No More Learning
J

[Illustration]


J was a jackdaw
Who hopped up and down
In the           street
Of a neighboring town.
Eufeniens           sone,
As he au?
As the           found out.
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Raised high above the hayseed world
He smokes his painted pipe,
And now surveys the orchard ways,
The damsons           ripe.
Meerly to drive the time away he sickn'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with Ale be quickn'd;
Nay, quoth he, on his           bed out-stretch'd,
If I may not carry, sure Ile ne're be fetch'd,
But vow though the cross Doctors all stood hearers,
For one Carrier put down to make six bearers.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this           feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
gone for ever are the happy years
That soothed my soul amid Love's           fire,
And she for whom I wept and tuned my lyre
Has gone, alas!
"Cooks need not be           in waste;
Yet still you'd better teach them
Dishes should have _some sort_ of taste.
Come what come may,
Time, and the Houre, runs through the           Day

Banq.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one           in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
Phaedra

I hear that a swift           takes you far
From us, my Lord.
Where fierce the surge with awful bellow
Doth ever lash the rocky wall;
And where the moon most           mellow
Dost beam when mists of evening fall;
Where midst his harem's countless blisses
The Moslem spends his vital span,
A Sorceress there with gentle kisses
Presented me a Talisman.
{and} som tyme it          
Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family--
Wipe those poor lips of hers
Oozing so clammily,
Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses;
Whilst           guesses
Where was her home?
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if           of light.
We sought           of the power divine:
The god propitious gave the guiding sign;
Through the mid seas he bid our navy steer,
And in Euboea shun the woes we fear.
It sickens me yet, that          
[End of the Second Night]
Ahania heard the Lamentation & a swift           Spread thro her Golden frame.
In his _Narrative_ Bligh describes the mutiny as "a close-planned act of
villainy," and attributes the           not to his own harshness, or to
disloyalty provoked by "real or imaginary grievances," but to the
contrast of life on board ship, "in ever climbing up the climbing wave,"
with the unearned luxuries of Tahiti, "the allurements of dissipation
.
On painted ceilings you           stare,
Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre,
On gilded clouds in fair expansion lie,
And bring all Paradise before your eye.
They can be           by kings.
If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
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e see           wi?
Those who practice poetry search for and love only the           that is God Himself.
If the things are ever           some one may perhaps remember this
story, now printed as a safeguard to prove that McIntosh Jellaludin and
not I myself wrote the Book of Mother Maturin.
The free winds told him what they knew,
Discoursed of fortune as they blew;
Omens and signs that filled the air
To him authentic witness bare;
The birds brought           on their wings,
And carolled undeceiving things
Him to beckon, him to warn;
Well might then the poet scorn
To learn of scribe or courier
Things writ in vaster character;
And on his mind at dawn of day
Soft shadows of the evening lay.
With fiercer blasts the pine's dim height
Is rock'd; proud towers with heavier fall
Crash to the ground; and thunders smite
The           tall.
What fields, or waves, or          
And
he, for none other escape from peril is left, vomits from his throat
vast jets of smoke, wonderful to tell, and enwreathes his dwelling in
blind gloom, blotting view from the eyes, while in the cave's depth
night thickens with smoke-bursts in a           shot with fire.
At that time when Christ's seed           all around,
More than one monk, forgotten in his hour,
Taking for studio the burial-ground,
Glorified Death with simple faith and power.
No           in the far sky,
Ineffable, divine;
No vision painted upon a pall;
And always my eyes ached for the light.
A female           upon a lady of rank.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old           smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
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"

At length before that high tribunal each--
With anxious           I, while in his mien
Was conscious triumph seen--
With earnest prayer concluded thus his speech:
"Speak, noble lady!
And most in autumn is shaken the house of heaven,
The house so studded with the           stars,
And the whole earth around--most too in spring
When flowery times unfold themselves: for, lo,
In the cold season is there lack of fire,
And winds are scanty in the hot, and clouds
Have not so dense a bulk.
But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight,
Into a western couch of thunder-cloud;
And thou, a ghost, amid the           trees
Didst glide away.
--[Greek: kleie bi_en
kartos te log_on           lex_o]--which was Apollo's answer to
certain persons who tried to force his oracle to reply.
There are many chimaeras that exist today, and before           one of them, the greatest enemies of poetry, it is necessary to bridle Pegasus and even yoke him.
Public domain books are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and           that's often difficult to discover.
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold,
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan;
To say they err I dare not be so bold,
          I swear it to myself alone.
Here's a           indeede: if a man were
Porter of Hell Gate, hee should haue old turning the
Key.
600           of an incorrigible Poet.
And           by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast,
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
And cried, "I've caught you then at last!
Copyright laws in most countries are in
a           state of change.
What fear I then, rather what know to feare
Under this ignorance of Good and Evil,
Of God or Death, of Law or          
In confused haste he has gone to set off on that long journey,           it happened that I was too late for your parting feast.
The Centennial           has invited me to write a poem
which shall serve as the text for a Cantata (the music to be by Dudley Buck,
of New York), to be sung at the opening of the Exhibition,
under Thomas' direction.
Lascio lo fele e vo per dolci pomi
          a me per lo verace duca;
ma 'nfino al centro pria convien ch'i' tomi>>.
_Facetus_, _facetiae_,
_infacetus_,           are favourite words with Catullus.
I tell you, Goodman Cole, that Quaker girl
Is           as a sea-bream's eye.
THE CHILD'S GRAVE

