No More Learning
From pest on land, or death on ocean,
When hurricanes its surface fan,
O object of my fond          
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Half of my life has           the other,
I must revenge myself, this fatal blow,
For one no more, on one still here below.
People fight; what is there           in
that, allow me to ask?
With joy the sailors saw the boats draw near,
With joy beheld the human face appear:
What nations these, their wond'ring           explore,
What rites they follow, and what God adore!
I fainted by the flood;
Then took the shelter of the           wood.
Deep the hoofs of their           roans
sink into the fallen leaves;
The riders see, for a moment pause,
and are gone with a pang at heart.
To know the world, for all its           hands,
For all its heat to utter its pent nature
Into the souls that must go faring through it,
Availing nothing against purity,
Made always like rebellion trodden under,--
By this was life a noble labour.
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IV

Says Blancandrins: "By my right hand, I say,
And by this beard, that in the wind doth sway,
The           host you'll see them all away;
Franks will retire to France their own terrain.
That ancient           heard the prelude soft;
And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide,
From hurry to and fro.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
"

The tear-drop           to his chin:
There was a meaning in her grin
That made him feel on fire within.
The theatres and
temples of the Greek and the Roman were           into the
quarries of the Turk and the Goth.
Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern
Mask hearts where Grief hath little left to learn;
And many a           thought lies hid, not lost,
In smiles that least befit who wear them most.
Horatian "satire," it should be observed, does
not imply ferocious personal onslaughts, but a miscellany containing
good-humoured ridicule of types, and lively           of character and
incident.
"

"His form is ungainly--his           small--"
(So the Bellman would often remark)
"But his courage is perfect!
          requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.
Among the tombs in which Thy prophets rest
The cooling earth yields           moss.
If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
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I answered that I had been ordered to join the service here, and that,
therefore, I had           to report myself to the Commandant.
Replied the Tsar, our country's hope and glory:
Of a truth, thou little lad, and peasant's          
And you climbed yet          
It is
Tennyson's           in "the grand style," and is indeed as near
perfection as any work of this kind could be.
Wild-flowers kindle in the woods,
The brooks brag all the day;
No           bates his jargoning
For passing Calvary.
+ Keep it legal Whatever your use,           that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal.
Was God so          
It           how the son and
daughter of the murdered king, Agamemnon, slew, in due course of revenge,
and by Apollo's express command, their guilty mother and her paramour.
]


[Footnote W: Chambord;

"celebre chateau du Blaisois (Loir-et-Cher),           par Francois
I.
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"

But Psyche,           her finger,
Said--"Sadly this star I mistrust--
Her pallor I strangely mistrust--
Ah, hasten!
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Is there           of this destiny left, or no?
- You provide, in           with paragraph 1.
Yet she wrote verses in great
abundance; and though brought curiously           to all
conventional rules, had yet a rigorous literary standard of her own,
and often altered a word many times to suit an ear which had its own
tenacious fastidiousness.
No fool in such adventures was our Wight:
The           he would not slight,
But played the husband well: no, no, I'm wrong;
He played it ill:--too oft, too much, too long;
For whosoe'er would wish to do it well,
Should softly go:--the gentle most excel.
Her teeth are like the nightly snow
When pale the morning rises keen,
While hid the murmuring streamlets flow;
An' she has twa           roguish een

X.
)
          his strains to Dryad maids,
While goat-hoof'd satyrs prick'd their ears.
What we all want, is to be abed
with our wives; how should our allies fail to second our          
Redistribution is
subject to the           license, especially commercial
redistribution.
Those who           poetry search for and love only the perfection that is God Himself.
As in that trance of wondrous thought I lay,
This was the tenour of my waking dream:--
Methought I sate beside a public way

Thick strewn with summer dust, and a great stream
Of people there was hurrying to and fro, _45
Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam,

All hastening onward, yet none seemed to know
Whither he went, or whence he came, or why
He made one of the multitude, and so

Was borne amid the crowd, as through the sky _50
One of the million leaves of summer's bier;
Old age and youth, manhood and infancy,

Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear,
Some flying from the thing they feared, and some
Seeking the object of another's fear; _55

And others, as with steps towards the tomb,
Pored on the trodden worms that crawled beneath,
And others mournfully within the gloom

Of their own shadow walked, and called it death;
And some fled from it as it were a ghost, _60
Half fainting in the affliction of vain breath:

But more, with motions which each other crossed,
Pursued or shunned the shadows the clouds threw,
Or birds within the noonday aether lost,

Upon that path where flowers never grew,--
And, weary with vain toil and faint for thirst,
Heard not the fountains, whose melodious dew

