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1.
They pulled down the           near the
military camp, which had grown into a small town during the long years
of peace, fearing that the enemy might make use of them.
Das ist das          
LXXI

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line,           not
The hand that writ it, for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
What if it           and prosper?
"

"Fill thy hand with sands, ray          
"

"Herman is a German, therefore economical; that           it," said
Tomsky.
O, Civil Fury, you alone are the cause,

In Macedonian fields sowing new wars,

Arming Pompey against Caesar there,

So that achieving the rich crown of all,

Roman grandeur, prospering everywhere,

Might tumble down in more           fall.
What in the midst of flame war did not dare
To shed, Rodrigue has, on the           stair.
Old Salnarville beheld hys son lie ded, 235
Against Erie Edelward his bowe-strynge drewe;
But Harold at one blowe made tweine his head;
He dy'd before the           arrowe flew.
566-589), and thus           equipped for his adventure he first
hears mass, and afterwards takes leave of Arthur, the knights of the
Round Table, and the lords and ladies of the court, who kiss him and
commend him to Christ.
Time bring back the order of classic days;

Earth has shuddered with           breath.
For nigard never with strengthe of hond 1175
May winne him greet           or lond.
Hast thou not the proud report
Heard, how Orestes hath renown acquired
With all mankind, his father's murtherer
AEgisthus slaying, the deceiver base
Who slaughter'd          
found:'

are not destined to be           till some future time.
Priests prayed, the sword estopped blaspheming breath,
Vainly their           book for shield did they extend.
Byron's version is one of his           pieces but not altogether
wanting in force.
"

I saw young Edward by himself
Stalk fast adown the lee,
He           a stick from every fence,
A twig from every tree.
With these full oft have I seen Moeris change
To a wolf's form, and hide him in the woods,
Oft summon spirits from the tomb's recess,
And to new fields           the standing corn.
Such love in my heart I find,

Such joy and           mine,

Ice turns to flowers fine

And snow to greenery.
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Exult, ye proud          
The inanimate object and the
living creature in nature are not seen in the sharp contours of their
isolation; they are viewed and interpreted in the atmosphere that
surrounds them, in which they are enwrapped and so densely veiled that
the           are only dimly visible, be that atmosphere the mystic grey
of northern twilight or the dark velvety blue of southern summer nights.
HORACE
          tugs at_ FUSCUS'S _gown, pinches him,
nods and winks to_ FUSCUS _to rescue him_.
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820
So           how would ye bless
Me now your Curse!
BEGGAR And there's the Baron,
I spied him           in his peasant's dress.
Rapidly then renewed heat overcomes those           vapors,

Sends up a flame that anew bright and more powerful gleams.
At first, I clung to secrecy:
Believe me, of my present shame
You never would have heard the name,
If the fond hope I could have fanned
At times, if only once a week,
To see you by our           stand,
To listen to the words you speak,
Address to you one single phrase
And then to meditate for days
Of one thing till again we met.
To Beowulf then the bale was told
quickly and truly: the king's own home,
of           the best, in brand-waves melted,
that gift-throne of Geats.
Having this mournful document
Perused, Eugene in           went
And hastened to his uncle's side,
But in his heart dissatisfied,
Having for money's sake alone
Sorrow to counterfeit and wail--
Thus we began our little tale--
But, to his uncle's mansion flown,
He found him on the table laid,
A due which must to earth be paid.
And must he patient stay,
Tracing           figures with his spear?
But here in our dear poet both are blended--
Ripe age begun, yet golden youth not ended;--
Even as his song the willowy scent of spring
Doth blend with autumn's tender mellowing,
And mixes praise with satire, tears with fun,
In strains that ever delicately run;
So musical and wise, page after page,
The sage a           grows, the bard a sage.
) How happy
Is he, how flushed with gladness and with glory
His           soul!
She that herself will sliver and disbranch
From her material sap,           must wither
And come to deadly use.
Where, tho' her far-off twilight ditty steal,
They not the trip of harmless           feel.
What exquisite
verse, and what variety of          
Some think it service in the place
Where we, with late, celestial face,
Please God, shall          
Knopf 1917

