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                                   THE COLOUR OF LIFE 



time。    It was large; and of a dark cast; and glowed (I say literally glowed) 

when he spoke with feeling or interest。             The eye alone; I think; indicated 

the poetical character and temperament。〃 No eye literally glows; but some 

eyes are polished a little more; and reflect。             And this is the utmost that 

can possibly have been true as to the eyes of Burns。                  But set within the 

meanings       of  impetuous     eyelids    the  lucidity   of   the  dark   eyes    seemed 

broken; moved; directed into fiery shafts。 

     See; too; the reproach of little; sharp; grey eyes addressed to Hazlitt。 

There are neither large nor small eyes; say physiologists; or the difference 

is so small as to be negligeable。          But in the eyelids the difference is great 

between   large   and   small;      and   also   between    the   varieties   of  largeness。 

Some   have   large   openings;   and   some   are   in   themselves   broad   and   long; 

serenely covering eyes called small。             Some have far more drawing than 

others; and interesting foreshortenings and sweeping curves。 

     Where else is spirit so evident?          And where else is it so spoilt? There 

is no vulgarity like the vulgarity of vulgar eyelids。             They have a slang all 

their own; of an intolerable kind。           And eyelids have looked all the cruel 

looks     that  have    ever   made    wounds      in  innocent     souls   meeting     them 

surprised。 

     But all love and all genius have winged their flight from those slight 

and   unmeasurable   movements;   have   flickered   on   the   margins   of   lovely 

eyelids   quick   with   thought。     Life;   spirit;   sweetness   are   there   in   a   small 

place; using the finest and the slenderest machinery; expressing meanings 

a   whole   world   apart;   by   a   difference   of   material   action   so   fine   that   the 

sight    which    appreciates     it  cannot    detect   it;  expressing     intricacies   of 

intellect; so incarnate in slender   and sensitive   flesh that   nowhere else   in 

the body of man is flesh so spiritual。 



     End of The   Project   Gutenberg   Etext   of The   Colour   of   Life   by Alice 

Meynell 



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