Wednesday, January 21, 2009

"We know it is not true, but it is sweet..."

To hear you ask if I shall love always,
And myself answer: Till the end of days;

To feel your easeful sigh of happiness
When on your trembling lips I murmur: Yes;

It is so sweet. We know it is not true.
What matters it? The night must shed her dew.

We know it is not true, but it is sweet—
The poem with this music is complete.

From "Romance" by Claude McKay, 1922. Complete poem at Poetry Foundation.

Lovers in the Countryside, Gustave Courbet, 1844. Image from Web Gallery of Art.


Perfumeshrine said...

Love the painting!

So sweet little lies, yeah? :-)

BitterGrace said...

Or big lies. The woman in that painting is Virginie Binet. Courbet had a child with her, and then pretty much discarded both of them. I have read that he even painted her out of some works for which she had posed.

Mary said...

That was from his romantic period, before he turned to realism. He was a magnificent artist, but was so in love with himself. I imagine he probably dispensed quickly with any woman who took the focus off himself.

BitterGrace said...

Was he as handsome as he depicts himself? If so, I'm sure his partners all had a good time while it lasted.

Mary said...

Judging from his self portraits, he was quite a looker. But he probably was a jerk.

BitterGrace said...

Well, at least Virginie probably got a good-looking kid out of the deal. Their son had a short life, though, according to this article:

Larger than Life

Perfumeshrine said...

Oh gosh, that's so sad. I had read he was a womaniser, but discarding his own child...harsh and cruel, don't you think.