Fine Books Auction, September 28, 1995
Metropolitan Book Auction, New York, 1995, Wraps, , , Very Good
29 pp. 586 items. A postcard-size print of Hirschfield's Harlem as Seen by Hirschfield (1940) tipped onto front cover. Light wear to wraps, PO has written a lot number on TP, else fine. Over 80 illustrations in black and white, including 20 of Japanese woodblocks. Contents include Art and Architecture, Books/Miscellaneous, Leather bindings, John Fletcher Hurst, Literature, Judaica, Erotica, Prints, Original Art, Maxfield Parrish, Ephemera, Maps and Atlases, Americana, Travel and Exploration, Science and Technology, Colorplate Books, Japanese Woodblock, Photography, Autographs and Manuscripts.
Cabinet of American Illustration, Cartoon Drawings: Swann Collection of Caricature and Cartoon, Civil War Photographs Civil War Photographs, Drawings (Master),Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Color Photographs, Fine Prints Fine Prints, Posters: Performing Arts Posters, Stereograph Cards Stereograph Cards, Daguerreotypes, Fenton Crimean War Photographs, Fine Prints: Japanese, pre-1915, Lomax Collection, Panoramic Photographs, Thesaurus For Graphic Materials, Van Vechten Collection, Wright Brothers Negatives, and much more.
"NYU Bobst Library, NYU Institute of Fine Arts, NYU Courant Institute of Mathematical Sciences, NYU Real Estate Institute, The New-York Historical Society, New York School of Interior Design, Cooper Union, New School University, Parsons School of Design, Mannes College of Music."
I do not count the hours I spend In wandering by the sea; The forest is my loyal friend, Like God it useth me. In plains that room for shadows make Of skirting hills to lie, Bound in by streams which give and take Their colors from the sky; Or on the mountain-crest sublime, Or down the oaken glade, O what have I to do with time? For this the day was made. Cities of mortals woe-begone Fantastic care derides, But in the serious landscape lone Stern benefit abides. Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy, And merry is only a mask of sad, But, sober on a fund of joy, The woods at heart are glad. There the great Planter plants Of fruitful worlds the grain, And with a million spells enchants The souls that walk in pain. Still on the seeds of all he made The rose of beauty burns; Through times that wear and forms that fade, Immortal youth returns. The black ducks mounting from the lake, The pigeon in the pines, The bittern's boom, a desert make Which no false art refines. Down in yon watery nook, Where bearded mists divide, The gray old gods whom Chaos knew, The sires of Nature, hide. Aloft, in secret veins of air, Blows the sweet breath of song, O, few to scale those uplands dare, Though they to all belong! See thou bring not to field or stone The fancies found in books; Leave authors' eyes, and fetch your own, To brave the landscape's looks. Oblivion here thy wisdom is, Thy thrift, the sleep of cares; For a proud idleness like this Crowns all thy mean affairs.Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882]