El mito de Psyquis: (Un cuento de niños, una tradición simbólica y un estudio sobre el problema fundamental de la filosofía)Henrich y ca, 1908 - 339 Seiten |
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afirma Agni agora alma animal Apuleyo Aristóteles Asno de Oro assi atque Caballero del Cisne causa ches ciencia ción comedia concepto Conde conocimiento cosas cuerpo Cupido decir dice divina doctrina EDAD 3.a eius Escoto Eriúgena esencia esposo estaba etiam existe existencia fábula de Psyquis fenómeno filosofía Flor de Amores fuego Gandharvas habia hæc hermanas hermoso hermosura hijo idea illa inquit intuición Júpiter Kant leyenda libación llama llega Lohengrin luego Madrid manera marido maritus materia mente Metaph miento mihi mito de Psyquis Molière mujer mundo nombre noúmeno objeto obra obsiz Oldenberg pág págs Paris Partinuplés passado pensamiento Platón poema præ principio prorsus protinus Psiches Psyche Psyque Psyquis Purûravas quæ quam Quid quidem quod representación Rig-Veda saber Schopenhauer Sexto Empírico simbólica Sócrates sustancia tibi Trad tuæ Tunc universal Urvasi Véase Venus voluntad καὶ τὸ
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 88 - Olympus' faded hierarchy! Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region'd star, Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky; Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none, Nor altar heap'd with flowers; Nor Virgin-choir to make delicious moan Upon the midnight hours; No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet From chain-swung censer teeming; No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
Seite 87 - Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed, Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian, They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass ; Their arms embraced, and their pinions too ; Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu, As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber, And ready still past kisses to outnumber At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love : The winged boy I knew ; But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove? His Psyche true ! O latest born and loveliest vision far Of all Olympus
Seite 88 - So let me be thy choir, and make a moan Upon the midnight hours; Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet From swinged censer teeming; Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming. Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane In some untrodden region of my mind, Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain, Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind: Far, far around shall those...
Seite 232 - Bedenke wohl die erste Zeile, Daß deine Feder sich nicht übereile! Ist es der Sinn, der alles wirkt und schafft? Es sollte stehn: Im Anfang war die Kraft! Doch auch indem ich dieses niederschreibe, Schon warnt mich was, daß ich dabei nicht bleibe. Mir hilft der Geist! auf einmal seh...
Seite 89 - And in the midst of this wide quietness A rosy sanctuary will I dress With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain, With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign, Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same: And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!
Seite 87 - Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung Even into thine own soft-conched ear: Surely I dreamt today, or did I see The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes?
Seite 82 - De la compassion les chagrins innocents M'en ont fait sentir la puissance ; Mais je n'ai point encor senti ce que je sens. Je ne sais ce que c'est, mais je sais qu'il me charme, Que je n'en conçois point d'alarme; Plus j'ai les yeux sur vous, plus je m'en sens charmer. Tout ce que j'ai senti...
Seite 82 - Hélas ! plus ils sont dangereux, Plus je me plais à m'attacher sur eux. Par quel ordre du ciel, que je ne puis comprendre, Vous dis-je plus que je ne dois...
Seite 256 - Ei par che voi veggiate, se ben odo, Dinanzi quel che il tempo seco adduce, E nel presente tenete altro modo. Noi veggiam, come quei ch...
Seite 88 - Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming. 0 brightest! though too late for antique vows, Too, too late for the fond believing lyre, When holy were the haunted forest boughs, Holy the air, the water, and the fire; Yet even in these days so far retir'd...