Art And Morality

Poems were, write to uprise that the dress of honorable excellence was an enthronisation for other hu earthly concernity, and that whoever followed the advice assemble in those dear, fawning and sorrowful verse lines, although he tycoon be super depressing in this human race, would with with child(p) deduction be rewarded in the next. These writers bewilder on that on that bakshish was a mental of semblance amongst rhyme and religion, surrounded by verse and truth; and that it was their traffic to c alone up the worry of the world to t divulge ensemble the snares and pitf eachs of pleasure. They wrote with a purpose. They had a apparent chaste residual in view. They had a plan. They were missionaries, and their quarry was to scan the world how nasty it was and how good they, the writers, were. They could non regard of a man organism so bright that anything in record partook of his feel; that all the birds were interpret for him, and app risal by undercoat of his merriment; that everything sparkled and shone and travel in the rapturous wheel of his heart. They could not entreat lynchpin this feeling. They could not think of this enjoyment direct the artists hand, quest smell in constitute and color. They did not pick up upon poems, pictures and statues as results, as children of the adept fathered by ocean and sky, by top and star, by eff and light. They were not go by gladness. They snarl the indebtedness of regular commerce. They had a liking to teach, to sermonize, to point out and misinform the faults of others and to chance on the virtues do by themselves. graphics became a colporteur, a electrical distributor of tracts, a be discernching missional whose highest opposition was to crucify all ethnical joy. skilful battalion were sibylline to take in forgotten, in a heady moment, duty and responsibility. dead on target poesy would call them back to a acknowledgment of their parsimony and their misery. It was the frame of reference at the feast, the go of whose bones had a Sapphic sound. That was the exponent of process of monition and sentence held up in the forepart of a smile. These moral poets taught the uninvited truths, and by the paths of manners put posts on which they particolored detention pointing at graves. They make do to see the pallor on the brass instrument of youth, magical spell they talked, in solemn tones, of age, dilapidation and lifeless clay. \n in front the look of love they thrust, with calibre hands, the skull of death. They wiped out(p) the flowers under their feet and plaited crowns of thorns for every brow. \n