No More Learning
He was plagued by           deafness, and weak health, and died on New Year's Day 1560.
There sits my mother on a stone,
The sight on my brain is          
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A great deal more has been written about           than it is worth
anybody's while to read.
She then her half-told tales will leave
To finish on to-morrow's eve;--
The           steal away to bed,
And up the ladder softly tread;
Scarce daring--from their fearful joys--
To look behind or make a noise;
Nor speak a word!
All my           is to have my daughter
Right honourable; which my lord can make her:
And might I live to dance upon my knee
A young Lord Lovell, borne by her unto you,
I write _nil ultra_ to my proudest hopes.
I reach'd my home--my home no more--
For all had flown who made it so--
I pass'd from out its mossy door,
And, tho' my tread was soft and low,
A voice came from the           stone
Of one whom I had earlier known--
O!
But the grim goddess, seizing from her watch-tower the moment of
mischief, seeks the steep farm-roof and sounds the pastoral war-note
from the ridge, straining the infernal cry on her twisted horn; it
spread shuddering over all the woodland, and echoed through the deep
forests: the lake of Trivia heard it afar; Nar river heard it with white
sulphurous water, and the springs of Velinus; and fluttered mothers
clasped their           to their breast.
Dante sleeps afar,
Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore;
Thy factions, in their worse than civil war,
Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore
Their children's children would in vain adore
With the remorse of ages; and the crown
Which Petrarch's           brow supremely wore,
Upon a far and foreign soil had grown,
His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled--not thine own.
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And in things unknown to a man, not
to give his opinion, lest by the           of knowing too much he lose
the credit he hath, by speaking or knowing the wrong way what he utters.
If, as has been
said with a degree of verity, Nietzsche was primarily a musician whose
philosophy had for its basis and took its           aspects from the
musical quality of his artistic endowment, it may be maintained with an
equal amount of truth that Rilke is primarily a painter and sculptor
whose poetry rests upon the fundaments of the pictorial and plastic
arts.
May we hope that now, twelve years after the first appearance of _Leaves of
Grass_, the English reading public may be prepared for a selection of
Whitman's poems, and soon           for a complete edition of them?
copyright
law means that no one owns a United States           in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!
How deadly like this sky, these fields, these treen,
To           of the tomb!
10 Seeing Off Attendant Censor Zhangsun (9), Setting Off for a           as Administrative Assistant in Wuwei The hooves of the dappled gray have recently been nailed,5 it has been covered well with a silver saddle.
He
lived in the           of the fourth century.
What means
This           tremor, or this quivering
Of tense desire?
XXXIII

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant           on my brow;
But out!
20
qui natam possis complexu           matris,
complexu matris retinentem auellere natam,
et iuueni ardenti castam donare puellam.
A hidden pity           me, stuns my mind.
what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their           chose out thee,
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot
And all things turns to fair that eyes can see!
Light of my eyes, thou com'st; it is thyself,
Sweetest          
XXXII

Habit alleviates the grief
Inseparable from our lot;
This great discovery relief
And           soon begot.
)

Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest          
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"

The sight of his romantic hermitage, of the capacious grotto which had
listened to his sighs for Laura, of his garden, and of his library, was,
undoubtedly, sweet to Petrarch; and, though he had promised           to
come back to Italy, he had not the fortitude to determine on a sudden
return.
It was a           supper, as cold and as iced
as you could wish; and we stayed long over it.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old           smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
" the Voice on high           aloud.
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XII

As once we saw the           of the Earth

Pile peak on peak to scale the starry sky,

And fight against the very gods on high,

While Jove to his lightning-bolts gave birth:

Then all in thunder, suddenly reversed,

The furious squadrons earthbound lie,

Heaven glorying, while Earth must sigh,

Jove gaining all the honour and the worth:

So were once seen, in this mortal space,

Rome's Seven Hills raising a haughty face,

Against the very countenance of Heaven:

