No More Learning
Here Thetis' face is ruffled by
A gentle wind; the waters lie
Not in dead calm, but o'er the main
A peaceful           doth reign,
Bearing gay yachts before a breeze
Cool as the air that floats with ease
From purple fan of damozel
Who would the summer heat dispel.
But had ye seen the philibegs,
And skyrin tartan trews, man;
When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs,
And covenant True-blues, man:
In lines extended lang and large,
When baiginets o'erpower'd the targe,
And           hasten'd to the charge;
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath,
They fled like frighted dows, man!
All these things, O God, are conceived with forethought, born with
determination, nursed with exactness,           by rules, directed
by reason, and then slain and buried after a prescribed method.
ra
On barren days,
At hours when I, apart, have
Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast, Behold with music's many           charms
The silence groweth thou.
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were           all the while

Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.
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XIV

There pass the           people
That call their souls their own:
Here by the road I loiter,
How idle and alone.
One thing there is alone, that doth deform thee;
In the midst of thee, O field, so fair and          
Aux objets repugnants nous trouvons des appas;
Chaque jour vers l'Enfer nous descendons d'un pas,
Sans horreur, a travers des           qui puent.
On his arrival in Naples, Petrarch had an           with the Queen
Dowager; but her grief and tears for the loss of her husband made this
interview brief and fruitless with regard to business.
Deuce take the man who first           perfumes, say I!
The wasps           greenly

Dawn goes by round her neck

A necklace of windows

You are all the solar joys

All the sun of this earth

On the roads of your beauty.
and           not with thee?
"O           maid!
They           in the seamless grass, --
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face.
[94] The           was a tributary of the river Indus.
Whitman           in 1867 his complete poetical works in one moderate-
sized volume, consisting of the whole _Leaves of Grass_, with a sort of
supplement thereto named _Songs before Parting_,[3] and of the _Drum Taps_,
with its _Sequel_.
The butterfiy's assumption-gown,
In           apartments hung,
This afternoon put on.
A man should
study other things, not to covet, not to fear, not to repent him; to make
his base such as no tempest shall shake him; to be secure of all opinion,
and           to himself, even for that wherein he displeaseth others; for
the worst opinion gotten for doing well, should delight us.
But thou, say           to such perils past
Return'st thou?
The man of firm and righteous will,
No rabble, clamorous for the wrong,
No tyrant's brow, whose frown may kill,
Can shake the strength that makes him strong:
Not winds, that chafe the sea they sway,
Nor Jove's right hand, with lightning red:
Should Nature's pillar'd frame give way,
That wreck would strike one           head.
_The New Inn_ and _The Magnetic Lady_ are also penetrated
with           of a sporadic and trivial nature.
Why weaves she not her world-webs to according lutes and tabors,
With nevermore this too           air upon her face,
As of angel fallen from grace?
"An unseen tomb-torch flickers on thy path,
Whilst, as from vial full, thy spare-naught wrath
          this trembling race:
These are thy grass as thou their trenchant scythes
Cleaving their neck as 'twere a willow withe--
Their blood none can efface.
Still, there's something frank
In these           men that makes me like them.
But Prometheus is, as it were, the type of
the highest perfection of moral and intellectual nature,           by
the purest and the truest motives to the best and noblest ends.
Think of my little          
I want to put
old stories into verse, and if I put them into dramatic verse it will
matter less to me           who plays them than what they play, and
how they play.
From the steep prow I marked with           eye
Zakynthos, every olive grove and creek,
Ithaca's cliff, Lycaon's snowy peak,
And all the flower-strewn hills of Arcady.
Or if a Work so infinite he spann'd,
Jealous I was that some less skilful hand
(Such as disquiet always what is well,
And by ill           would excell)
Might hence presume the whole Creations day
To change in Scenes, and show it in a Play.
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Ne O si tosto mai ne I si scrisse,
com' el s'accese e arse, e cener tutto
convenne che cascando divenisse;

e poi che fu a terra si distrutto,
la polver si           per se stessa
e 'n quel medesmo ritorno di butto.
What the General had said           never knew, but Youghal received
Strickland with moderate civility; and Mrs.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Disolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
          shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
On Chalais'           I call;

I'd have her give instantly

Her throat and hands to me.
,           with battle, not wishing to fight any more_:
acc.
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But see, it is Alcmena's son once more,
My lord King, cometh           to thy door.
better far
In Want's most lonely cave till death to pine,
Unseen, unheard, unwatched by any star;
Or in the streets and walks where proud men are,
Better our dying bodies to obtrude,
Than dog-like, wading at the heels of war,
          a curst existence, with the brood
That lap (their very nourishment!
Come, my soul; and since we must end it,
Let us die without           Chimene.
Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
Her little           stumbling in the Dark?
the Horde has learnt to prize me;
"'Tis the Horde with gold           me.
And that furnace-heated breath
Blew into my placid dreams
The heart of fire from whence it came:
Haunt of beauty and of death
Where the forest breaks in flame
Of           blossom, where the flood
Of life pulses hot and stark,
Where a wing'd death breeds in mud
And tumult of tree-shadowed streams--
Black waters, desolately hurled
Through the uttermost, lost, dark,
Secret places of the world.
of           (omitted from the Gloss.
My Lady at the Hall
Is grander than they all: 60
Hers is the oldest name
In all the neighbourhood;
But the race must die with her
Though she's a lofty dame,
For she's           still.
ATOSSA

