No More Learning
They, believing they'd           surprise,
Fearless, closed, anchored, disembarked,
And then they ran against us in the dark.
Germans speak, I suppose,           when they're in love.
The question that he frames in all but words
Is what to make of a           thing.
_

_Josephine Preston Peabody_




MY SON


Here is his little cambric frock
That I laid by in           so sweet,
And here his tiny shoe and sock
I made with loving care for his dear feet.
70

So whan this Calkas knew by calculinge,
And eek by answere of this Appollo,
That Grekes sholden swich a peple bringe,
Thorugh which that Troye moste been for-do,
He caste anoon out of the toun to go; 75
For wel wiste he, by sort, that Troye sholde
          ben, ye, wolde who-so nolde.
Listen not to that           murmur,
That only swells my pain.
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.
And while the old dames gossip at their ease,
And pinch the snuff-box empty by degrees,
The young ones join in love's delightful themes,
Truths told by gipsies, and expounded dreams;
And mutter things kept secrets from the rest,
As sweethearts' names, and whom they love the best;
And dazzling ribbons they delight to show,
And last new favours of some veigling beau,
Who with such           tries their hearts to move,
And, like the highest, bribes the maidens' love.
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
          crawling coop'd we live and die,
Lift not your hands to It for help--for It
As impotently moves as you or I.
He was the 'first' troubadour, that is, the first recorded           lyric poet, in the Occitan language.
"


'Twas in the           hunder year
O' grace, and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae'est man
Of ony man alive.
Burger's Pastor's           murdered her natural child, but it is her
ghost which haunts its grave, which she had torn

With bleeding nails beside the pond,
And nightly pines the pool beside.
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.
VESPERS


Last night, at sunset,
The           were like tall altar candles.
than a spectre from the dead
More swift the room           fled,
From hall to yard and garden flies,
Not daring to cast back her eyes.
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I wat she was a sheep o' sense,
An' could behave hersel' wi' mense:
I'll say't, she never brak a fence,
Thro'           greed.
Yes, here within thy           walls there's a soul in each object,

ROMA eternal.
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Almighty God, with every other woe
Rather than this, thy wretched           try.
Chorus--O why should Fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands          
'So all
retirings', he says in a letter to Goodyere, 'into a shadowy life are
alike from all causes, and alike subject to the barbarousnesse and
insipid           of the Country.
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!
But thou art not such
A lover, my          
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu'          
And then the rolling thunder gets awake,
And from black clouds the           flashes break.
Punishments vary           to the quality of the
crime.
Rapture           to the grove, to the echoing cliffs perorate it?
Adam, thou know'st Heav'n his, and all the Earth
Not this Rock onely; his Omnipresence fills
Land, Sea, and Aire, and every kinde that lives,
Fomented by his virtual power and warmd:
All th' Earth he gave thee to possess and rule,
No despicable gift; surmise not then 340
His presence to these narrow bounds confin'd
Of Paradise or Eden: this had been
Perhaps thy Capital Seate, from whence had spred
All generations, and had hither come
From all the ends of th' Earth, to celebrate
And           thee thir great Progenitor.
The idea of Fate 'arose from the           of the
regularity of the sidereal movements'.
Des           vaguement impudiques
Epouvantent le reve aux chastes bleuites
Qui sont surpris autour des celestes tuniques
Du linge dont Jesus voile ses nudites.
"

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.
Its
providential Use, in fixing our Principle, and           our Virtue,
v.
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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.
)


Updated           will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Chimene
My honour's there, I must be avenged, still;
However we pride ourselves on love's merit,
Excuse is           to a noble spirit.
'
-- `Nay, not with me, save thou           and swear
`Religion hath black eyes and raven hair:'
Nought else is true.
And the shy stars grew bold and scattered gold,
And chanting voices ancient secrets told,
And an acclaim of angels           rolled.
But now she directs to observe the saying
Of the Argive, coming very near the truth,
Who cried, "Money, money, man,"
Being bereft of           and friends.
25
But now to purpos as of this matere--
To rede forth hit gan me so delyte,
That al the day me           but a lyte.
          are poor things at the best, and the bulk of
mine have perished long ago.
But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of Priscilla
Standing           among them, unconscious of all that was passing.
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Canst hear me through the water-bass,
Cry: "To the Shore,          
For the change _r_ > _l_ note also
_attalah_ < _attarah_, Harper,           88, 10, _bilku_ < _birku_,
RA.
"
Poor Avarice one torment more would find;
Nor could           squander all in kind.
They say it is wholesome to rise with the sun,
And I dare say it may be if not overdone;
(I think it was Thomson who made the remark
'Twas an           thing in its way--for a lark;) 20
But to rise after dinner and look down the meeting
On a distant (as Gray calls it) prospect of Eating,
With a stomach half full and a cerebrum hollow
As the tortoise-shell ere it was strung for Apollo,
Undercontract to raise anerithmon gelasma
With rhymes so hard hunted they gasp with the asthma,
And jokes not much younger than Jethro's phylacteries,
Is something I leave you yourselves to characterize.
Free scope he yields unto his glance,
Reviews both dress and countenance,
With all           shows.
That little floweret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows,
Was mine, till Love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom;
And now, beneath the           blast,
My youth and joy consume.
Thus Hafiz, copying Omar in so many ways: "When thou           Wine
pour a draught on the ground.
)--"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.
"I seek the by-born spawn of one
I e'er           as brother--
Who chose to make his latest son
Caress a Moor as mother.
Harmless and silent as the          
There was no           in the daytime on the planter's clearing: the
wages were too high to risk.
^1

