Wilhelm Schubert van Ehrenberg Scala Regia at the Vatican 1667 oil on canvas Hamburger Kunsthalle |
Ferdinando Galli-Bibiena Scala Regia (Capriccio) ca. 1690 drawing Morgan Library, New York |
Anonymous Italian Artist Scala Regia, Palazzo Farnese, Caprarola ca. 1550-1600 drawing Kunstmuseum Basel |
Édouard Bouillière Balconies on rue Mage ca. 1932 watercolor and gouache on paper Musée des Augustins de Toulouse |
Lawrence Alma-Tadema The Convalescent 1869 oil on panel Joslyn Art Museum, Omaha |
Dirck van Delen Palatial Interior ca. 1632 oil on panel Národní Galerie, Prague |
Canaletto Partial View of Piazza San Marco, Venice ca. 1735 oil on canvas Deutsche Barockgalerie, Augsburg |
John Rogers Cox Gray and Gold 1942 oil on canvas Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio |
Raphael The Annunciation ca. 1502-1504 tempera on panel, transferred to canvas (predella fragment from altarpiece) Pinacoteca Vaticana, Rome |
Walter Luyken Sculptor's Studio 1835 drawing Museum Het Valkhof, Nijmegen |
Anonymous British Artist Drawing Room at Donavourd House, Perthshire ca. 1860 watercolor Scottish National Gallery, Edinburgh |
Augustin-Alexandre Thierriat Old Woman Spinning 1815 oil on canvas Musée des Beaux-Arts de Lyon |
Edvard Munch Girls on a Bridge 1901 oil on canvas Hamburger Kunsthalle |
Andreas Schelfhout Street in Huy, Belgium ca. 1824-25 oil on panel Teylers Museum, Haarlem |
Egid Schor Quadratura Design for Ceiling Decoration ca. 1700 drawing, with watercolor Hamburger Kunsthalle |
May this fire have driven out
The Shape-Changers that can put
Ruin on a great king's house
Until all be ruinous.
Names whereby a man has known
The threshold and the hearthstone,
The threshold and the hearthstone,
Gather on the wind and drive
The women none can kiss and thrive,
For they are but whirling wind,
Out of memory and mind.
They would make a prince decay
With light images of clay
They would make a prince decay
With light images of clay
Planted in the running wave;
Or, for many shapes they have,
Or, for many shapes they have,
They would change them into hounds
Until he had died of his wounds,
Until he had died of his wounds,
Though the change were but a whim;
Or they'd hurl a spell at him,
That he follow with desire
Bodies that can never tire
Or grow kind, for they anoint
All their bodies, joint by joint,
With a miracle-working juice
With a miracle-working juice
That is made out of the grease
Of the ungoverned unicorn.
But the man is thrice forlorn,
Emptied, ruined, wracked and lost,
That they follow, for at most
That they follow, for at most
They will give him kiss for kiss
While they murmur, 'After this
Hatred may be sweet to the taste.'
While they murmur, 'After this
Hatred may be sweet to the taste.'
– W.B. Yeats (1906)