Love. Jp. A. Calosse
speaks: —
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o’er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Aurora and Cephalus
Pierre-Narcisse Guérin, 1811–1814.
Oil on canvas, 257 × 178 cm.
The Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, Moscow.
Juliet.
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
Romeo. [Aside.]
Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
Venus Induces Helen to Fall in Love with Paris
Angelica Kauffmann, 1790.
Oil on canvas, 102 × 127.5 cm.
The State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg.
Juliet.
‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title: – Romeo, doth thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
Perseus and Andromeda
Peter Paul Rubens, c. 1620.
Oil on canvas, 99.5 × 139 cm.
The Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg.
Romeo.
I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptiz’d;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
The Rock of Doom, from the Perseus Series
Edward Burne-Jones, c. 1884–1885.
Gouache on paper, 154 × 128.6 cm.
Southampton City Art Gallery, Southampton.
The Unseen Power
We are the flute, our music is all Thine;
We are the mountains echoing only Thee;
And movest to defeat or victory;
Lions emblazoned high on flags unfurled —
They wind invisible sweeps us through the world.
Eros Flying Is Struck by Psyche’s Beauty
Maurice Denis, 1907–1908.
Oil on canvas, 394 × 269.5 cm.
The State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg.
He touched me, so I live to know
He touched me, so I live to know
That such a day, permitted so,
I groped upon his breast.
It was a boundless place to me,
And silenced, as the awful sea
Puts minor streams to rest.
Pan and Psyche
Edward Burne-Jones, c. 1872–1874.
Oil on canvas, 61 × 54.6 cm.
Private collection.
And now, I’m different from before,
As if I breathed superior air,
Or brushed a royal gown;
My feet, too, that had wandered so,
My gypsy face transfigured now
To tenderer renown.
Eros Finding Psyche
Edward Burne-Jones, 1865.
Watercolor, gouache and pastel on paper stuck on canvas, 70.3 × 48.3 cm.
Manchester City Art Galleries, Manchester.
Ode to Cassandra
Darling, come with me and behold
Whether the rose I saw unfold
For the new sun her crimson gown,
Has not this evening to lament
The loss of all her red raiment,
And colour lovely as your own.
Eros Delivering Psyche
Edward Burne-Jones, 1867.
Gouache, 80 × 91.4 cm.
Hammersmith and Fulham Archives and Local History Centre, London.
Ah! Darling, see how soon, alas!
She loosed her treasures on the grass
Letting them fall on every side!
Nature is well named step-mother
When such a flower unloved by her
Lasts but from morn till even-tide!
Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss
Antonio Canova, 1787–1793.
Marble, 155 × 168 × 101 cm.
Musée du Louvre, Paris.
Therefore, if you believe me, Dear,
The while your life may still appear
Clad in the greenest for its dress,
Gather, O gather all