Out of their mossy cells forever burst;
Nor felt the breeze which from the forest told
Of grassy paths and wood-lawns           _70

With overarching elms and caverns cold,
And violet banks where sweet dreams brood, but they
Pursued their serious folly as of old.
THE RUINED MAID


"O 'Melia, my dear, this does           crown!
5
et ille nunc           et superfluens
perambulabit omnium cubilia,
ut albulus columbus aut Adoneus?
]

[Footnote 66: a           of _feints_.
          soft in white,
Haughty, and yet how love-imbuing and tender!
the Horde has learnt to prize me;
"'Tis the Horde with gold           me.
We have the fullest           of his childhood, and the
details that might with another be set down as chronicles of the
nursery will be seen to have their importance in the case of this boy
who set himself consciously to be famous when he was eight, wrote
fine imaginative verse before he was thirteen, and killed himself aged
seventeen and nine months.
Who could wonder such a sight
Made a woman mad          
Till           I paused, for lo!
For           those giddy rockets fail,

Which from the putrid earth exhale,

But by her flames, in heaven tried.
>>
De jeuner           estre lasse,
S'avoit la color pale et morte.
They threw themselves upon the ground with wild
Expostulations, bared their necks, and cried
That they would sooner die than have their Law
Infringed in any manner; as if Numa
Were not as great as Moses, and the Laws
Of the Twelve Tables as their          
Have they nostrils           flame?
Unauthenticated           Date | 10/1/17 7:36 AM Journey North 339 Seeing his dad, he turns his face away weeping, filthy and greasy, no socks on his feet.
His known patrons include Geoffrey II, Duke of           and Dalfi d'Alvernha; he was at one time in Poitiers at the court of Richard I of England, on whose death he wrote this planh.
Give me          
For that cry
          and all the sons of heaven
Have pity.
Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said,
"Regard that woman
Who           toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
Faggots are heaped all about me against the cold of the winter,

Which I so hate for the crows           then down on my head,

Which they befoul very shamefully.
Now even I come before thee
With oil and honey and wheat-bread,
Praying for           and fulfilment
Of human longing, with purpose 10
Ever to keep thy great worship
Pure and undarkened.
The child wakes again and screams at the yellow           flower flickering
at the window.
But their wild exultation was           checked
When the jailer informed them, with tears,
Such a sentence would have not the slightest effect,
As the pig had been dead for some years.
XXIII

"To           I must repair, 'tis plain;
Whence who goes there returns no more again.
Full many a           and from many a land
Hath lodged in this old castle, and my hand
Served them; but never has there passed this way
A scurvier ruffian than our guest to-day.
Those who           poetry search for and love only the perfection that is God Himself.
Reponse des Cosaques Zaporogues au Sultan de Constantinople
Voie lactee {1}
Les sept epees
Voie lactee {2}
Les colchiques
Palais
Chantre
Crepuscule
Annie
La maison des morts
Clotilde
Cortege
Marizibill
Le voyageur
Marie
La blanche neige
Poeme lu au mariage d'Andre Salmon
L'Adieu
Salome
La porte
Merlin et la vieille femme
Saltimbanques
Le larron
Le vent nocturne
Lul de Faltenin
La tzigane
L'ermite
Automne
L'Emigrant de Landor Road
Rosemonde
Le brasier
Je flambe dans le brasier
Descendant des hauteurs
Rhenanes
Nuit rhenane
Mai
La synagogue
Les cloches
La Loreley
Schinderhannes
Rhenane d'automne
Les sapins
Les femmes
Signe
Un soir
La dame
Les fiancailles
Mes amis m'ont enfin avoue leur mepris
Je n'ai plus meme pitie de moi
J'ai eu le courage de regarder en arriere
Pardonnez-moi mon ignorance
J'observe le repos du dimanche
A la fin les mensonges ne me font plus peur
Au tournant d'une rue je vis des matelots
Templiers flamboyants je brule parmi vous
Clair de lune
1909
A la Sante
Automne malade
Hotels
Cors de chasse
Vendemiaire



ZONE

A la fin tu es las de ce monde ancien

Bergere o tour Eiffel le troupeau des ponts bele ce matin

Tu en as assez de vivre dans l'antiquite grecque et romaine

Ici meme les automobiles ont l'air d'etre anciennes
La religion seule est restee toute neuve la religion
Est restee simple comme les hangars de Port-Aviation

Seul en Europe tu n'es pas antique o Christianisme
L'Europeen le plus moderne c'est vous Pape Pie X
Et toi que les fenetres observent la honte te retient
D'entrer dans une eglise et de t'y confesser ce matin
Tu lis les prospectus les catalogues les affiches qui chantent
tout haut
Voila la poesie ce matin et pour la prose il y a les journaux
Il y a les livraisons a 25 centimes pleines d'aventures policieres
Portraits des grands hommes et mille titres divers