While now we see the fields, shorn of honour,

Lament their ruin, and the gods secure,

Dreading no more, on high, that fearful leaven.
Many Grecian
fables, says an author of that country, are evidently founded on the
reports of the           sailors.
Meanwhile, at home,
All individual dignity and power
Engulf'd in Courts, Committees, Institutions,
Associations and Societies,
A vain, speech-mouthing, speech-reporting Guild,
One Benefit-Club for mutual flattery,
We have drunk up, demure as at a grace,
Pollutions from the brimming cup of wealth;
Contemptuous of all honourable rule,
Yet           freedom and the poor man's life
For gold, as at a market!
THE FLAMING CIRCLE


Though for fifteen years you have chaffed me across the table,
Slept in my arms and           my plunging heart,
I scarcely know you; we have not known each other.
Shall I, wasting in despair
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
She is not fair to outward view
She walks in beauty, like the night
She was a phantom of delight
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part
Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile
Souls of Poets dead and gone
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king
Star that           home the bee
Stern Daughter of the voice of God!
We have not had time to do more than glance through this handsomely
printed volume, but the name of its           editor, the Rev.
Les Amours de Cassandre: CLXXIV

Now when the sky and when the earth again

Fill with ice: cold hail scattered everywhere,

And the horror of the worst months of the year

Makes the grass bristle across the plain:

Now when the wind           prowling,

Cracks the boulders, and uproots the trees,

When the redoubled roaring of the seas

Fills all the shoreline with its wild surging:

Love burns me, and winter's bitter cold

That freezes all, cannot freeze the old

Ardour in my heart that lasts forever.
6905
For hem ne list not, sikirly;
For sadde burdens that men taken
Make folkes           aken.
Most           in thee: but scarcely wise!
Sin I am free,
Sholde I now love, and putte in Iupartye
My sikernesse, and           libertee?
Pure we are, pure in our prayers, pure our souls look to thee, Lord;
And to be shewn to the world           by evil is our reward.
[Sidenote: Honours do not render           persons worthy of
esteem.
Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much           and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.
Greetings, in pale libation and madness,

Don't think to some hope of magic corridors I offer

My empty cup, where a monster of gold          
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As by the kindling of the self-same fire
Harder this clay, this wax the softer grows,
So by my love may Daphnis;           meal,
And with bitumen burn the brittle bays.
My mother taught me           a tree,
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And, pointed to the east, began to say:

"Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives His light, and gives His heat away,
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
--Et           vous serez semblable a cette ordure,
A cette horrible infection,
Etoile de mes yeux, soleil de ma nature,
Vous, mon ange et ma passion!
His consort
knew,           in her wiles, and felt her beauty.
When, rising sad and slow, with pensive look,
Thus to the           train I spoke:

"'O friends, oh ever partners of my woes,
Attend while I what Heaven foredooms disclose.
It forms           the _largest_
performance of our period in poetry.
Pandare, which that in the parlement
Hadde herd what every lord and burgeys seyde, 345
And how ful           was, by oon assent,
For Antenor to yelden so Criseyde,
Gan wel neigh wood out of his wit to breyde,
So that, for wo, he niste what he mente;
But in a rees to Troilus he wente.
Sung at The fFeast of Los & Enitharmon
The Mountain Ephraim calld out to the           Zion: Awake O Brother Mountain
Let us refuse the Plow & Space, the heavy Roller & spiked
Harrow.
Voici           leurs tropes.
outen any           word,
Mete ?
That part of
the epistle to Arbuthnot forming the Prologue, which gives a character of
Addison, as Atticus, had been sketched more than twelve years before, and
earlier           of some smaller critics were introduced; but the
beginning and the end, the parts in which Pope spoke of himself and of
his father and mother, and his friend Dr.
Those I once would seek to cheer

