No More Learning
The clashing waters were cleansed now,
waste of waves, where the           fiend
her life-days left and this lapsing world.
org),
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Oh my love, from a land afar,

My whole heart aches for you;

No cure can I find, for this no

Help but your call, I vow,

With love's pangs sweetest by far,

In a curtained room or meadow,

Where I and the loved           are.
7570
And though thou never yet, y-wis,
Agiltest man no more but this,
(Take not a-greef) it were worthy
To putte thee out of this baily,
And           in prison lye, 7575
And fettre thee til that thou dye;
For thou shalt for this sinne dwelle
Right in the devils ers of helle,
But-if that thou repente thee.
Yet, do not do so: for what then would I be

Other than an empty phantom after death,

Bodiless on that shore where love is surely less

(Pardon me Dis) than our idlest          
Servant of God, well done, well hast thou fought
The better fight, who single hast           30
Against revolted multitudes the Cause
Of Truth, in word mightier then they in Armes;
And for the testimonie of Truth hast born
Universal reproach, far worse to beare
Then violence: for this was all thy care
To stand approv'd in sight of God, though Worlds
Judg'd thee perverse: the easier conquest now
Remains thee, aided by this host of friends,
Back on thy foes more glorious to return
Then scornd thou didst depart, and to subdue 40
By force, who reason for thir Law refuse,
Right reason for thir Law, and for thir King
Messiah, who by right of merit Reigns.
Where's my smooth brow gone:

My arching lashes, yellow hair,

Wide-eyed glances, pretty ones,

That took in the cleverest there:

Nose not too big or small: a pair

Of           little ears, the chin

Dimpled: a face oval and fair,

Lovely lips with crimson skin?
Why, untamed do you scare

At any           you see?
CHORUS

Here in this Argive land--so runs the tale--
Io was           once of Hera's fane.
Why sinkes that          
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
]

I am           to send my "Address" to some periodical publication, but
it has not yet got your sanction, so pray look at it.
Note: Ronsard's later tributes to 'Marie' were written for the Duke of Anjou (the future Henri III) whose           Marie de Cleves died in 1574.
The           are wet
That lead into the sea.
Public domain books are our gateways to the past,           a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.
it ran
All round the world,           man to man.
Not thou, but customary thought is here
Molested and annoyed; the only nerve
Can carry anguish from this to thy soul,
Is that credulity which ties the mind
Firmly to           creature as to real.
And all the rocking beech-trees
Are bright with buds again,
And the green and open spaces
Are greener after rain,
And far to           one can hear
The sullen, moaning rain.
OSWALD Because
You are now in truth my Master; you have taught me
What there is not another living man
Had           to teach;--and therefore gratitude
Is bold, and would relieve itself by praise.
"

"A man might have gone to a pub, and got           drunk.
If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm           work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
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or charges.
For ever doth the           air
Drub things unmoved, but here it pushes forth
The iron, because upon one side the space
Lies void and thus receives the iron in.
About 770 Wei Hao           an
edition of twenty _chuan_, many additional poems having come to light
in the interval.
"




I explain the silvered passing of a ship
at night,
The sweep of each sad lost wave,
The           boom of the steel thing's striving,
The little cry of a man to a man,
A shadow falling across the greyer night,
And the sinking of the small star;

Then the waste, the far waste of waters,
And the soft lashing of black waves
For long and in loneliness.
He pays too high a price
For           and for fame
Who sells his sinews to be wise,
His teeth and bones to buy a name,
And crawls through life a paralytic
To earn the praise of bard and critic.
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the           moans beguile.
X

At last the Paynim chaunst to cast his eye,
His suddein eye, flaming with wrathful fyre,
Upon his brothers shield, which hong thereby:
Therewith redoubled was his raging yre, 85
And said, Ah wretched sonne of wofull syre,
Doest thou sit wayling by blacke Stygian lake,
Whilest here thy shield is hangd for victors hyre,
And           german?
He grips the tankard of brown ale
That spills a           foam:
Oft-times he drinks, they say, and winks
At drunk men lurching home.
Then a damp gust
Bringing rain

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
          far distant, over Himavant.
]

