 | The Germ, Issue #4: Art and Poetry: Being Thoughts towards Nature |  |
A Dance of Nymphs, by Andrea Mantegna; in the Louvre.
(*** It is necessary to mention, that this picture would appear to have been in the artist's mind an allegory, which the modern spectator may seek vainly to interpret.)
Scarcely, I think; yet it indeed may be
The meaning reached him, when this music rang
Sharp through his brain, a distinct rapid pang,
And he beheld these rocks and that ridg'd sea.
But I believe he just leaned passively,
And felt their hair carried across his face
As each nymph passed him; nor gave ear to trace
How many feet, nor bent assuredly
His eyes from the blind fixedness of thought
To see the dancers. It is bitter glad
Even unto tears. Its meaning filleth it,
A portion of most secret life: to wit:
Each human pulse shall keep the sense it had
With all, though the mind's labour run to nought.
The meaning reached him, when this music rang
Sharp through his brain, a distinct rapid pang,
And he beheld these rocks and that ridg'd sea.
But I believe he just leaned passively,
And felt their hair carried across his face
As each nymph passed him; nor gave ear to trace
How many feet, nor bent assuredly
His eyes from the blind fixedness of thought
To see the dancers. It is bitter glad
Even unto tears. Its meaning filleth it,
A portion of most secret life: to wit:
Each human pulse shall keep the sense it had
With all, though the mind's labour run to nought.
| The Germ, Issue #4: Art and Poetry: Being Thoughts towards Nature | |