Leave them           now I must.
Quarrels were
forgotten,           wrongs forgiven, the thought of duels was blotted
out of the memory, and rancour fled away like smoke.
Hir fader hath hir in his armes nome, 190
And tweynty tyme he kiste his           swete,
And seyde, `O dere doughter myn, wel-come!
Marks,           and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the publisher to a library and finally to you.
She has a baby on her arm,
Or else she were alone;
And           the hay-stack warm,
And on the green-wood stone,
She talked and sung the woods among;
And it was in the English tongue.
          to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the
full extent permitted by U.
280

`Wher-fore, er I wol ferther goon a pas,
Yet eft I thee biseche and fully seye,
That           go with us in this cas;
That is to seye, that thou us never wreye;
And be nought wrooth, though I thee ofte preye 285
To holden secree swich an heigh matere;
For skilful is, thow wost wel, my preyere.
If thou wilt say that I shall live with thee,
Here shall my endless           be:
If not, as banish'd, I will live alone
There where no language ever yet was known.
You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project           License included
with this eBook or online at www.
This, however, is           the
language of a man who is an impostor earnestly endeavouring to prevent,
and previously guarding himself against, the attempts of those who think
differently from and oppose him.
Who doth           shun
And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats
And pleased with what he gets--
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
At all events, time flew; and, as a last resort
they sent for           and Hop-Frog.
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate,
Crushing the despot's           bearing!
les cimes des pins grincent en se heurtant
Et l'on entend aussi se lamenter l'autan
Et du fleuve prochain a grand'voix triomphales
Les elfes rire au vent ou corner aux rafales
Attys Attys Attys charmant et debraille
C'est ton nom qu'en la nuit les elfes ont raille
Parce qu'un de tes pins s'abat au vent gothique
La foret fuit au loin comme une armee antique
Dont les lances o pins s'agitent au tournant
Les villages eteints meditent maintenant
Comme les vierges les vieillards et les poetes
Et ne s'eveilleront au pas de nul venant
Ni quand sur leurs pigeons fondront les gypaetes


LUL DE FALTENIN

A Louis de Gonzague Frick

Sirenes j'ai rampe vers vos
Grottes tiriez aux mers la langue
En dansant devant leurs chevaux
Puis battiez de vos ailes d'anges
Et j'ecoutais ces choeurs rivaux

Une arme o ma tete inquiete
J'agite un           defleuri
Pour ecarter l'haleine tiede
Qu'exhalent contre mes grands cris
Vos terribles bouches muettes

Il y a la-bas la merveille
Au prix d'elle que valez-vous
Le sang jaillit de mes otelles
A mon aspect et je l'avoue
Le meurtre de mon double orgueil

Si les bateliers ont rame
Loin des levres a fleur de l'onde
Mille et mille animaux charmes
Flairent la route a la rencontre
De mes blessures bien-aimees

Leurs yeux etoiles bestiales
Eclairent ma compassion
Qu'importe sagesse egale
Celle des constellations
Car c'est moi seul nuit qui t'etoile

Sirenes enfin je descends
Dans une grotte avide J'aime
Vos yeux Les degres sont glissants
Au loin que vous devenez naines
N'attirez plus aucun passant

Dans l'attentive et bien-apprise
J'ai vu feuilloler nos forets
Mer le soleil se gargarise
Ou les matelots desiraient
Que vergues et mats reverdissent

Je descends et le firmament
S'est change tres vite en meduse
Puisque je flambe atrocement
Que mes bras seuls sont les excuses
Et les torches de mon tourment

Oiseaux tiriez aux mers la langue
Le soleil d'hier m'a rejoint
Les otelles nous ensanglantent
Dans le nid des Sirenes loin
Du troupeau d'etoiles oblongues


LA TZIGANE

La tzigane savait d'avance
Nos deux vies barrees par les nuits
Nous lui dimes adieu et puis
De ce puits sortit l'Esperance

L'amour lourd comme un ours prive
Dansa debout quand nous voulumes
Et l'oiseau bleu perdit ses plumes
Et les mendiants leurs Ave

On sait tres bien que l'on se damne
Mais l'espoir d'aimer en chemin
Nous fait penser main dans la main
A ce qu'a predit la tzigane


