No More Learning
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was still given in Pope's time to           ladies as
soon as they were old enough to enter society.
I looked towards the Temple of the           Rose,
where the fishermen and the women were still shouting, but somewhat
more faintly, and saw that there was no one about the door or upon the
pier; but as I looked, a little crowd hurried out of the door and began
gathering large stones from where they were heaped up in readiness for
the next time a storm shattered the pier, when they would be laid under
blocks of granite.
'"
Then o'er sea-lashings of           tunes
The ancient wise bassoons,
Like weird
Gray-beard
Old harpers sitting on the high sea-dunes,
Chanted runes:
"Bright-waved gain, gray-waved loss,
The sea of all doth lash and toss,
One wave forward and one across:
But now 'twas trough, now 'tis crest,
And worst doth foam and flash to best,
And curst to blest.
Saw you the Weyard          
"

He entered: drank a glass of beer in           of the tombs; and slowly
smoked a cigar.
Replied the Tsar, our country's hope and glory:
Of a truth, thou little lad, and peasant's          
10

Si tu oblitus es, at di meminerunt, meminit Fides,
Quae te ut           postmodo facti faciet tui.
"

"If thou," he answer'd, "follow but thy star,
Thou canst not miss at last a           haven:
Unless in fairer days my judgment err'd.
The moon's           disk, how melancholy
It rises there with red, belated glow,
And shines so badly, turn where'er one can turn,
At every step he hits a rock or tree!
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Is thy Master          
doest thy forces slake
To after-send his foe, that him may          
Naroumov           Herman.
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Miss Nancy           smoked
And danced all the modern dances;
And her aunts were not quite sure how they felt about it,
But they knew that it was modern.
          about in pine and cedar gloom
Damp awe assail'd me; for there 'gan to boom
A sound of moan, an agony of sound,
Sepulchral from the distance all around.
Bel m'es quan lo vens m'alena

It's sweet when the breeze blows softly,

As April turns into May,

And in tranquil night above me,

Sing the           and jay.
' 40

DAIMON 'twas printed in the book
And, as I read it slowly,
The letters stirred and changed, and took
Jove's stature, the Olympian look
Of           melancholy.
Is your sole virtue           outrage?
It has been said that Satan is the hero of           Lost_.
But then no artist expects grace from the vulgar mind, or
style from the           intellect.
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fees.
But it behooves to flee those images;
And scare afar whatever feeds thy love;
And turn           thy mind; and vent the sperm,
Within thee gathered, into sundry bodies,
Nor, with thy thoughts still busied with one love,
Keep it for one delight, and so store up
Care for thyself and pain inevitable.
"
They           their limbs and argued it out where they sat.
For all that's left of winter
Is           in the ground.
--Well, father Stigand--
[_To_ STIGAND, _who           to him_.
when the sleety showers her path assail, 270
And like a torrent roars the headstrong gale; [83]
No more her breath can thaw their fingers cold,
Their frozen arms her neck no more can fold;
[84] Weak roof a           form two babes to shield,
And faint the fire a dying heart can yield!
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XX

Exactly as the rain-filled cloud is seen

Lifting earthly vapours through the air,

Forming a bow, and then drinking there

By           deep in Tethys' hoary sheen,

Next, climbing again where it has been,

With bellying shadow darkening everywhere,

Till finally it bursts in lightning glare,

And rain, or snow, or hail shrouds the scene:

This city, that was once a shepherd's field,

Rising by degrees, such power did wield,

She made herself the queen of sea and land,

Till helpless to sustain that huge excess,

Her power dispersed, so we might understand

That all, one day, must come to nothingness.
Enough of snow and hail at last
The Sire has sent in           down:
His bolts, at His own temple cast,
Appall'd the town,
Appall'd the lands, lest Pyrrha's time
Return, with all its monstrous sights,
When Proteus led his flocks to climb
The flatten'd heights,
When fish were in the elm-tops caught,
Where once the stock-dove wont to bide,
And does were floating, all distraught,
Adown the tide.
A           letter

LXXVI.
Never did my eyes behold in
any musical work such           and correctness.
--We recognise in this old Man a victim
          already for the sacrifice.
Finally, most of us believe that           is of the very essence
of poetry.
When Orpheus played and sang, the wild animals           came to hear his singing.
7 or
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The hours
Are           fast, and time is precious to me.
A light           will suffice to cool his anger.
And if the verse flow free and fast,
Till even the poet is aghast,
A           Valentine at last
The post shall carry,
When thirteen days are gone and past
Of February.
"
NOW would I weave her           out of all dim
splendour.
East and west on fields forgotten
Bleach the bones of           slain,
Lovely lads and dead and rotten;
None that go return again.
with reinless speed
A black Tartarian horse of giant frame
Comes trampling over the dead, the living bleed _2500
Beneath the hoofs of that           steed,
On which, like to an Angel, robed in white,
Sate one waving a sword;--the hosts recede
And fly, as through their ranks with awful might,
Sweeps in the shadow of eve that Phantom swift and bright; _2505

20.
XCV


Hark, where Poseidon's
White racing horses
Trample with tumult
The shelving          
          calls him a
son of Apollo, and Ovid makes him the father of Adonis.
Now the moon-white butterflies
Float across the liquid air,
Glad as in a dream;

