File:The Savoy (1896) (14595747198).jpg

Identifier: savoy02symo (find matches)
Title: The Savoy
Year: 1896 (1890s)
Authors: Symons, Arthur, 1865-1945 Beardsley, Aubrey, 1872-1898
Subjects: English literature Literature, Modern Art
Publisher: London, L. Smithers
Contributing Library: Philadelphia Museum of Art, Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Lyrasis Members and Sloan Foundation

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ry. He always sang of God under this symbol: For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is God Our Father dear ;And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is man, His child and care. For Mercy has a human heart; Pity a human face ;And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress. Then every man of every clime, That prays in his distress,Prays to the human form divine— Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. Whenever he gave this symbol a habitation in space he set it in the sun, thefather of light and life ; and set in the darkness beyond the stars, where lightand life die away, Og and Anak and the giants that were of old, and theiron throne of Satan. By thus contrasting Blake and Dante by the light of Blakes paradoxicalwisdom, and as though there was no great truth hung from Dantes beam ofthe balance, I but seek to interpret a little-understood philosophy ratherthan one incorporate in the thought and habits of Christendom. Everyphilosophy has half its truth from times and generations ; and to us one half
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BLAKES ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE DIVINE COMEDY 33 of the philosophy of Dante is less living than his poetry; while the truthBlake preached, and sang, and painted, is the root of the cultivated life, of thefragile perfect blossom of the world born in ages of leisure and peace, andnever yet to last more than a little season ; the life those Phaeacians—who toldOdysseus that they had set their hearts in nothing but in the dance, andchanges of raiment, and love and sleep—lived before Poseidon heaped amountain above them ; the lives of all who, having eaten of the tree of life,love, more than the barbarous ages when none had time to live, the minuteparticulars of life, the little fragments of space and time, which are whollyflooded by beautiful emotion because they are so little they are hardly oftime and space at all. Every space smaller than a globule of mans blood,he wrote, opens into eternity of which this vegetable earth is but a shadow.And again, Every time less than a pulsation of the

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