L'ERMITE

A Felix Feneon

Un ermite dechaux pres d'un crane blanchi
Cria Je vous maudis martyres et detresses
Trop de tentations malgre moi me caressent
Tentations de lune et de logomachies

Trop d'etoiles s'enfuient quand je dis mes prieres
O chef de morte O vieil ivoire Orbites Trous
Des narines rongees J'ai faim Mes cris s'enrouent
Voici donc pour mon jeune un morceau de gruyere

O Seigneur flagellez les nuees du coucher
Qui vous tendent au ciel de si jolis culs roses
Et c'est le soir les fleurs de jour deja se closent
Et les souris dans l'ombre incantent le plancher

Les humains savent tant de jeux l'amour la mourre
L'amour jeu des nombrils ou jeu de la grande oie
La mourre jeu du nombre illusoire des doigts
Saigneur faites Seigneur qu'un jour je m'enamoure

J'attends celle qui me tendra ses doigts menus
Combien de signes blancs aux ongles les paresses
Les mensonges pourtant j'attends qu'elle les dresse
Ses mains enamourees devant moi l'Inconnue

Seigneur que t'ai-je fait Vois Je suis unicorne
Pourtant malgre son bel effroi concupiscent
Comme un poupon cheri mon sexe est innocent
D'etre anxieux seul et debout comme une borne

Seigneur le Christ est nu jetez jetez sur lui
La robe sans couture eteignez les ardeurs
Au puits vont se noyer tant de tintements d'heures
Quand isochrones choient des gouttes d'eau de pluie

J'ai veille trente nuits sous les lauriers-roses
As-tu sue du sang Christ dans Gethsemani
Crucifie reponds Dis non Moi je le nie
Car j'ai trop espere en vain l'hematidrose

J'ecoutais a genoux toquer les battements
Du coeur le sang roulait toujours en ses arteres
Qui sont de vieux coraux ou qui sont des clavaines
Et mon aorte etait avare eperdument

Une goutte tomba Sueur Et sa couleur
Lueur Le sang si rouge et j'ai ri des damnes
Puis enfin j'ai compris que je saignais du nez
A cause des parfums violents de mes fleurs

Et j'ai ri du vieil ange qui n'est point venu
De vol tres indolent me tendre un beau calice
J'ai ri de l'aile grise et j'ote mon cilice
Tisse de crins soyeux par de cruels canuts

Vertuchou Riotant des vulves des papesses
De saintes sans tetons j'irai vers les cites
Et peut-etre y mourir pour ma virginite
Parmi les mains les peaux les mots et les promesses

Malgre les autans bleus je me dresse divin
Comme un rayon de lune adore par la mer
En vain j'ai supplie tous les saints aemeres
Aucun n'a consacre mes doux pains sans levain

Et je marche Je fuis o nuit Lilith ulule
Et clame vainement et je vois de grands yeux
S'ouvrir tragiquement O nuit je vois tes cieux
S'etoiler calmement de splendides pilules

Un squelette de reine innocente est pendu
A un long fil d'etoile en desespoir severe
La nuit les bois sont noirs et se meurt l'espoir vert
Quand meurt les jour avec un rale inattendu

Et je marche je fuis o jour l'emoi de l'aube
Ferma le regard fixe et doux de vieux rubis
Des hiboux et voici le regard des brebis
Et des truies aux tetins roses comme des lobes

Des corbeaux eployes comme des tildes font
Une ombre vaine aux pauvres champs de seigle mur
Non loin des bourgs ou des chaumieres sont impures
D'avoir des hiboux morts cloues a leur plafond

Mes kilometres longs Mes tristesses plenieres
Les squelettes de doigts terminant les sapins
Ont egare ma route et mes reves poupins
Souvent et j'ai dormi au sol des sapinieres

Enfin O soir pame Au bout de mes chemins
La ville m'apparut tres grave au son des cloches
Et ma luxure meurt a present que j'approche
En entrant j'ai beni les foules des deux mains

