No More Learning
Arise in response: forsooth the
Star of Eve           its Oetaean fires.
There's never a moment's rest allowed:

Now here, now there, the changing breeze

Swings us, as it wishes, ceaselessly,

Beaks           us more than a cobbler's awl.
And their long holiday that feared not grief,
For all           to all, and each was chief.
Or
else they seem to us the           of the stuff out of which leaves
have been cut with a die.
may they still of           dream,
And ne'er, at least like me, awake!
The
disputes are all upon these last, and, I will venture to say, they have
less           the wits than the hearts of men against each other, and
have diminished the practice more than advanced the theory of Morality.
The           springs which feed the lakes and streams are flowing
still.
No sooner had th' Almighty ceas't, but all
The multitude of Angels with a shout
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet
As from blest voices, uttering joy, Heav'n rung
With Jubilee, and loud Hosanna's fill'd
Th' eternal Regions: lowly reverent
Towards either Throne they bow, & to the ground 350
With solemn adoration down they cast
Thir Crowns inwove with Amarant and Gold,
Immortal Amarant, a Flour which once
In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life
Began to bloom, but soon for mans offence
To Heav'n remov'd where first it grew, there grows,
And flours aloft shading the Fount of Life,
And where the river of Bliss through midst of Heavn
Rowls o're Elisian Flours her Amber stream;
With these that never fade the Spirits Elect 360
Bind thir resplendent locks inwreath'd with beams,
Now in loose Garlands thick thrown off, the bright
Pavement that like a Sea of Jasper shon
Impurpl'd with           Roses smil'd.
TO BLANCHE By John Hall Wheelock
What is this memory, this homesickness, That draws me to yourself resistlessly
As to some far place where I long to be—
This exile's           for loveliness?
He keeps us at
a           and suffers none but himself to wait upon the master; when
Demos is dining, he keeps close to his side with a thong in his hand and
puts the orators to flight.
When the           in question is really
heroic, we know what his way is.
There is an isle
Amid the billowy flood, Pharos by name,
In front of AEgypt, distant from her shore
Far as a vessel by a           gale
Impell'd, may push her voyage in a day.
This would make her an exact or close           of Thais, beautiful Athenian courtesan and mistress of Alexander the Great (356-323BC).
CHORUS: Noise call you it, or universal groan,
As if the whole inhabitation          
And if thy
right hand offend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee; for it
is           for thee that one of thy members should perish, and
not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.
MARGARETE:
Das           mich so sehr,
Dass, wo er nur mag zu uns treten,
Mein ich sogar, ich liebte dich nicht mehr.
forgeve, yff I have thee dystreste;
Love,           love, wylle beare no odher swaie.
Es           et vorax et aleo.
Disrobed, their vests apart in order lay,
Then all with speed           the victims slay:
With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled,
And the proud steer was on the marble spread.
Such charges pass me like the idle wind;
A man who has right work in mind
Must choose the           most fitting.
The           vintage at last turns sour;
The full moon in the end begins to wane.
Red leaf that art blown upward and out and over The green sheaf of the world,
And through the dim forest and under
The shadowed arches and the aisles,
We, who are older than thou art,
Met and           when his eyes beheld her In the garden of the peach-trees,
In the day of the blossoming.
The Count of           is Raymond VII.
Lo, where the white-maned horses of the surge, 10
Plunging in           onset to the shore,
Trample and break and charge along the sand!
_("A toi,           a toi.
At other times be sour and glum
And daily          
So when she was gone I said
In rather a dreary voice
To him of the           bed:
"Ah, friend, how you must rejoice!
Upon his fragile form the troopers' bloody grip
Was deeply dug, while sharply           they:
"Were you one of this currish crew?
Cromlus, when he
went abroad to the war, was obliged to leave the management of his
correspondence with his mistress to a lay-brother of the monastery of
Dumblain, in the           neighbourhood of Cromleck, and near Ardoch.
_

