No More Learning
A           lodging.
e lyppe & browe,
No           ?
But heaven in thy           did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts, or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence, but sweetness tell.
"He offered vengeance,           grief
To one dear ghost, uncounted price:
Beasts, Trojans, adverse gods, himself,
Heaped up the sacrifice.
'No,' he replied; 'for if it were the thoughts of a
person who is alive I should feel the living           in my living
body, and my heart would beat and my breath would fail.
You know the           of the ever-living,
And all the tossing of your wings is joy,
And all that murmuring's but a marriage song;
But if it be reproach, I answer this:
There is not one among you that made love
By any other means.
The invalidity or           of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
Each has brought           in hand, 8 and we tip the jars, both the thick and the clear.
Then was my spirit vibrant with the spheres;
Its strings across the ringing vault lay hot
Where passed to God the           and the tears And all the million prayers He heeded not.
Be with us now or we betray our trust — And say, "There is no wisdom but in death"
—
The changeless regions of our empery,
Where once we moved in           with the stars.
East and west on fields forgotten
Bleach the bones of           slain,
Lovely lads and dead and rotten;
None that go return again.
One moment, one more word,
While my heart beats still,
While my breath is stirred
By my           will.
I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of          
)--"which flows
continuously, with only an aspirate pause in the middle, like that
before the short line in the Sapphic Adonic, while the fifth has at the
middle pause no similarity of sound with any part besides, gives the
versification an           different effect.
XLVIII
A           is vowed to Sinai,
To Cyprus and Gallicia, and to Rome,
Ettino, and other place of sanctity,
If such is named, and to the holy tomb.
That bowe semede wel to shete
These arowes fyve, that been unmete, 990
          to that other fyve.
He did not           display.
"
"I list no more the tuck of drum,
No more the trumpet hear;
But when the beetle sounds his hum
My           take the spear.
For though all hope to quit the score were vain,
My pen and pages may pay the debt in part;
Then, with no jealous eye my           scan,
Nor scorn my gifts who give thee all I can.
Wrinkles where his eyes are,
Wrinkles where his nose is,
Wrinkles where his mouth is,
And a little old devil looking out of every          
The object of this work is to show the
sweets and           of their retired state, compared with the
agitations of life in the world.
'Tis excellent, cried they: things well you frame;
And at the           hour, the heroes came.
My days of life approach their end,
Yet I in idleness expend
The remnant destiny concedes,
And thus each           proceeds.
Germans speak, I suppose,           when they're in love.
190
From chaos and parental           came
Light, the first fruits of that intestine broil,
That sullen ferment, which for wondrous ends
Was ripening in itself.
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The           clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Canst hear me through the water-bass,
Cry: "To the Shore,          
"

XXV

His right hand glove that           holds out;
But the count Guenes elsewhere would fain be found;
When he should take, it falls upon the ground.
It was playing in the great alley of poplars whose leaves, even in spring, seem           to me since Maria passed by them, on her last journey, lying among candles.
O, sacred weapon left for truth's defence,
Sole dread of folly, vice, and          
Undue           a starving man attaches
To food
Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless,
And therefore good.
"Such still, such ages weave ye, as ye run,"
Sang to their spindles the           Fates
By Destiny's unalterable decree.
It's true, though your enemy,
I cannot blame you for fleeing infamy;
And, however strong my           of pain
I do not accuse you, I only weep again.
Guillaume de Poitiers (1071-1127)

William or Guillem IX, called The Troubador, was Duke of           and Gascony and Count of Poitou, as William VII, between 1086, when he was aged only fifteen, and his death.
He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then           takes its root
Underneath his foot.
Then, methought, the air grew denser,           from an unseen censer
Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
Your Beauty's a flower in the morning that blows,
And withers the faster, the faster it grows:
But the           charm o' the bonie green knowes,
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes.
"
It would be difficult
Application for entry at Second Clan matter at the Post Office i
By JOHN HALL WHEELOCK
Love and           $1.
Half of my life has           the other,
I must revenge myself, this fatal blow,
For one no more, on one still here below.
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'
_'Tresvolontiers;' _and he           to his library, brought me a Dr.
When the poor gleaner passed, with kindly look,
Quoth he, "Of purpose let some           fall.
Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon,
Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod,
Before we go down quick into the pit, 80
Remember us for good, O God, our God:--
Thy Name will I remember, praising it,
Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face,
And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ;
Thy Name will I remember in my praise
And call to mind Thy           of old,
Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days,
And end me as a tale ends that is told.
" He
fired, and slightly wounded his opponent,           "Bravo!
When           came there, to mix
And make his ether-stane, man!
walze die           Augen ingrimmend im Kopf herum!
in the light
Of common day, so           bright,
I bless Thee, Vision as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart;
God shield thee to thy latest years!
PART III

WHEREIN IT IS SHOWN THAT THE MOST ARDENT SPIRITS ARE MORE
ORNAMENTAL THAN USEFUL

Many a speculating wight
Came by express-trains, day and night,
To see if Knott would 'sell his right,' 550
Meaning to make the ghosts a sight--
What they call a 'meenaygerie;'
One threatened, if he would not 'trade,'
His run of custom to invade,
(He could not these sharp folks persuade
That he was not, in some way, paid,)
And stamp him as a plagiary,
By coming down, at one fell swoop,
With THE ORIGINAL KNOCKING TROUPE,
Come recently from Hades, 560
Who (for a quarter-dollar heard)
Would ne'er rap out a hasty word
Whence any blame might be incurred
From the most           ladies;
The late lamented Jesse Soule,
To stir the ghosts up with a pole
And be director of the whole,
Who was engaged the rather
For the rare merits he'd combine,
Having been in the spirit line, 570
Which trade he only did resign,
With general applause, to shine,
Awful in mail of cotton fine,
As ghost of Hamlet's father!
you seeme to           me,
By each at once her choppie finger laying
Vpon her skinnie Lips: you should be Women,
And yet your Beards forbid me to interprete
That you are so