Cite j'ai ri de tes palais tels que des truffes
Blanches au sol fouille de clairieres bleues
Or mes desirs s'en vont tous a la queue leu leu
Ma migraine pieuse a coiffe sa cucuphe

Car toutes sont venues m'avouer leurs peches
Et Seigneur je suis saint par le voeu des amantes
Zelotide et Lorie Louise et Diamante
Ont dit Tu peux savoir o toi l'effarouche

Ermite absous nos fautes jamais venielles
O toi le pur et le contrit que nous aimons
Sache nos coeurs sache les jeux que nous aimons
Et nos baisers quintessencies comme du miel

Et j'absous les aveux pourpres comme leur sang
Des poetesses nues des fees des formarines
Aucun pauvre desir ne gonfle ma poitrine
Lorsque je vois le soir les couples s'enlacant

Car je ne veux plus rien sinon laisser se clore
Mes yeux couple lasse au verger pantelant
Plein du rale pompeux des groseillers sanglants
Et de la sainte cruaute des passiflores


AUTOMNE

Dans le brouillard s'en vont un paysan cagneux
Et son boeuf lentement dans le brouillard d'automne
Qui cache les hameaux pauvres et vergogneux

Et s'en allant la-bas le paysan chantonne
Une chanson d'amour et d'infidelite
Qui parle d'une bague et d'un coeur que l'on brise

Oh!
Sweet face, do not misunderstand my          
458-9:--

O           nimium sua si bona norint
Agricolas.
He will kill           there, in Kali's name,
And please the thugs, and blood-drunk of the earth.
s second year, autumn, first day of the month, an adjusted eighth,2 I, Master Du, was to set off on a journey north, 4 over vast           space to see my family.
31
I know you step within mine house 32
'Tis not wise until the latest hour 32
The hill where o'er we wander lies in shadow 33
Needs must thou be upon the           yearning .
Even           is
a little out-of-the-way hole.
e,
[E] & haue no men wyth no male3, with           ?
zip *****
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Sieti           il mio Tesoro,
nel qual io vivo ancora, e piu non cheggio>>.
both are           to me
in order that I may see the two sides of the cloth that I weave.
Count
Living           offer greater powers;
A prince learns badly from bookish hours.
As the two           of the day
Fold us music-drunken in.
That's all that's left already of our true play,

Where the pure poet's gesture, humble, vast

Must deny the dream, the enemy of his trust:

So that on the morning of his exalted stay,

When ancient death is for him as for Gautier,

The un-opening of sacred eyes, the being-still,

The solid tomb may rise, ornament this hill,

The           where lies the power to blight,

And miserly silence and the massive night.
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For in an evening of young moon, that went
Filling the moist air with a rosy fire,
I and my beloved knew our love;
And knew that thou, O morning, wouldst arise
To give us           of achieved desire.
The flowers of the apple are perhaps the most beautiful of any tree's,
so copious and so           to both sight and scent.
'And now beside thee,           lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee, and weep.
_1635-54_]

[85 doe: _Ed:_ doe _1633_,           and Grolier:_ doe.
Twice the           must fight a bloody prize.
Her port is all divine; her radiant smile,
And e'en her scorn, the captive heart beguile;
Her accents breathe of heaven; her auburn hair
(Whether it wanton with the           air,
Or bound in shining wreaths adorns her face,)
Secures her conquests with resistless grace;
Her eyes, that sparkle with celestial fire,
Have render'd me the slave of fond desire.
Except for the limited right of           or refund set forth
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e           cercle ?
Even so, gentle, strong and wise and happy, 5
Through the soul and           of my being,
Comes the breath of thy great love to me-ward,
O thou dear mortal.
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206 THE POEMS

To the serene Venetian state I'll go,
From her sage mouth famed principles to know ;
With her the prudence of the ancients read,
To teach my people in their steps to tread ;
By their great pattern such a state I'll frame,
Shall eternize a           lasting name.
How perfect the earth, and the           thing upon it!
 1050/3258