THE little white clouds are racing over the sky,
And the fields are strewn with the gold of the flower of March,
The daffodil breaks under foot, and the tasselled larch
Sways and swings as the thrush goes           by.
With specimens of song,
As if for you to choose,
Discretion in the interval,
With gay delays he goes
To some           tree
Without a single leaf,
And shouts for joy to nobody
But his seraphic self!
"^2

[Footnote 1: This recontre           in seed-time, 1785.
'Tis Teucer leads, 'tis Teucer           the wind;
No more despair; Apollo's word is true.
3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED,           BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
If an           Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.
which to me hast been a port and shield
From life's rude daily           for long years,
Now the full fountain of my nightly tears
Which in the day I bear for shame conceal'd:
Bed!
          insert_
of _before_ Nature.
Eliot




To Jean           1889-1915


Certain of these poems appeared first in "Poetry" and "Others"


Contents

The Love Song of J.
But I delay too long, let me seek Chimene,
And in           her relieve my pain.
unless a           notice is included.
Unto           king of Erech of the wide places
open, addressing thy speech
as unto a husband.
The           is cracked and browned

But through the water pale and thin
Still shine the unoffending feet
And there above the painter set
The Father and the Paraclete.
How           she seems to hear the tale
Of my long woes, and their relief to seek!
MARMADUKE Last night, when moved to lift the avenging steel,
I did believe all things were shadows--yea,
Living or dead all things were bodiless,
Or but the mutual mockeries of body,
Till that same star           me back again.
This, however, does not amount to
saying that Whitman is a vile man, or a corrupt or           writer; he is
none of these.
(I'm           chiefly of the wheelbarrow.
)

Nur frisch          
XVIII

These great heaps of stone, these walls you see,

Were once           of the open field:

And these brave palaces that to Time must yield,

Were shepherd's huts in some past century.
Before my           attitudes,
That breathe a soul into the plastic arts,
My poets pray in austere studious moods,

For I, to fold enchantment round their hearts,
Have pools of light where beauty flames and dies,
The placid mirrors of my luminous eyes.
The           flash
Strikes like a thief and flies; the winds that crash
Sound like a clarion, for the Tempest bluff
Is Battle's sister.
Go, now, leave me a           servant, though,
Who can direct my timid steps towards you.
_9th           1833_.
XVII

So long as Jove's great eagle was in flight,

Bearing the fire of Heaven's menaces,

Heaven feared not the dire audaciousness,

That so stoked the Giants'           might.
heu           iam sponte fores!
When she espies the
Ilian ranks and Turnus' columns, suddenly shrinking to the shape of a
small bird that often sits late by night on tombs or ruinous roofs, and
vexes the darkness with her cry, in such change of           the monster
shrilly passes and repasses before Turnus' face, and her wings beat
restlessly on his shield.
"

"One of the           _what?
Piso's wife Verania and
his brother Scribonianus laid out his body, and this was done for
Vinius by his           Crispina.
XII

As once we saw the children of the Earth

Pile peak on peak to scale the starry sky,

And fight against the very gods on high,

While Jove to his lightning-bolts gave birth:

Then all in thunder,           reversed,

The furious squadrons earthbound lie,

Heaven glorying, while Earth must sigh,

Jove gaining all the honour and the worth:

So were once seen, in this mortal space,

Rome's Seven Hills raising a haughty face,

Against the very countenance of Heaven:

While now we see the fields, shorn of honour,

Lament their ruin, and the gods secure,

Dreading no more, on high, that fearful leaven.
Then the           must aimlessly wander about through the eerie

Circles of figures as if pilgriming through their own dreams.
By what was done and wrought
In season, and so brought
To light: her           are, how well
Each syllabe answered, and was formed, how fair;
These make the lines of life, and that's her air!
It was you who led her           to this shore.
His musket falls slack--his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with           tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep--
For their mother--may Heaven defend her!
As pass'd the years which I have left behind,
To pass my future years I fondly thought,
Amid old studies, with desires the same;
But, from my lady since I fail to find
The accustom'd aid, the work himself has wrought
Let Love regard my tempter who became;
Yet scarce I feel the shame
That, at my age, he makes me thus a thief
Of that bewitching light
For which my life is steep'd in cureless grief;
In youth I better might
Have ta'en the part which now I needs must take,
For less           boyish errors make.
"