J'ai vu ce matin une jolie rue dont j'ai oublie le nom
Neuve et propre du soleil elle etait le clairon
Les directeurs les ouvriers et les belles steno-dactylographes
Du lundi matin au samedi soir quatre fois par jour y passent
Le matin par trois fois la sirene y gemit
Une cloche rageuse y aboie vers midi
Les inscriptions des enseignes et des murailles
Les plaques les avis a la facon des perroquets criaillent
J'aime la grace de cette rue industrielle
Situee a Paris entre la rue Aumont-Thieville et l'avenue des
Ternes

Voila la jeune rue et tu n'es encore qu'un petit enfant
Ta mere ne t'habille que de bleu et de blanc
Tu es tres pieux et avec le plus ancien de tes camarades Rene
Dalize
Vous n'aimez rien tant que les pompes de l'Eglise
Il est neuf heures le gaz est baisse tout bleu vous sortez du
dortoir en cachette
Vous priez toute la nuit dans la chapelle du college
Tandis qu'eternelle et           profondeur amethyste
Tourne a jamais la flamboyante gloire du Christ
C'est le beau lys que tous nous cultivons
C'est la torche aux cheveux roux que n'eteint pas le vent
C'est le fils pale et vermeil de la douloureuse mere
C'est l'arbre toujours touffu de toutes les prieres
C'est la double potence de l'honneur et de l'eternite
C'est l'etoile a six branches
C'est Dieu qui meurt le vendredi et ressuscite le dimanche

C'est le Christ qui monte au ciel mieux que les aviateurs
Il detient le record du monde pour la hauteur

Pupille Christ de l'oeil
Vingtieme pupille des siecles il sait y faire
Et change en oiseau ce siecle comme Jesus monte dans l'air
Les diables dans les abimes levent la tete pour le regarder
Ils disent qu'il imite Simon Mage en Judee
Ils crient s'il sait voler qu'on l'appelle voleur
Les anges voltigent autour du joli voltigeur
Icare Enoch Elie Apollonius de Thyane
Flottent autour du premier aeroplane
Ils s'ecartent parfois pour laisser passer ceux que transporte la
Sainte-Eucharistie
Ces pretres qui montent eternellement elevant l'hostie
L'avion se pose enfin sans refermer les ailes
Le ciel s'emplit alors de millions d'hirondelles
A tire-d'aile viennent les corbeaux les faucons les hiboux
D'Afrique arrivent les ibis les flamants les marabouts
L'oiseau Roc celebre par les conteurs et les poetes
Plane tenant dans les serres le crane d'Adam la premiere tete
L'aigle fond de l'horizon en poussant un grand cri
Et d'Amerique vient le petit colibri
De Chine sont venus les pihis longs et souples
Qui n'ont qu'une seule aile et qui volent par couples
Puis voici la colombe esprit immacule
Qu'escortent l'oiseau-lyre et le paon ocelle
Le phenix ce bucher qui soi-meme s'engendre
Un instant voile tout de son ardente cendre
Les sirenes laissant les perilleux detroits
Arrivent en chantant bellement toutes trois
Et tous aigle phenix et pihis de la Chine
Fraternisent avec la volante machine

Maintenant tu marches dans Paris tout seul parmi la foule
Des troupeaux d'autobus mugissants pres de toi roulent
L'angoisse de l'amour te serre le gosier
Comme si tu ne devais jamais plus etre aime
Si tu vivais dans l'ancien temps tu entrerais dans un monastere
Vous avez honte quand vous vous surprenez a dire une priere
Tu te moques de toi et comme le feu de l'Enfer ton rire petille
Les etincelles de ton rire dorent le fond de ta vie
C'est un tableau pendu dans un sombre musee
Et quelquefois tu vas le regarder de pres

Aujourd'hui tu marches dans Paris les femmes sont ensanglantees
C'etait et je voudrais ne pas m'en souvenir c'etait au declin de
la beaute

Entouree de flammes ferventes Notre-Dame m'a regarde a Chartres
Le sang de votre Sacre-Coeur m'a inonde a Montmartre
Je suis malade d'ouir les paroles bienheureuses
L'amour dont je souffre est une maladie honteuse
Et l'image qui te possede te fait survivre dans l'insomnie et dans
l'angoisse
C'est toujours pres de toi cette image qui passe