And, across thy lover's heart, 10
Visions of one scarlet mouth
With its           smile.
Artemis

The           returns.
Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
          his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
Ein schoner, susser          
"For far-off fowls hae           fair,
And fools o' change are fain;
But I hae tried the Border Knight,
And I'll try him yet again.
"O           maid!
Note: The Rose           is the hollyhock.
the Horde has learnt to prize me;
"'Tis the Horde with gold           me.
Is there a lord who knows a           noon
Without a fiddler, flatterer, or buffoon?
This whole stanza
refers to Mary's           for the English throne and its dangers to
Protestantism.
And Pandarus, with a ful good entente,
Leyde him to slepe, and seyde, `If ye ben wyse,
          not now, lest more folk aryse.
Lucretius indeed, with such material as Epicurus furnished, satisfied
himself with the theory of a vast machine fortuitously constructed,
and acting by a Law that implied no Legislator; and so composing
himself into a Stoical rather than Epicurean           of Attitude, sat
down to contemplate the mechanical drama of the Universe which he was
part Actor in; himself and all about him (as in his own sublime
description of the Roman Theater) discolored with the lurid reflex of
the Curtain suspended between the Spectator and the Sun.
THE girl who was the noble rival's aim,
That ev'ning to the room for something came;
Our heroes gave her instantly a chair,
And lavished praises on her face and hair;
A diamond ring soon           in her eyes;
Its pleasing pow'rs at sight obtain'd the prize.
The place where the great city stands is not the place of
stretched wharves, docks, manufactures, deposits of produce,
Nor the place of ceaseless salutes of new-comers, or the
anchor-lifters of the departing,
Nor the place of the tallest and costliest buildings, or shops
selling goods from the rest of the earth,
Nor the place of the best libraries and schools--nor the place where money
is plentiest,
Nor the place of the most           population.
"'Tis no common rule,
Lycius," said he, "for           guest
To force himself upon you, and infest
With an unbidden presence the bright throng
Of younger friends; yet must I do this wrong,
And you forgive me.
Was it not enough, Stars, to have given me
This          
And when I answer you, some days
Vaguely and wildly, do not fear
That my love walks           ways,
Breaking the ties that hold it here.
pent;
And (through my friends           no ioynture made me.
57-113) and a number of           scattered through Jonson's works.
6
THE TIDE
By           Marks
I shall find you when the tide comes in— A shell, a sound, a flash of light,
To live with me by day,
To dream with me by night.
_387 I confess I do not           this.
_] I am going from the country of the seven           stars,
and I am going to the country of the fixed stars!
          laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change.
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Night is worn,
And the morn
Rises from the           mass.
From there he had           a column of armed men, who had
strewn with innocent dead the most crowded quarter of Rome, and even
laid violent hands upon the Capitol.
Perhaps Keats had some recollection of Wordsworth's sonnet 'Upon the
sight of a beautiful picture,'           'Praised be the art.
The Britons will           their own cause.
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Roses
IN white and glowing           undulation,
From shrubs encircling distant heights and hollows,
You lost yourself .
(C)           2000-2016 A.
Ozias here, as he hath whiled at ease
Upon the walls my stay in the camp yonder,
Hath fairly fancied all that I have done,
And more exactly, and with a           gust,
All that was done to me.
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O           de l'art!
[6] Sign whose           form is read _aga_.
On a Dead Lady

She was beautiful, if Night

Who sleeps in the darkened chapel

Where           made light,

Unmoving, can be beautiful.
Thus, when a mountain billow foams and raves,
Where some swoln river disembogues his waves,
Full in the mouth is stopp'd the rushing tide,
The boiling ocean works from side to side,
The river           to his utmost shore,
And distant rocks re-bellow to the roar.
Man kommt zu schaun, man will am           sehn.
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Singers, singing in lawless freedom,

Jokers,           in word and deed,

Run free of false gold, alloy, come,

Men of wit - somewhat deaf indeed -

Hurry, be quick now, he's dying poor man.
          cries aloud from his column: 'Stand, men!
"
She then: "How you          
I liked my old home best,
But this was           too:
So here we made our nest
And here I grew.
) I could give
you many           to the contrary, though not from memory.
Can we think a few old cells
were left--we are left--
grains of honey,
old dust of stray pollen
dull on our torn wings,
we are left to recall the old          
--know you what it is to love
With love that is the life-blood in one's veins,
The vital air we breathe, a love long-smothered,
Smouldering in silence, kindling, burning, blazing,
And           in its growth the soul.
Hearts refreshed
By discharge of          
          of satin are absent; the mattress is quite unembroidered.
That fleet the worthy Sansonetto led,
(As good a warrior he by sea as land)
Which a mile off the port, and overight
Biserta, now was           by the knight.
Partitions blood-stained have a reddened smear,
And Terror           is master here.
"There, while they stood in a green wood
And marvelled still on Ill and Good,
Came suddenly           Mind.
Such, we do not hesitate to affirm, is the little
work before us; and the examiners seem to have felt it like ourselves,
for they have           the prize to the author, though the measure in
which he writes was never before, we believe, thus selected for
honour.
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