{"content":[{"text":"THIS BOOK","bbox":{"left":0.147255,"top":0.110703,"width":0.11664100000000002,"height":0.01800199999999999}},{"text":"I","bbox":{"left":0.147255,"top":0.167673,"width":0.0071350000000000025,"height":0.01800199999999999}},{"text":"I have desired, like every artist, to create a little world out of the \n beautiful, pleasant, and significant things of this marred and clumsy \n world, and to show in a vision something of the face of Ireland to any \n of my own people who would look where I bid them. I have therefore \n written down accurately and candidly much that I have heard and seen, \n and, except by way of commentary, nothing that I have merely imagined. \n I have, however, been at no pains to separate my own beliefs from those \n of the peasantry, but have rather let my men and women, dhouls and \n faeries, go their way unoffended or defended by any argument of mine. \n The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull \n them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can \n weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too \n have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, \n and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me.","bbox":{"left":0.147255,"top":0.205552,"width":0.693169,"height":0.264062}},{"text":"Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has \n built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out \n their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved \n daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a little.","bbox":{"left":0.147255,"top":0.489491,"width":0.678866,"height":0.07497199999999993}},{"text":"1893.","bbox":{"left":0.147255,"top":0.603128,"width":0.049998000000000015,"height":0.018001999999999962}},{"text":"II","bbox":{"left":0.147255,"top":0.678885,"width":0.015371999999999997,"height":0.018001999999999962}},{"text":"I have added a few more chapters in the manner of the old ones, and \n would have added others, but one loses, as one grows older, something \n of the lightness of one's dreams; one begins to take life up in both \n hands, and to care more for the fruit than the flower, and that is no \n great loss per haps. In these new chapters, as in the old ones, I have \n invented nothing but my comments and one or two deceitful sentences \n that may keep some poor story-teller's commerce with the devil and his \n angels, or the like, from being known among his neighbours. I shall \n publish in a little while a big book about the commonwealth of faery, \n and shall try to make it systematical and learned enough to buy pardon","bbox":{"left":0.147255,"top":0.716764,"width":0.6777529999999999,"height":0.188608}}],"images_bbox":[],"images_bbox_not_text_overlap":[]}