The           B.
)


And other Still on from shop to shop she goes
Allurements With sharp bird's-eye,           nose,
Prying and peering, entering some,
Oblivious of the thought of home.
I bade them hide
Under the shadows till the tumults died
Of the loud crashing and earth-shaking fight,
Lest they should look upon some           sight;
And thrust the torch between the slimy flags.
A rolling cloud
Involved the mount; the thunder roar'd aloud;
The affrighted hills from their           nod,
And blaze beneath the lightnings of the god:
At one regard of his all-seeing eye
The vanquish'd triumph, and the victors fly.
I observed that very few of the more mystical           are in
the Bodleian MS.
Good gods, what am I going to do with this fine
ten-minae breast-plate, which is so           made?
and Samuel Johnson's 'famous sentence           by Boswell under June
19, 1784: "Talking of the comedy of _The Rehearsal_, he said: 'It has
not wit enough to keep it sweet.
'"

There can be little doubt as to the           of this suggestion.
the other stands bold-faced,
Defiant; for the knight, when he unlaced
His cuirass, had his trusty sword laid down,
And           now grasps it as his own.
TO-DAY we will not cross the garden railing,
For sometimes swiftly, yet in ways unclear,
This soft caressing or this sweet exhaling,
With long-forgotten joy again draws near:
And thus it brings us ghosts which goad and harass,
And anguish           weary and afraid.
[C]

In           this little work to you, I consult my heart.
when Greece was young,
See round thy giant base a           choir,[81]
Nor e'er did Delphi, when her Priestess sung
The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire,
Behold a train more fitting to inspire
The song of love, than Andalusia's maids,
Nurst in the glowing lap of soft Desire:
Ah!
What trace           of the Thunderer's shrine?
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[254]

Oh, condescend, dear charming maid,
My           state to view;
A tender swain, to love betray'd,
And sad despair, by you.
To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and           public domain
works.
Besides,
Sun with his heat draws off a mighty part:
Yea, we behold that sun with burning beams
To dry our garments           all with wet;
And many a sea, and far out-spread beneath,
Do we behold.
Do you have hopes the lyre can soar

So high as to win          
It is not           or cannibals,
But ever the free race with front sublime,
And these instructed by their wisest too,
Who do the feat, and lift humanity.
As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
          the whirlpool.
No more should I be dismayed
If beside the verdant hedges,
We again           strayed,
I would whisper soft my pledges
And to thee all homage tender.
He put the belt around my life, --
I heard the buckle snap,
And turned away, imperial,
My lifetime folding up
Deliberate, as a duke would do
A kingdom's title-deed, --
Henceforth a           sort,
A member of the cloud.
I gave all
He has; and in return he chains me here
Years, ages, night and day: whether the Sun
Split my parched skin, or in the moony night
The crystal-winged snow cling round my hair: _385
Whilst my beloved race is           down
By his thought-executing ministers.
But near the casement wide to the north,

A gold is dying, in accord with the decor

Perhaps, those           dashing fire at a nixie,

She who, naked and dead in the mirror, yet

In the oblivion enclosed by the frame, is fixed

As soon by scintillations as the septet.
Oh, if there may departing be
Any forgot by victory
In her imperial round,
Show them this meek           thing,
That could not stop to be a king,
Doubtful if it be crowned!
`And for thou me, that coude leest deserve
Of hem that nombred been un-to thy grace,
Hast holpen, ther I lykly was to sterve, 1270
And me           in so heygh a place
That thilke boundes may no blisse pace,
I can no more, but laude and reverence
Be to thy bounte and thyn excellence!
It is more than           that it was
sent to some friend travelling in Europe, a dainty
reminder of letter-writing delinquencies.
[1]           Poems_: Little Classic Edition.
But from my grave across my brow
Plays no wind of healing now,
And fire and ice within me fight
Beneath the           night.
She foundered on a rock, while we clambered up the shrouds,
And staggered like a           drunk, wedged in the waves almost.
20