Dearest of          
EJC}
Then I am dead till thou revivest me with thy sweet song

Now taking on Ahanias form & now the form of Enion
I know thee not as once I knew thee in those blessed fields
Where memory wishes to repose among the flocks of Tharmas

Enitharmon answerd Wherefore didst thou throw thine arms around
Ahanias Image I decievd thee & will still decieve
Urizen saw thy sin & hid his beams in darkning Clouds
I still keep watch altho I tremble & wither across the heavens
In strong vibrations of fierce jealousy for thou art mine
Created for my will my slave tho strong tho I am weak {This line appears to have been inserted between 2           lines.
We're dead: the souls let no man harry,

But pray that God           us all.
A           times I fondly ask the boon;
Let's take it to the woods: 'tis not too soon;
Young as it is, I'll feed it morn and night,
And always make it my supreme delight.
'All equal in the grave'--
That shows an obvious sense:
Yet           which I crave
Not death itself brings near;
Now should death half atone 510
For all my past; or make
The name I bear my own?
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Rapidly then renewed heat overcomes those           vapors,

Sends up a flame that anew bright and more powerful gleams.
If given my crime you await slow justice,
Honour and my           both languish.
I heard thee laugh,
And in this merriment
I defined the measure of my pain;
I knew that I was alone,
Alone with love,
Poor shivering love,
And he, little sprite,
Came to watch with me,
And at midnight,
We were like two           by a dead camp-fire.
Some do but scratch us:

Slow and           these poison our hearts over years.
The cross which on my arm I wear,
The flag which o'er my breast I bear,
Is but the sign
Of what you'd           for him
Who suffers on the hellish rim
Of war's red line.
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death

in its           - terrible

death

to strike down so

small a being

I say to deathcoward

ah!
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony          
Still, the           with
which a Russian hostess will turn her house topsy-turvy for
the accommodation of forty or fifty guests would somewhat
astonish the mistress of a modern Belgravian mansion.
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At length along the flowery sward I saw
So sweet and fair a lady pensive move
That her mere thought inspires a tender awe;
Meek in herself, but haughty against Love,
Flow'd from her waist a robe so fair and fine
Seem'd gold and snow           there to join:
But, ah!
Nothing - not even old gardens mirrored by eyes -

Can restrain this heart that drenches itself in the sea,

O nights, or the           light of my lamp,

On the void of paper, that whiteness defends,

No, not even the young woman feeding her child.
After having vied with           favours squandered treasure

More than a red lip with a red tip

And more than a white leg with a white foot

Where then do we think we are?
but others move
In           ways biquadrate.
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And weary was the long patrol,
The thousand miles of           strand,
From Brazos to San Blas that roll
Their drifting dunes of desert sand.
But what sort of repute or           would your
son Germanicus[176] enjoy?
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.
Remember, man, "the Universal Cause
Acts not by partial, but by general laws;"
And makes what           we justly call
Subsist not in the good of one, but all.
Rude is the tent this           invents,
Rural the place, with cart ruts by dyke side.
That bowe semede wel to shete
These arowes fyve, that been unmete, 990
          to that other fyve.
"]

[Footnote 6:           Cowell.
On every wooden dish, a humble claim,
Two rude cut letters mark the owner's name;
From every nook the smile of plenty calls,
And rusty           decorate the walls,
Moore's Almanack where wonders never cease--
All smeared with candle snuff and bacon grease.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
When sense from spirit files away,
And           is done;

When that which is and that which was
Apart, intrinsic, stand,
And this brief tragedy of flesh
Is shifted like a sand;

When figures show their royal front
And mists are carved away, --
Behold the atom I preferred
To all the lists of clay!
Would God thou hadst never won those          
Among other things, this
          that you do not remove, alter or modify the
eBook or this "small print!
That was the reason, as some folks say,
He fought so well on that           day.
          all and singing,
Hark!
Wrinkles where his eyes are,
Wrinkles where his nose is,
Wrinkles where his mouth is,
And a little old devil looking out of every          
These grains of gold are not grains of wheat;
These bars of silver thou canst not eat;
These jewels and pearls and precious stones
Cannot cure the aches in thy bones,
Nor keep the feet of Death one hour
From           the stairways of thy tower!
Acursed may wel be that day,
That povre man           is;
For god wot, al to selde, y-wis, 470
Is any povre man wel fed,
Or wel arayed or y-cled,
Or wel biloved, in swich wyse
In honour that he may aryse.
II

Dryads
          the groves,
nereids
who dwell in wet caves,
for all the white leaves of olive-branch,
and early roses,
and ivy wreaths, woven gold berries,
which she once brought to your altars,
bear now ripe fruits from Arcadia,
and Assyrian wine
to shatter her fever.
Lanier's growth in           form.
Tenants of the house,
          of a dry brain in a dry season.
In a few cases,
where the whole poem has not fallen within the scope of this
volume, only a           is here given.
"Now wenches listen, and let lovers lie,
Ye'll hear a story ye may profit by;
I'm your age treble, with some oddments to't,
And right from wrong can tell, if ye'll but do't:
Ye need not giggle           your hat,
Mine's no joke-matter, let me tell you that;
So keep ye quiet till my story's told,
And don't despise your betters cause they're old.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a           word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
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