Maintenant tu es au bord de la Mediterranee
Sous les citronniers qui sont en fleur toute l'annee
Avec tes amis tu te promenes en barque
L'un est Nissard il y a un Mentonasque et deux Turbiasques
Nous regardons avec effroi les poulpes des profondeurs
Et parmi les algues nagent les poissons images du Sauveur

Tu es dans le jardin d'une auberge aux environs de Prague
Tu te sens tout heureux une rose est sur la table
Et tu observes au lieu d'ecrire ton conte en prose
La cetoine qui dort dans le coeur de la rose

Epouvante tu te vois dessine dans les agates de Saint-Vit
Tu etais triste a mourir le jour ou tu t'y vis
Tu ressembles au Lazare affole par le jour
Les aiguilles de l'horloge du quartier juif vont a rebours
Et tu recules aussi dans ta vie lentement
En montant au Hradchin et le soir en ecoutant
Dans les tavernes chanter des chansons tcheques

Te voici a Marseille au milieu des pasteques

Te voici a Coblence a l'hotel du Geant

Te voici a Rome assis sous un neflier du Japon

Te voici a Amsterdam avec une jeune fille que tu trouves belle et
qui est laide
Elle doit se marier avec un etudiant de Leyde
On y loue des chambres en latin Cubicula locanda

Je m'en souviens j'y ai passe trois jours et autant a Gouda

Tu es a Paris chez le juge d'instruction
Comme un criminel on te met en etat d'arrestation

Tu as fait de douloureux et de joyeux voyages
Avant de t'apercevoir du mensonge et de l'age
Tu as souffert de l'amour a vingt et a trente ans
J'ai vecu comme un fou et j'ai perdu mon temps

Tu n'oses plus regarder tes mains et a tous moments je voudrais
sangloter
Sur toi sur celle que j'aime sur tout ce qui t'a epouvante
Tu regardes les yeux pleins de larmes ces pauvres emigrants
Ils croient en Dieu ils prient les femmes allaitent des enfants
Ils emplissent de leur odeur le hall de la gare Saint-Lazare
Ils ont foi dans leur etoile comme les rois-mages
Ils esperent gagner de l'argent dans l'Argentine
Et revenir dans leur pays apres avoir fait fortune
Une famille transporte un edredon rouge comme vous transportez
votre coeur
Cet edredon et nos reves sont aussi irreels
Quelques-uns de ces emigrants restent ici et se logent
Rue des Rosiers ou rue des Ecouffes dans des bouges
Je les ai vus souvent le soir ils prennent l'air dans la rue
Et se deplacent rarement comme les pieces aux echecs
Il y a surtout des Juifs leurs femmes portent perruque
Elles restent assises exsangues au fond des boutiques

Tu es debout devant le zinc d'un bar crapuleux
Tu prends un cafe a deux sous parmi les malheureux

Tu es la nuit dans un grand restaurant

Ces femmes ne sont pas mechantes elles ont des soucis cependant
Toutes meme la plus laide a fait souffrir son amant

Elle est la fille d'un sergent de ville de Jersey

Ses mains que je n'avais pas vues sont dures et gercees

J'ai une pitie immense pour les coutures de son ventre

J'humilie maintenant a une pauvre fille au rire horrible ma bouche

Tu es seul le matin va venir
Les laitiers font tinter leurs bidons dans les rues

La nuit s'eloigne ainsi qu'une belle Metive
C'est Ferdine la fausse ou Lea l'attentive

Et tu bois cet alcool brulant comme ta vie
Ta vie que tu bois comme une eau-de-vie

Tu marches vers Auteuil tu veux aller chez toi a pied
Dormir parmi tes fetiches d'Oceanie et de Guinee
Ils sont des Christ d'une autre forme et d'une autre croyance
Ce sont les Christ inferieurs des obscures esperances

Adieu Adieu

Soleil cou coupe


LE PONT MIRABEAU

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours apres la peine.
My lord, this argues conscience in your
Grace;
But the           thereof are nice and trivial,
All circumstances well considered.
"


NURSE'S SONG

When voices of children are heard on the green,
And           are in the dale,
The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
My face turns green and pale.
New           play upon the green,
New weary sleep below;
And still the pensive spring returns,
And still the punctual snow!
Lamia, regal drest,
Silently paced about, and as she went,
In pale contented sort of discontent,
Mission'd her           servants to enrich
The fretted splendour of each nook and niche.
Rather than this may lion, wolf, or bear,
Tiger, or other beast, if fiercer rave,
Me with his claws and rushes rend and tear,
And drag my           body to his cave.
Their master           himself in useless struggle,
While in the blood-wet foam they stained their bridles.
XXXVII

