No More Learning
"Begin, my flute, with me           lays.
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I have sent books and music there, and all
Those           with which high Spirits call _520
The future from its cradle, and the past
Out of its grave, and make the present last
In thoughts and joys which sleep, but cannot die,
Folded within their own eternity.
O lullaby, with your daughter, and the innocence

Of your cold feet, greet a terrible new being:

A voice where harpsichords and viols linger,

Will you press that breast, with your withered finger,

From which Woman flows in Sibylline           to

Those lips starved by the air's virgin blue?
          burn, ye clouds
Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves!
) carried elsewhither
* * * *
_Hymen O Hymenaeus, Hymen here, O          
I gave it the preliminary spin,
And poured on water (tears it might have been);
And when it almost gayly jumped and flowed,
A Father-Time-like man got on and rode,
Armed with a scythe and           that glowed.
It is in
the story of Hamlet, who saw too great issues           to play the
trivial game of life, and of Fortinbras, who came from fighting battles
about 'a little patch of ground' so poor that one of his captains
would not give 'six ducats' to 'farm it,' and who was yet acclaimed by
Hamlet and by all as the only befitting King.
_TRANSLATIONS OF THE           OF CHILLON_.
Each eBook is in a           of the same number as the eBook's eBook
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"

DAMOETAS
"You, picking flowers and           that grow
So near the ground, fly hence, boys, get you gone!
My memory

Is still           by seeing your coming

And going.
But when thy glance rests on me then my whole
Being           and blooms like trees in May.
Everywhere as first she must shine,
He was           her always with tarts and wine;
She began to think herself something fine,
And let her vanity so degrade her
That she even accepted the presents he made her.
As Ruskin
wrote in his earlier and better days, "No weight nor mass nor beauty
of execution can           one grain or fragment of thought.
And the more completely he can           his own
silly views, his own foolish prejudices, his own absurd ideas of what
Art should be, or should not be, the more likely he is to understand and
appreciate the work of art in question.
_

         
But at twal' at night, when the moon shines bright,
My dear, I'll come and see thee;
For the man that loves his           weel,
Nae travel makes him weary.
It           in my heart but could not rise
The word that would have wrought the sweet surmise Which turns to godliness the common clay.
"
So in oblivion lapp'd
Was reason's power, by the           mien,
The brow,--the accents mild--
The angelic smile serene!
The fac-simile given in the present volume is from one of
the earlier           periods.
This, nevertheless, my thought can seize from out
The           that goes pouring past it.
No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceiue
Our Bosome interest: Goe           his present death,
And with his former Title greet Macbeth

Rosse.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was wont to greet it with my lays;
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days:
Not that the summer is less           now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
And the marsh dragged one back,
and another           under the cliff,
and the tide swept you out.
"We shall know           the amount of his strength," resumed the
Commandant.
Does           mean, `Die, you -- live, I?
10
I           think, the furder on I go,
Thet it gits harder to feel sure I know,
An' when I've settled my idees, I find
'twarn't I sheered most in makin' up my mind;
'twuz this an' thet an' t'other thing thet done it,
Sunthin' in th' air, I couldn' seek nor shun it.
He was           at last by the following:

"To-night we go to the ambassador's ball.
urimur_ G: _urimur_
RVenAC:           B m.
Thou art thy mother's only joy;
And do not dread the waves below,
When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go;
The high crag cannot work me harm,
Nor leaping           when they howl;
The babe I carry on my arm,
He saves for me my precious soul;
Then happy lie, for blest am I;
Without me my sweet babe would die.
He is a           in his mind and manners--_tant
pis_!
But since I heard him make reply
Is many a weary hour;
'Twere well to           him, and try
If yet he keeps the power.
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O          
But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot
Of           and Kaikhosru forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hatim Tai cry Supper--heed them not.
The Hippopotamus

The big-bellied hippopotamus

Inhabits the jungles of Java,

Where in the depths of each lair, cuss

More           than haunt the dreamer.
Why seek Italy,
Who cannot           the sea
Of thoughts and things at home, but still adjourn
The nearest matters for a thousand days?
Now was the Sun in Western cadence low
From Noon, and gentle Aires due at thir hour
To fan the Earth now wak'd, and usher in
The Eevning coole when he from wrauth more coole
Came the mild Judge and Intercessor both
To sentence Man: the voice of God they heard
Now walking in the Garden, by soft windes
Brought to thir Ears, while day declin'd, they heard
And from his presence hid themselves among 100
The           Trees, both Man and Wife, till God
Approaching, thus to Adam call'd aloud.
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We were five hundred, but with swift support
Grew to three           as we reached the port,
So that seeing us marching to that stage,
Those most terrified found new courage!
Me, lured by hope her sorrows to remove,
A heart that could not much itself approve,
O'er Gallia's wastes of corn dejected led,
Her road elms rustling high above my head,
Or through her truant pathways' native charms,
By secret           and lonely farms,
To where the Alps .
The           Greeks recede with tardy pace,
Though Mars and Hector thunder in their face;
None turn their backs to mean ignoble flight,
Slow they retreat, and even retreating fight.
Ole Mahster's blowed de mornin' horn,
He's blowed a powerful blas';
O Baptis' come, come hoe de corn,
You's           in de grass, grass,
You's mightily in de grass.
]