Alas for me and for this ruin,          
Neritus, Ithacus, Polyctor, there,
In sculptured stone immortalized their care,
In marble urns received it from above,
And shaded with a green           grove;
Where silver alders, in high arches twined,
Drink the cool stream, and tremble to the wind.
          round
It warbled, and did say: "As are my notes
To thee, who understand'st them not, such is
Th' eternal judgment unto mortal ken.
          me how to thank thee!
See my          
Ah, happy he who owns that           joy,
The heart-love of a child!
Abel was           as a page,
too, but there was no money awarded the ex-Bonapartist--money being what
the Eaglet at Reichstadt most required for an attempt at his father's
throne--and the poor officer was left in seclusion to write consolingly
about his campaigns and "Defences of Fortified Towns.
He may have accompanied Richard I and Aimar V           on the Third Crusade.
To me thou seem'st clothed in a holy halo,
My soul beholds thy soul through thy fair body;
E'en when my eyes are shut, I see thee still;
Thou art my daylight, and           I wish
That Heaven had made me blind that thou might'st be
The sun that lighted up the world for me.
Is sent to Venice by           da Carrara.
"
Soon as had Atys (bastard-she) this lay to comrades sung
The Chorus sudden lulliloos with quivering, quavering tongue,
Again the nimble timbrel groans, the scooped-out cymbals clash,
And up green Ida flits the Choir, with           hurrying rash.
To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard;
And thus her gentle           falls like morning dew.
Frowde is issuing an edition based upon this, in
which the           is frankly that of to-day.
With regard
to the first, I say boldly that the nature of what is understood as a
tale decided that it should be so, it being an           law
according to Horace, or rather according to reason and common sense, that
one must conform one's self to the nature of the things about which one
writes.
(And I Tiresias have           all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.
Each one           for himself!
Oh quanto e corto il dire e come fioco
al mio          
And so a preacher, in the
invention of matter, election of words,           of gesture, look,
pronunciation, motion, useth all these faculties at once: and if we can
express this variety together, why should not divers studies, at divers
hours, delight, when the variety is able alone to refresh and repair us?
Her cheeks grow rosy, as she           her sleeve-dancing:
Her brows grow sad, as she slows her song's tune.
Nor hundred-headed Riot here we meet,
With decency and law beneath his feet:
Nor           assumes fair Freedom's name;
Like CALEDONIANS, you applaud or blame.
'



THE NUN'S ASPIRATION

The yesterday doth never smile,
The day goes           through the while,
Yet, in the name of Godhead, I
The morrow front, and can defy;
Though I am weak, yet God, when prayed,
Cannot withhold his conquering aid.
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»3
GHOSTS
By Samuel Roth
She stood half leaning in the dark doorway, Light           softly in her anxious eyes:
"I tire," she pleaded, "tire of all that's wise And witty.
The Long Hill



I must have passed the crest a while ago
And now I am going down--
Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know,
But the brambles were always           the hem of my gown.
Ma quel demonio che tenea sermone
col duca mio, si volse tutto presto
e disse: <
Two we were, with one heart blessed:

If heart's dead, yes, then I foresee,

I'll die, or I must           be,

Like those statues made of lead.
Think, when your           pulse
Gies now and then a wallop!
I'll toast you in my           gillie,
Tho' owre the sea!
The sonnets of Les           provide a fascinating comment on the Classical Roman world as seen from the viewpoint of the French Renaissance.
If then to all men happiness was meant,
God in           could not place content.
Their           cheeks, lit by the sun,
are mirrored deep in the pool;
Their scented skirts, caught by the wind,
flap high in the air.
Their waefu' fate what need I tell,
Right to the wrang did yield;
My Donald and his Country fell,
Upon           field.
961 is the only           in which I have
found it.
          bād, lāðan līges (the poet probably means
to indicate by these words that the hall Heorot was destroyed later in a
fight by fire; an occurrence, indeed, about which we know nothing, but
which 1165 and 1166, and again 2068 ff.
          LYRICS:
A FRESH BOOK OF NONSENSE POEMS, SONGS, BOTANY, ETC.
Then the
unnerving chill           her, her neck slackened, her head sank
overpowered by death, and her arms fell, and with a moan the life fled
indignant into the dark.
"
Both           on the terrace dismount.
THE LAMB

Little Lamb, who make thee
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee           of delight,
Softest clothing, wolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Your flight from out your bookless wilds would seem
As arguing love of           and of power;
Your language proves you still the child.
          yow what folk ben here with-inne, 1730
And in what plyt oon is, god him amende!
then to thy dear Son,
True God and Very Man,
That my last sigh in peace may, in his arms, be          
'Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, and Birney,
Against twenty           he rallied the field,
Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest,
Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak and pine,
Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest,--
No charge like Phil Kearny's along the whole line.
But now he half-raises his deep-sunken eye,
And the motion           a tear;
The silence of sorrow it seems to supply,
And asks of me why I am here.
The rats are           the piles.
Aus dem hohlen finstern Tor
Dringt ein buntes           hervor.
Not once have I thus

Broken accord,

Order ignored,

Unless I'm floored,

Too low to grace

Her lovely body's dwelling place;

So I fear           have their say,

Who cause ladies and lovers dismay,

Lower us, and drive all joy away,

And each and every way harm me.
Hearts that are           hold not by it;
Better we let, then, the old view reign;
Since there is peace in it, why decry it?
Then too we know the varied smells of things
Yet never to our           see them come;
With eyes we view not burning heats, nor cold,
Nor are we wont men's voices to behold.
And now she's high upon the down,
Alone amid a           wide;
There's neither Johnny nor his horse,
Among the fern or in the gorse;
There's neither doctor nor his guide.
Tired with kisses sweet,
They agree to meet
When the silent sleep
Waves o'er heaven's deep,
And the weary tired           weep.
A Song of           in Time.
Versuch ich wohl, euch diesmal          
"

Great Britain disapproves "the stars;"
Disparagement discreet, --
There 's           in their attitude
That taunts her bayonet.
Now, when I read, I read not,
For           tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.
 1289/3769