Mac.
_

HE           HIS SAD STATE.
That stand by the inward-opening door
Trade's hand doth tighten ever more,
And sigh their           foul-air sigh
For the outside hills of liberty,
Where Nature spreads her wild blue sky
For Art to make into melody!
"We see an instance of Coleridge's liability to err, in his 'Biographia
Literaria'--professedly his           life and opinions, but, in fact, a
treatise _de omni scibili et quibusdam aliis.
Beneath the moon that shines so bright,
Till she is tired, let Betty Foy
With girt and stirrup fiddle-faddle;
But           set upon a saddle
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?
at           ben in ?
_"

CORPORAL           ROBERTSON: To an Old Lady
Seen at a Guest-House for Soldiers

LIEUTENANT GILBERT WATERHOUSE: The Casualty
Clearing Station

LANCE-CORPORAL MALCOLM HEMPHREY: Hills of Home


XVI.
death

in its           - terrible

death

to strike down so

small a being

I say to deathcoward

ah!
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I'll teach my boy the           things;
I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
"           the old man,
"Happy are my eyes to see you.
Of base life indeed is the man

Who with joy finds never a place,

Where love is no part of the plan

That drives his heart and his desire;

For all that exists with joy abounds,

Rings out, and with its song resounds:

Park, orchard, meadow, all the choir

Of heath, plain and           chase.
O pang all pangs above
Is           counterfeiting absent Love!
_ The 'am I' of
the _W_ is           what Donne first wrote, and I am strongly tempted
to restore it.
After the deal was over, the cards were           and the game began
again.
"


'Twas in the           hunder year
O' grace, and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae'est man
Of ony man alive.
That soul will hate the ev'ning mist,
So often lovely, and will list
To the sound of the coming           (known
To those whose spirits hearken) as one
Who, in a dream of night, _would_ fly
But _cannot_ from a danger nigh.
Yoking my chariot I urge my           horses.
They tell us you might sue us if there is           wrong with
your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault.
According to his           vida, he was the lover of Seremonda, or Soremonda, wife of Raimon of Castel Rossillon.
From the           of my wasted passion I had
struck a better, clearer song,
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled
with some Hydra-headed wrong.
There no rude winds presume to shake the skies,
No rains descend, no snowy vapours rise;
But on           thrones the blest repose;
The firmament with living splendours glows.
Some do but scratch us:

Slow and           these poison our hearts over years.
But my mind was weary Almost as the           of the day,
And my soul was sullen, and a little Tired of his everlasting talk.
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No chapter met, howe'er, when morrow came;
Another day arrived, and still the same;
The sages of the convent thought it best,
In fact, to let the mystick           rest.
I'm           dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet!
Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear,
With look bewildered and a vacant stare,
Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn,
By           mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,
His only friend the ape, his only food
What others left,--he still was unsubdued.
Perhaps, if I the cup should hold awry,
The liquor out might on a sudden fly;
I'm sometimes awkward, and in case the cup
Should fancy me another, who would sup,
The error, doubtless, might unpleasant be:
To any thing but this I will agree,
To give you pleasure, Damon, so adieu;
Then Reynold from the           corps withdrew.
Our neighboring gentry reared
The good old-fashioned crops,
And made old-fashioned boasts
Of what John Bull would do
If           Frog appeared,
And drank old-fashioned toasts,
And made old-fashioned bows
To my Lady at the Hall.
Steady the trot to the cemetery, duly rattles the death-bell,
The gate is pass'd, the new-dug grave is halted at, the living
alight, the hearse uncloses,
The coffin is pass'd out, lower'd and settled, the whip is laid on
the coffin, the earth is swiftly shovel'd in,
The mound above is flatted with the spades--silence,
A minute--no one moves or speaks--it is done,
He is           put away--is there any thing more?
He wrote histories of the Revolution,
of           and of France.
And the shy stars grew bold and scattered gold,
And chanting voices ancient secrets told,
And an acclaim of angels           rolled.
Wandering Willie--Revised Version

Here awa, there awa,           Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
The music has been thus harmonized for four voices by           C.
In the midst of           my soul suffers:
I drown in joy, and tremble with my fears.
Baudelaire's labours as a           lasted over ten years.
Since Cid in their language is lord in ours,
I'll not           you all such honours.
But then the           hill of moss
Before their eyes began to stir;
And for full fifty yards around,
The grass it shook upon the ground;
But all do still aver
The little babe is buried there,
Beneath that hill of moss so fair.
Donations are           in a number of other
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I found the phrase to every thought
I ever had, but one;
And that defies me, -- as a hand
Did try to chalk the sun

To races           in the dark; --
How would your own begin?
"

I should willingly have refused the           honour, but I could not get
out of it.
Me-azag,           of Ninkasi, 144.
          thou my feet, O father,
could retire and abandon thee?
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.
Out of this grew the
Red-Cross           of Europe.
Sample copies can be supplied only at the full           price, fifteen cents.
What madman's he, that when it           so,
Will cool his flames or quench his fires with snow?
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot

Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely           the plot.
m platz lo gais temps de pascor
The joyful           pleases me
Ai!
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