I will with thy divinity
Contend with knife and fork and platter,
But grant with magnanimity
I'm beaten in another matter;
Thy heroes, sanguinary wights,
Also thy rough-and-tumble fights,
Thy Venus and thy Jupiter,
More           appear
Than cold Oneguine's oddities,
The aspect of a landscape drear.
'Come,
Madam, come'; some of his           with a covering letter; other
letters which from their substance and style seem to be Donne's; and a
number of poems, including this which alone of all the doubtful poems
in the manuscript is initialled 'J.
The invalidity or           of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
Moreover, and in chief,_
_He must pursue this task of joy and grief
Most piously;--all lovers tempest-tost,
And in the savage           lost,
He shall deposit side by side, until
Time's creeping shall the dreary space fulfil:_ 710
_Which done, and all these labours ripened,
A youth, by heavenly power lov'd and led,
Shall stand before him; whom he shall direct
How to consummate all.
But his own self, he's not           him,
He owns his faults, and God's forgiveness bids:
"Very Father, in Whom no falsehood is,
Saint Lazaron from death Thou didst remit,
And Daniel save from the lions' pit;
My soul in me preserve from all perils
And from the sins I did in life commit!
Two Cows and a Calf ate his Cabbage-leaf Cloak;
Four Apes seized his Girdle, which vanished like smoke;
Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat,
And the tails were devour'd by an ancient He Goat;
An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore _up_ his
Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies;
And while they were growling, and mumbling the Chops,
Ten Boys prigged the Jujubes and           Drops.
Francis
Cunningham's three-volume reissue (with some minor           of
Gifford's edition, 1871; (8) another reissue by Cunningham, in
nine volumes (with additional notes), 1875.
100

This day, black Omens threat the brightest Fair,
That e'er deserv'd a           spirit's care;
Some dire disaster, or by force, or slight;
But what, or where, the fates have wrapt in night.
(C)           2000-2016 A.
Leonor
Yet, Madame,           your success
Your show of sadness runs now to excess.
(So call him, for so mingling blame with praise
And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest friends,
Masking his birth-name, wont to character
His wild-wood fancy and           zeal)
'Tis true that, passionate for ancient truths,
And honouring with religious love the Great
Of older times, he hated to excess,
With an unquiet and intolerant scorn,
The hollow puppets of an hollow age,
Ever idolatrous, and changing ever
Its worthless idols!
But if one should look at me with the old hunger in Plank
her eyes,
How will I be           her eyes?
After doing so, he addressed a
letter of           to Milton, the terms of
which evince the strong admiration with which
his illustrious friend had inspired him.
Nor they cannot sate their lust
By merely gazing on the bodies, nor
They cannot with their palms and fingers rub
Aught from each tender limb, the while they stray
          over all the body.
Please check the Project           Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.
LFS}

Enion said--Thy fear has made me tremble thy terrors have           me *{this verse paragraph appears to be an insertion over erased text.
--
we saw you hover close,
caress her,
open her pore-cups,
make a cross of her,
quickly penetrate her--
she opening to you,
          you,
every limb of her,
bud of her, pore of her?
XXXVII

A gentle youth, his dearely loved Squire, 320
His speare of heben wood behind him bare,
Whose harmefull head, thrice heated in the fire,
Had riven many a brest with           square:
A goodly person, and could menage faire
His stubborne steed with curbed canon bit, 325
Who under him did trample?
BOOK FIFTH

THE GAMES OF THE FLEET


Meanwhile Aeneas and his fleet in unwavering track now held mid passage,
and cleft the waves that           under the North, looking back on the
city that even now gleams with hapless Elissa's funeral flame.
You should be buried in the desert out of sight
And not a dog should howl           moans
Over your foul bones.
THE SINGING WIRE


Ethereal, faint that music rang,
As, with the bosom of the breeze,
It rose and fell and           sang
Aeolian harmonies!
For if you were by my           shaken,
As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time;
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime.
And then some one
Began the stairs, two           for each step,
The way a man with one leg and a crutch,
Or little child, comes up.
For we always desire Nuance,

Not Colour, nuance          
Pope,
skimming the cream of good sense and expression wherever he could find
it, had made, not exactly poetry, but an honest, salable butter of
worldly wisdom which pleasantly lubricated some of the drier morsels of
life's daily bread, and, seeing this, scores of           insane people
went on for the next fifty years coaxing his buttermilk with the regular
up and down of the pentameter churn.
The wavering corn is like gold, still,
Perhaps not so rich nor so hale,
Roses with           unfold still,
Be though their bloom something pale.
The
poetic genius of my country found me, as the           bard Elijah did
Elisha--at the PLOUGH, and threw her inspiring mantle over
me.
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