The American Bibliopolist, Volumes 8-9. N° de ref. de la librería
Sinopsis: This is a reproduction of a book published before 1923. This book may have occasional imperfections such as missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. that were either part of the original artifact, or were introduced by the scanning process. We believe this work is culturally important, and despite the imperfections, have elected to bring it back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide. We appreciate your understanding of the imperfections in the preservation process, and hope you enjoy this valuable book.
Título: The American Bibliopolist, Volumes 8-9
Condición del libro: Good
Descripción RareBooksClub. Paperback. Estado de conservación: New. This item is printed on demand. Paperback. 254 pages. Dimensions: 9.7in. x 7.4in. x 0.5in.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1876 edition. Excerpt: . . . his later life Lord Byron might, without exciting much anxiety on the part of Mr. Thoms, be alive at this moment. He would only be five years older than George Cruikshank. When, on the other hand, the Reviewers scornfully bade Keats go back to his gallipots, the unhappy young man had entered into the advanced stage of pulmonary consumption. When Coleridge once met and shook hands with him in a Highgate lane, he whispered to Leigh Hunt, who was accompanying Keats: There is Death in that hand. He was fully aware of his own approaching end, and when at Rome, finding a drop of blood on his pillow, he said: That is arterial blood: it is my death warrant. I must die. His bodily sufferings were, it is difficult to doubt, aggravated by mental anguish; but the misery of his mind was in all probability due far less to the malevolent criticisms which had appeared on his poems than to the consciousness that he had squandered his inheritance, and that he was succumbing to a mortal disease ere he had done anything worthy of abiding fame. He had, in reality, accomplished only an artistic success in piling together a profusion of exquisitely beautiful images and figures of speech, almost exclusively of a sensuous character. He was continually longing for draughts of Provencal vintage, and dances and songs and sunburnt mirth, for a blushful Hippocrene with purple-stained mouth, and goblets with beaded bubbles winking at the brim; in fact, in the Keats of 1818 there is much to remind us of the Mr. Algernon Swinburne of 1866, but little which presents a parallel to the Mr. Swinburne of Bothwell and Erechtheus. Keats, when his end came, had. . . This item ships from La Vergne,TN. Paperback. Nº de ref. de la librería 9781234310462