning. Well.
He saw the glamor, the humor, the tragedy, the contrasts, the emotional depths that lay unplumbed beneath it all. He fixed it there for all time, for all hearts and minds everywhere. His songs are not only the pictorial canvas of that time, they are the emotional history of the times.
While for her?... She was an alien, a mere tourist, a looker-on; the daughter of a millionaire who came to Rhodesia for wealth, and gave how little in return! He might look at the tender outline of the lovely mountain with the glad, restful consciousness of work well done. She could only look at it with that ache of divine discontent: unplumbed, wordless longing.
The music of "Daphnis," from the very moment of the introduction with its softly unfolding chords, its far, glamorous fanfares, its human throats swollen with songs, seems to thrust open doors into the unplumbed caverns of the soul, and summon forth the stuff to shape the dream.
It is said that a poet has died young in the breast of the most stolid. Justice is not done to the versatility and the unplumbed childishness of man's imagination.
He was happy with a miserable fluctuating happiness. Of a sudden his horizon was enlarged, but as he gazed it seemed to narrow again. His mind was still unplumbed; somewhere in its depths might lie the shrinking and unwillingness which would bind him to the dreary present. He went out to the autumn hills and sought the ridge which runs for miles on the lip of the glen.
The Goose Man bent over him, and crouched up nearer to his body like an animal trying to get warm. “Come out of the convulsion,” something cried and exhorted within him, “break your chains! Your music can give men nothing so long as you yourself are held captive. Feel their distress! Have pity on their unplumbed loneliness! Behold mankind! Behold it!”
The man was extraordinarily efficient on a platform. There were unplumbed depths of emotion in his eye, a juicy sentiment in his voice, an overpowering tenderness in his manner, which gave to politics the glamour of a revival meeting. He wallowed in obvious pathos, and his hearers, often unwillingly, wallowed with him.
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