Word: lilted
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...some further genially wacky escapism. But she has not pulled another rabbit out of her hat or even put enough bees in Tallulah's bonnet. Her sort of nursery-rhyme old crone scampering upstairs, downstairs and in my lady's chamber has in places a nursery-rhyme lilt, but far too often a thin, struggling farce's laboredness. The kinfolk and clubwomen who keep trooping in and out make the struggle even harder. The play has charming moments, but only moments; flashes of bright Harveyesque humor, but only flashes...
Gradually his primitivism disappeared, but no matter how mature his brush became or how rich his palette, his paintings never lost their Oriental lilt. His women were sensuous and thoroughly American, but they were nearly always by themselves, sad and impassive. What impressed him about the West was not its crops and bellowing herds, but sullen stillness before a prairie storm or an eerie milk train passing in the night. Kuniyoshi's America seemed to have neither skyscraper nor factory. It was a land where fantasy stretched from horizon to horizon and a child played mindlessly in the ruins...
...mood of expectancy swept through Washington. It lurked in the crowded corridors of the Capitol Building, where returning Congressmen jostled painters touching up the Brumidi frescoes, buzzed through the downtown Democratic clubs and patronage offices, rang out in the lilt of High Hopes and Walking Down to Washington among the New Year's Eve dancers at Chevy Chase Club and in the jammed hotel ballrooms. Along Pennsylvania Avenue, workmen rushed new tiers of spectator stands for John Fitzgerald Kennedy's inaugural parade, and the requests for tickets reached blizzard stage...
...objective, unornamented, elliptic. Dante, the medieval troubadours, and his pet hate-love Whitman had been his tutors, but he had done the homework of craftsmanship. (In one undergraduate year he had written a sonnet a day.) Though stripped for action, many of Pound's lines still retained the lilt of romance. In An Immorality, he wrote...
...those towns and hills and groves last week the splendor of a new summer seemed, as always, to give a new lilt to life. The hills and fields triumphed with fresh green grass. In the old towns, the giant oaks and elms threw rich new shade across the white colonial mansions and the square, peaked-roofed clapboard houses. In fresh-minted subdivisions, sycamore striplings strained at their stakes to promise token cover for the bare houses of glass, steel, stone and shingle that have sprouted (19 million since 1940) as from a bottomless nest of Chinese boxes. School buses headed...