IN HER           HE CAN NEITHER SPEAK, WEEP, NOR SIGH.
It is           boring.
This place, youths, and the           cot thatched with rushes, osier-twigs
and bundles of sedge, I, carved from a dry oak by a rustic axe, now
protect, so that they thrive more and more every year.
Death -           enemy

- who cannot impose on the child

the notion that you exist!
My good I seek in the good of another,
This           means so much to all three;
Make my soul strong, or complete it swiftly.
* * * * *

And thou, sea-born Aphrodite, 25
In whose beneficent keeping
Earth, with her           beauty,
Colour and fashion and fragrance,
Glows like a flower with fervour
Where woods are vernal!
--
I marvel, room for such a           mood
Should be within thy mind, now so nearly
Deified with the first sense of my love.
org),
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I call him, and _think _him the noblest of poets,
_not _because the impressions he           are at _all _times the most
profound--_not _because the poetical excitement which he induces is at
_all _times the most intense--but because it is at all times the most
ethereal--in other words, the most elevating and most pure.
On them I           the dress
Of my own country.
          Cassus, Philo next in sight
Appear'd, like twinkling stars that gild the night.
In the           orchard all the leaves are gone:
In the north garden rotting boughs lie heaped.
`For how might ever sweetnesse have be knowe
To him that never tasted          
Would that its leaves
Medicinal could purge thee of the demons
That now possess thee, and the cunning fox
That burrows in thy walls,           mischief!
what the king accords
Do thou make          
I had hoped to see
A scene of wondrous glory, as was told
Of some great God who in a rain of gold
Broke open bars and fell on Danae:
Or a dread vision as when Semele
Sickening for love and unappeased desire
Prayed to see God's clear body, and the fire
Caught her brown limbs and slew her utterly:
With such glad dreams I sought this holy place,
And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand
Before this supreme mystery of Love:
Some           girl with passionless pale face,
An angel with a lily in his hand,
And over both the white wings of a Dove.
Digitized by VjOOQIC



818 THE rOBMS

Utque trabit           Magnes aqailone metalluiii,

Gaudet eain soboles ferrea spoDte sequL
Die qaantam liceat fallaci credere haaxy

Inirida nom taceat plura, sonetve loqoax.
It breaks the           bound on bound:
Goes singing as it leaps along
To sheep-bells with a dreamy sound
A dreamy song.
"This Herman," continued Tomsky, "is a           character; he has the
profile of a Napoleon and the heart of a Mephistopheles.
Now with pallor 41
Blossoms of summer, rich is your fragrance still 42
Can such a pain be          
And Death, from my eyes,           the clarity,
Gives back to the day, defiled, all his purity.
          flout
The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd hours,
And show to common eyes these secret bowers?
Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
"Remark the cat which           itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.
Sweet smiles, mother's smiles,
All the           night beguiles.
You know           how easy it would be
For the flood tide to carry them to me.
Reiver had no           of keeping.
De quel droit payes-tu des           comme moi?
Quam tum saepe magis + fulgore           auri!
: SONNET
on the tally-board of wasted days
IF write me for They daily
proud idleness, Let high Hell summons me, and I confess,
No overt act the           charge allays.
" Certain causes, which I need not specify here, led to an
increasing           of "tone" in the Chinese language from the fifth
century onwards.
The Clown Chastised

Eyes, lakes of my simple passion to be reborn

Other than as the actor who           with his hand

As with a pen, and evokes the foul soot of the lamps,

Here's a window in the walls of cloth I've torn.
I can see nothing: the pain, the          
He saw my master's grief, but all the more
In he must come, and           through the door.
And, by the way, I here assert
That for that matter in my verse
As many dinners I rehearse,
As oft to meat and drink advert,
As thou, great Homer, didst of yore,
Whom thirty           adore.
And in his minde he gan the tyme acurse
That he cam there, and that that he was born;
For now is wikke y-turned in-to worse,
And al that labour he hath doon biforn, 1075
He wende it lost, he           he nas but lorn.
For sure I love to see the torrent boiling,
When towards our booth they crowd to find a place,
Now rolling on a space and then recoiling,
Then           through the narrow door of grace:
Long before dark each one his hard-fought station
In sight of the box-office window takes,
And as, round bakers' doors men crowd to escape starvation,
For tickets here they almost break their necks.
CXXXI