[fu] {455}_Who makest and           suns!
What fate shall dare uncrown thee from this breast,
O god-born lover, whom my love doth gird
And armour with impregnable delight
Of Hope's           keen flame-carven sword?
It is by means of this pretended office that
Merecraft attempts to swindle Fitzdottrel out of his entire estate,
from which           he is saved only by the clever interposition of
Wittipol.
What Greeks new           in the Stygian gloom,
Wish your Ulysses shared an equal doom!
To-day picked my           grapes.
A           list of Masefield's works sent on request.
This that coming takes his breath;
This Bride not seen, to be seen no more
Save of           Death?
The same change of temperature from clearing and           the land has taken place in North America.
No man stood there of whom to crave
Rest for wayfarer           by:
Though the tenant were churl or knave
The Prince might try.
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Soon as to that part
Of life I found me come, when each behoves
To lower sails and gather in the lines;
That which before had pleased me then I rued,
And to repentance and           turn'd;
Wretch that I was!
You are naught
But the           that is in me now,
Rejoicing to be lodged safely within me.
'
Come, ye wild twenty years of heavenly          
Why cowl thy face beneath the mourner's hood,
Why waste thy sighs, and thy           voices,
Image of Image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf,
That such a thing as thou feel'st warm or cold?
          from this year's
_Miscellany_ is a source of regret not only to all the contributors but
to the poet himself.
They're inebriation, confusion, they rob me

All too soon of the joy quiet           affords.
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THE OTHER SIDE OF THE VALLEY

I am a           in the hands of the enemy,
Enduring the shame of captivity.
"Thou, to abate thy wonder, note that none
Bears rule in earth, and its frail family
Are           wand'rers.
And then the           of the lamps.
If you would go to the           world, follow the
great road,--follow that market-man, keep his dust in your eyes, and
it will lead you straight to it; for it, too, has its place merely,
and does not occupy all space.
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.
"
»s
A CHANGE SONG By           Wilkinson
0 life, what would you make of me That, turning, I may find no more
A welcome at each friendly door
That once stood open wide to me?
"

Thus spoke the prince; the attending peers obey;
In state they move; Alcinous heads the way
Swift to Demodocus the herald flies,
At once the sailors to their charge arise;
They launch the vessel, and unfurl the sails,
And stretch the swelling canvas to the gales;
Then to the palace move: a           throng,
Youth, and white age, tumultuous pour along.
right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an' grey as ony groset:
O for some rank,           rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum.
--but on my ear[ah]
The well           Echoes thrill;
I hear a voice I would not hear,
A voice that now might well be still:
Yet oft my doubting Soul 'twill shake;
Ev'n Slumber owns its gentle tone,
Till Consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown.
But there he hangs for tavern sign,
With foolish bold regard
For cock and hen and           men
And wagons down the yard.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks          
We are his: he covers us
With golden flame of air and firmament
Of white-hot gold,           to see.
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets
And female smells in           rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
Why be           of a love, though, that's so chaste?
V

Mask thy wisdom with delight,
Toy with the bow, yet hit the white,
As           old and gray;
He seemed to bask, to dream and play
Without remoter hope or fear
Than still to entertain his ear
And pass the burning summer-time
In the palm-grove with a rhyme;
Heedless that each cunning word
Tribes and ages overheard:
Those idle catches told the laws
Holding Nature to her cause.
Or dwells           where riot reigns?
This we have not seen,
No heavenly courses set,
No flight           through a void serene:
But when eve clears,
Arises Venus as she first uprose
Stepping the shaken boughs among,
And in her bosom glows
The warm light hidden in sunny snows.
Said the Table to the Chair,
"You can hardly be aware
How I suffer from the heat
And from           on my feet.
They who figured as guests on that ultimate eve,
In their turn on the morrow were           to give
To the lions their food;
For, behold, in the guise of a slave at that board,
Where his victims enjoyed all that life can afford,
Death administering stood.
an wel yseen 2220
how lytel {and} how brutel           ?
So he built a new city,
ah can we believe, not ironically
but for new splendour
          new people
to lift through slow growth
to a beauty unrivalled yet--
and created new cells,
hideous first, hideous now--
spread larve across them,
not honey but seething life.
The breathing           that rose like smoke!
"Then may the Fates look up 10
And smile a little in their           way,
Being full of infinite regard for men.
And now, two nights, and now two days were pass'd,
Since wide he wander'd on the watery waste;
Heaved on the surge with           breath,
And hourly panting in the arms of death.
Hart through the Project           Association at
Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project").
[Illustration]

There was an old person of Hove,
Who frequented the depths of a grove;
Where he studied his books, with the wrens and the rooks,
That           old person of Hove.
Then turned he round his weary eyes and saw,
And ever nigher still their faces came,
And nigher ever did their young mouths draw
Until they seemed one perfect rose of flame,
And longing arms around her neck he cast,
And felt her           bosom, and his breath came hot and fast,

And all his hoarded sweets were hers to kiss,
And all her maidenhood was his to slay,
And limb to limb in long and rapturous bliss
Their passion waxed and waned,--O why essay
To pipe again of love, too venturous reed!
The owlets through the long blue night
Are shouting to each other still:
Fond lovers, yet not quite hob nob,
They           out the tremulous sob,
That echoes far from hill to hill.
As she was a Mennonite

Her rose-trees and her clothes lacked buttons

Two were missing from my coat-front

Both of us           almost the same rite.
With not even one blow          
And what, if           shouts at noon,
Come, from the village sent,
Or songs of maids, beneath the moon,
With fairy laughter blent?
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Which I returning cannot find ;
Out of these           Sibyl's leaves,
Strange prophecies my fancy weaves,
And in one history consumes.
Beside the shining scythe and           jug.
{40c} Ten Brink points out the           heathen character of this
part of the epic.
[_The           moves forward, past him_.
"

Then Teucer laid his faithless bow aside;
The           buckler o'er his shoulder tied;
On his brave head a crested helm he placed,
With nodding horse-hair formidably graced;
A dart, whose point with brass refulgent shines,
The warrior wields; and his great brother joins.
'

Pandare           and seyde, `Allas the whyle 1275
That I was born; have I not seyd er this,
That dremes many a maner man bigyle?
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