There are, again, some arts which employ all the means above mentioned, namely, rhythm
, tune, and metre.
The morning was hot, and the exercise of reading left her mind contracting and expanding like the main-spring of a clock, and the small noises of midday, which one can ascribe to no definite cause, in a regular rhythm
I could not say why "Harold the Dauntless" most took my fancy; the fine, strongly flowing rhythm
of the verse had a good deal to do with it, I believe.
Saintsbury has made to give technical rules of metre for the production of the true prose rhythm
They laid hands upon Tarzan and bore him forth, and as they chanted they kept time with their crooked bodies, swaying to and fro to the rhythm
of their song of blood and death.
The beating of the drum was in a slow, ponderous cadence, at first without time but presently settling into a heavy rhythm
to which the apes kept time with measured tread and swaying bodies.
Electric lights sparkled from the ceiling, through the pillared way the ceaseless splashing of water from the fountains in the winter garden seemed like a soft undernote to the murmur of voices, the musical peals of laughter, the swirl of skirts, and the rhythm
of flying feet.
But we Folk of the Younger World lacked speech, and whenever we were so drawn together we precipitated babel, out of which arose a unanimity of rhythm
that contained within itself the essentials of art yet to come.
And while "Red Wing" screeched its cheap and pretty rhythm
, he reclined elbow on deck, smoked his cigar, and gathered Jerry into caressing inclosure.
But he had caught hints of such music from the books, and he accepted her playing largely on faith, patiently waiting, at first, for the lifting measures of pronounced and simple rhythm
, puzzled because those measures were not long continued.
There was a correspondence in rhythm
between the growls and the movements of the man's hands.
There was a blurred rhythm
in all the dull city noises-- in the clatter of the cab horses and the rumbling of the busses, in the street calls, and in the undulating tramp, tramp of the crowd.
The Woggle-Bug read his "Ode to Ozma," which was written in very good rhythm
and was well received by the company.
If consciousness is the product of rhythm
all things ARE conscious, for all have motion, and all motion is rhythmic.
We are singing a rollicking sea song, all save one who sits on the ground and weeps; and we are marking the rhythm
with waving square faces.