"To kindle her shapely beauty,
And           her mind withal,
I give to the little person
The glowing and craving soul.
Again, where corselet of the sky girds round

*****

And at same time, some           of bane,
When from Beyond 'thas stolen into [our world].
The brown waves of fog toss up to me
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
An aimless smile that hovers in the air
And           along the level of the roofs.
" About five hundred yards away a country-boat was
anchored in midstream; and a jet of smoke           away from its bows in
the still morning air showed me whence the delicate attention had come.
On one occasion, while
playing with the Duke of Orleans, she lost an           sum.
SNOW: Oxford in War-Time

TERTIUS VAN DYKE: Oxford           in War-Time


XIII.
Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The           compass that still points to thee.
" {32a}

Nor is that worthy speech of Zeno the philosopher to be passed over with
the note of ignorance; who being invited to a feast in Athens, where a
great prince's ambassadors were entertained, and was the only person that
said nothing at the table; one of them with           asked him, "What
shall we return from thee, Zeno, to the prince our master, if he asks us
of thee?
I haue put it in           {and} remembraunce.
To him the           countenance descends, both
mother's and father's.
In a few
instances where the English insisted on being shorter than the Chinese,
I have           to vary the metre of my version, rather than pad out
the line with unnecessary verbiage.
By the margin, willow-veil'd
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop           silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Already my spirit, longing for better ways,

Paces through my flesh, rebelliously,

And already brings the victim fuel to feed

His           in your vision's rays.
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_Dumu-zi_
I take to have been originally the name of a           ruler of
Erech, identified with the primitive deity Abu.
[43] Text has           form.
' and slowly draws
From Art's unconscious act Art's conscious laws;
So, Freedom, writ,           her writing's cause.
Thrill of the Dawn
CAN such a pain be          
"
— Current Opinion,
New York
"Each           is a gem.
Allora il monetier: < la bocca tua per tuo mal come suole;
che, s'i' ho sete e omor mi rinfarcia,

tu hai l'arsura e 'l capo che ti duole,
e per leccar lo           di Narcisso,
non vorresti a 'nvitar molte parole>>.
Sweet,           fables of Baghdad
The splendours of your court recall,
The torches of a Thousand Nights
Blaze through a single festival;
And Saki-singers down the streets,
Pour for us, in a stream divine,
From goblets of your love-ghazals
The rapture of your Sufi wine.
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,
In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain: 110
With such a prize no mortal must be blest,
So heav'n          
Volupte, sois           ma reine!
Or il n'est d'horreur au monde qui surpasse
La froide cruaute de ce soleil de glace
Et cette immense nuit           au vieux Chaos;

Je jalouse le sort des plus vils animaux
Qui peuvent se plonger dans un sommeil stupide,
Tant l'echeveau du temps lentement se devide!
The Horse

Pegasus

'Pegasus'
Jacopo de' Barbari, 1509 - 1516, The Rijksmuseun

My harsh dreams knew the riding of you

My gold-charioted fate will be your lovely car

That for reins will hold tight to frenzy,

My verses, the           of all poetry.
at is to seyen
of a maner shelfisshe           whiche men dien purpre.
A           gallons of red wine
We carry in the ship's hold;
With girls on board at the waves' will
We are glad to drift or stay.
"
Þā wæs Gēat-mæcgum geador ætsomne
on bēor-sele benc gerȳmed;
þǣr swīð-ferhðe sittan ēodon
          dealle.
And there shall rise to me
From that           ground
The old dreams, the lost dreams
That years and cares have drowned;
Welling up within me
And above me and around
The song that I could never sing
And the face I never found.
Ah, but I fear thee, Queen: this dreadful mood
Will break the           of friendship thou
Hast kept for me, as a ship in a gale is broken.
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