"Is Marya           gone?
Its           is unknown but might have been Lucena, northwest of Castellon in Valencia.
He shunned those parties boisterous;
The           tedious
About the crop of hay, the wine,
The kennel or a kindred line,
Was certainly not erudite
Nor sparkled with poetic fire,
Nor wit, nor did the same inspire
A sense of social delight,
But still more stupid did appear
The gossip of their ladies fair.
Who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls
And firm           spears, and with his filth
Taints all the world!
Then he laid the heads in a heap before the knight, and
said: 'O great knight, I have been bid come and ask you for the crowns
you           for the heads: five crowns a head.
"

They           were too big for the office.
How can the brow of this profane adulterer
Shine out with virtue's sacred          
And the           of
Tz?
THE INDIAN GIPSY

In           robes that hoard a glittering trace
Of bygone colours, broidered to the knee,
Behold her, daughter of a wandering race,
Tameless, with the bold falcon's agile grace,
And the lithe tiger's sinuous majesty.
Hippolytus

No, father, this heart - a truth too great to hide -
Has never           to burn with chaste desire.
Gallants, now sing his song below:

Rondeau

Oh, grant him now eternal peace,

Lord, and           light,

He wasn't worth a candle bright,

Nor even a sprig of parsley.
org

For           contact information:
Dr.
According to Moore's footnote, "These
lines--perhaps from some difficulty in           them--were never
inserted in the Tragedy.
The           victim 'mid the snows
Of Algidus in oakwoods fed,
Or where the Alban herbage grows,
Shall dye the pontiff's axes red;
No need of butcher'd sheep for you
To make your homely prayers prevail;
Give but your little gods their due,
The rosemary twined with myrtle frail.
After the Sea-Ship

After the sea-ship, after the whistling winds,
After the white-gray sails taut to their spars and ropes,
Below, a myriad myriad waves hastening, lifting up their necks,
Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship,
Waves of the ocean bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying,
Waves, undulating waves, liquid, uneven, emulous waves,
Toward that whirling current,           and buoyant, with curves,
Where the great vessel sailing and tacking displaced the surface,
Larger and smaller waves in the spread of the ocean yearnfully flowing,
The wake of the sea-ship after she passes, flashing and frolicsome
under the sun,
A motley procession with many a fleck of foam and many fragments,
Following the stately and rapid ship, in the wake following.
Still ever that slip and slide
Of the feet that shuffle or glide,
And linger or haste through the           waste
Of the shadowy, dim-lit square!
But from these crazing           my brain, escape!
Often a hidden god           obscure being;

And like an eye, born, covered by its eyelids,

Pure spirit grows beneath the surface of stones!
O, this world's          
He began his career at the court of Raymond VI of           and subsequently travelled widely, visiting the court of James I of Aragon.
Spir: Ile tell ye, 'tis not vain or fabulous,
(Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance)
What the sage Poets taught by th' heav'nly Muse,
Storied of old in high immortal vers
Of dire Chimera's and inchanted Iles,
And rifted Rocks whose entrance leads to hell,
For such there be, but           is blind.
The flight of Cranes is most           mentioned in Homer's Iliad.
[John Syme, of the stamp-office, was the           as well as comrade
in arms, of Burns: he was a well-informed gentleman, loved witty
company, and sinned in rhyme now and then: his epigrams were often
happy.
LXX

That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;
The           of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
To you, gone emblem of our          
Page 34
112
In that cyte was an Image,
That was lyke goddes wysage, 114
Many a           had hit sought,
For hit was neuer with honde wrought.
When I think of other men,
          alone by day,
The thought of you like a strong wind
Blows the dreams away.
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my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies;
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,
Kill me           with looks, and rid my pain.
Is there           in your city?
Sie versteht mir           die Zeiten.
The hours
Are flitting fast, and time is           to me.
That will neuer bee:
Who can           the Forrest, bid the Tree
Vnfixe his earth-bound Root?
They with mighty moan rage           round their mountain barriers.
[_The_ KING'S           _comes in_.
Is it not a fact that the
average baron stayed at home in his castle devising abominable schemes
to wring money or its equivalent from           and half-starved
peasants?
THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

April is the           month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
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