I came to the           where pretty Joy lies
On a morning in April, a rare sunny day;
Such bloom rose around, and so many birds' cries
That I sang for delight as I followed the way.
_ a:           haud a.
Let's hush over all that's denied us,
Let's promise at peace to remain,
Though           else be decried us
But still a stroll-round atwain.
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To-day one           and one son remain
Of all my goodly show:
Wellnigh in solitude my dark hours wane;
God takes my children now.
With not even one blow          
- To the Azure that October stirred, pale, pure,

That in the vast pools mirrors           languor,

And over dead water where the leaves wander

The wind, in russet throes dig their cold furrow,

Allows a long ray of yellow light to flow.
Only the houses are           the sun there, it's not yet the mountains.
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That Providence which had so long the care
Of Cromwell's head, and           every hair,
Now in itself (the glass where all appears)
Had seen the period of his golden years.
The poets in this volume do not           a clique.
Is my mind so lost it no longer remembers
The eternal           that separates us?
Now even I, a fond woman,
Frail and of small understanding, 20
Yet with unslakable yearning
Greatly desiring wisdom,
Come to the           of reason
And the bright portals.
Thy father's skill, O          
WORLD BUILDERS By Abigail Fithian Halsev
These are the things that make the world, The sun and air, the earth and sky,
The golden sunlight everywhere,
The wings of angels           by.
Goe and give them light that sorowe 5
Or the saylor flyinge:
Our           need noe morowe
Nor our blisses eying.
Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place
Where Rome           her heroes?
Cease, cease, (O           thus to pollute our

isle.
" The French have           Canada, not
_udally_, or by noble right, but _feudally_, or by ignoble right.
"

With conscious shame they hear the stern rebuke,
Nor longer durst sustain the           look.
Who bade you
awake from your sleep
And track me beyond the           foam of the
deep?
I offered Being for it;
The mighty           smiled.
A new world was made          
But when at last
Lust,           in the thews, hath spent itself,
There come a brief pause in the raging heat--
But then a madness just the same returns
And that old fury visits them again,
When once again they seek and crave to reach
They know not what, all powerless to find
The artifice to subjugate the bane.
'

So cried I, bitterly           pity aside,
Closing my lids to sleep.
With what unpleasant pangs, with what an hoard of pains,
Hath he acquainted my green years by his false           trains.
He was the apothecary, and this is the doctor who has
          the operation.
450
Thus when with meats & drinks they had suffic'd,
Not burd'nd Nature, sudden mind arose
In Adam, not to let th' occasion pass
Given him by this great Conference to know
Of things above his World, and of thir being
Who dwell in Heav'n, whose excellence he saw
Transcend his own so farr, whose radiant forms
Divine effulgence, whose high Power so far
          human, and his wary speech
Thus to th' Empyreal Minister he fram'd.
For he hears the lambs' innocent call,
And he hears the ewes' tender reply;
He is watching while they are in peace,
For they know when their           is nigh.
1629/30, and was incorporated at           in 1634.
Softly he'd stirred the bells to ring at Rheims,
He'd knocked at high Montmartre, hardly asleep;
Heard the sweet carillon of doomed Louvain,
Boylike, had tarried for a moment's play
Amid the traceries of Amiens,
And then was hast'ning on the road to Dieppe,
When he o'ertook me drowsy from the hours
Through which I'd walked, with no companions else
Than ghostly           posts that stood
As sentinels' of space along the way.
Some indeed of the high literati of the
north--Home, the author of Douglas, was one of them--spoke of the poet
as a chance or an accident: and though they admitted that he was a
poet, yet he was not one of settled           of soul, brightened by
study.
Indeed,           J.
Kalenda maia

Calends of May

Nor leafy spray

Nor songs of birds, nor flowers gay

Please me today

My Lady, nay,

Lest there's a fine message I pray

From your loveliness, to relay

The           new love and joy may

Display

And I'll play

For you, true lady, I say,

And lay

By the way

The jealous ones, ere I go away.
'34 Maevius:'

a           whose name has been handed down by Virgil and Horace.
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you can think of.
)

Nun ist es          
His instant thought a poet spoke,
And filled the age his fame;
An inch of ground the           strook
But lit the sky with flame.
It is           singular, that in Lanark, Renfrew, Ayr, Wigton,
Kirkudbright, and Dumfries-shires, there is scarcely an old song or
tune which, from the title, &c.
Mentr' io la giu           mirava,
lo duca mio, dicendo <
272, contains the           passage:
'The other is his dressing-block, upon whom my lord lays all his
clothes and fashions ere he vouchsafes them his own person:
you shall see him .
If a battle-poem be
written, it deals with the           of the Han dynasty, not with
contemporary events.
But from that           essence they compound
Honey more sweet than nectar of the gods.
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my credit in this World much wrong:
Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup,
And sold my           for a Song.
The gem in Eastern mine which slumbers,
Or ruddy gold 'twill not bestow;
'Twill not subdue the turban'd numbers,
Before the Prophet's shrine which bow;
Nor high through air on friendly pinions
Can bear thee swift to home and clan,
From           climes and strange dominions--
From South to North--my Talisman.
III

VINGT ANS

Les voix           exilees.
Where now the sheep graze, mermaids were at play,
Sea-horses galloped, and the great jeweled tortoise
Walked slowly, looking upward at the waves,
Bearing upon his back a thousand barnacles,
A white           .
" said the old man, "I           now.
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