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| Carl Heinrich Bloch Actor Kristian Mantzius in his study 1853 oil on canvas Hirschsprung Collection, Copenhagen |
When we have ceased to care
The Gift is given
For which we gave the Earth
And mortgaged Heaven
But so declined in worth
'Tis ignominy now
To look upon –
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| Ferdinand von Rayski Portrait of Count Haubold von Einsiedel 1855 oil on canvas Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin |
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| Gustave Courbet The Mediterranean 1857 oil on canvas Phillips Collection, Washington DC |
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| Camille Pissarro Still-life with peonies and mock orange ca. 1872-77 oil on canvas Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam |
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| Max Liebermann Orphan Girls in Amsterdam 1876 oil on canvas Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin |
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| Lawrence Alma-Tadema Cleopatra 1877 oil on panel Auckland Art Gallery, New Zealand |
Her face was in a bed of hair,
Like flowers in a plot –
Her hand was whiter than the sperm
That feeds the sacred light.
Her tongue more tender than the tune
That totters in the leaves –
Who hears may be incredulous,
Who witnesses, believes.
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| Auguste Renoir Bouquet in a vase 1878 oil on canvas Indianapolis Museum of Art |
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| Ernst Josephson Water Sprite 1882 oil on canvas Nationalmuseum, Stockholm |
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| John Everett Millais The Captive 1882 oil on canvas Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Edward Burne-Jones The Wheel of Fortune 1883 oil on canvas Musée d'Orsay, Paris |
The joy that has no stem nor core,
Nor seed that we can sow,
Is edible to longing,
But ablative to show.
By fundamental palates
Those products are preferred
Impregnable to transit
And patented by pod.
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| Adolph Menzel Decorating an Altar 1885 bodycolor British Museum |
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| George Hendrik Breitner Reclining Nude ca. 1887 oil on canvas Gemeentemuseum, The Hague |
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| Charles Louis Verboeckhoven Harbor by Night before 1889 oil on canvas Hermitage, Saint Petersburg |
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| John William Waterhouse Circe Invidiosa 1892 oil on canvas Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide |
Did life's penurious length
Italicize its sweetness,
The men that daily live
Would stand so deep in joy
That it would clog the cogs
Of that revolving reason
Whose esoteric belt
Protects our sanity.
– poems are by Emily Dickinson, edited by R.W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1998)