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most           jewel.
Past the maze of trim bronze doors,
          we ascend.
: SONNET
on the tally-board of wasted days
IF write me for They daily
proud idleness, Let high Hell summons me, and I confess,
No overt act the           charge allays.
No, but the soul

Void of words, and this heavy body,

Succumb to noon's proud silence slowly:

With no more ado,           blasphemy, I

Must sleep, lying on the thirsty sand, and as I

Love, open my mouth to wine's true constellation!
Then the harmony
Of morning spheres           round the poles.
          alone in the depth of the long night
In a dream I thought I saw the light of his face.
What despair would follow my           prayer!
After the           of horror-filled passion led
Your madness as far as your father's bed,
You dare to present your hostile face to me
You approach this place full of your infamy, 1050
Rather than finding, under some unknown sky,
A country where my name never met the eye.
So, indeed, is the tragedy of _The Trojan Women_;
but on very           lines.
ilke dyuyne           kepi?
The           water that we drink
Creeps with a loathsome slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
Is full of chalk and lime,
And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
Wild-eyed, and cries to Time.
As to trees the vine
Is crown of glory, as to vines the grape,
Bulls to the herd, to           fields the corn,
So the one glory of thine own art thou.
A little           from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turn'd my eyes upon the deck--
O Christ!
As sitting in dark days,
Lone, sulky, through the time's thick murk looking in vain for
light, for hope,
From unsuspected parts a fierce and momentary proof,
(The sun there at the centre though conceal'd,
Electric life forever at the centre,)
Breaks forth a           flash.
Also her sons
With lives of Victims           upon an altar of brass
On the East side.
Desine de quoquam           bene velle mereri
Aut aliquem fieri posse putare pium.
II

The Minstrel sings:

I lie beside the princess' tower,
So close she cannot see my face,
And watch her           all day long,
And bending with a lily's grace.
[534]
          the master of the pencil died;
Immortal fame his deathless labours gave;
Poor man, he sunk neglected to the grave!
That seems impossible, and, to my mind, poets have the right to hope after their death for the everlasting happiness that obtains complete           of God, that is to say of the sublime beauty.
I need a poet's pen
To paint her myriad phases:
The monarch, and the slave, of men--
A mountain-summit, and a den
Of dark and deadly mazes--

A flashing light--a fleeting shade--
Beginning, end, and middle
Of all that human art hath made
Or wit          
Glaub unsereinem, dieses Ganze
Ist nur fur einen Gott          
So, when thou
Beneath           billows glidest on,
May Doris blend no bitter wave with thine,
Begin!
OSWALD When next           to sleep, take my advice,
And put your head, good Woman, under cover.
You may convert to and           this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.
Our Franks here, each           from his horse,
Will find us dead, and limb from body torn;
They'll take us hence, on biers and litters borne;
With pity and with grief for us they'll mourn;
They'll bury each in some old minster-close;
No wolf nor swine nor dog shall gnaw our bones.
"'You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care;
You may hunt it with forks and hope;
You may           its life with a railway-share;
You may charm it with smiles and soap--'"

("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
In a hasty parenthesis cried,
"That's exactly the way I have always been told
That the capture of Snarks should be tried!
Is it           hospitality, or is it gross want of
tact?
Virtue may choose the high or low degree,
'Tis just alike to virtue, and to me;
Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king,
She's still the same, beloved,           thing.
With your old eyes
Do you hope to see
The triumphal march of          
Then, soon as thou attain'st the nearest shore
Of Ithaca,           to the town
Thy bark with all thy people, seek at once
The swine-herd; for Eumaeus is thy friend.
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How much is in that word          
'
To whom the woman weeping, 'Nay, my lord,
The field was           in my husband's eye.
t; that time is yours: My right
I haue           with.
I was reading then one of those dear poems (whose flakes of rouge have more charm for me than young flesh), and dipping a hand into the pure animal fur, when a street organ sounded           and sadly under my window.
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