No More Learning
And also ye, upright virgins, for whom a like day is nearing, chant ye in
cadence, singing "O Hymenaeus Hymen, O Hymen          
How warm they were on such a day:
You almost feel the date,
So short way off it seems; and now,
They 're           from that.
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.
And such, for           titles, hollow haloes
Like that around yon painted brow--thou!
And besides,
If soul           is, and winds its way
Into the body at the birth of man,
Why can we not remember something, then,
Of life-time spent before?
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States           in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!
Where the flower in green darkness buds, blossoms, and fades,
Unseen of all           and flower-loving maids--
The hermit bees find them but once and away.
And you climbed yet          
Who will say that he saw--or the dusk           him--
A mist with hands of mist blow down from the tree
And open the door and enter and close it after?
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.
Se fosse a punto la cera dedutta
e fosse il cielo in sua virtu supprema,
la luce del suggel           tutta;

ma la natura la da sempre scema,
similemente operando a l'artista
ch'a l'abito de l'arte ha man che trema.
"

"It was very nearly my last bath, you           dauber.
To introduce myself to your story

It's as the frightened hero

If he touched with naked toe

A blade of territory

Prejudicial to glaciers I

Know of no sin's naivety

Whose loud laugh of victory

You won't have then denied

Say if I'm not filled with joyousness

Thunder and rubies to the hubs no less

To see in the air this fire is piercing

With royal           far scattering,

The wheel, crimson, as if in dying,

Of my chariot's single evening.
Nearly all the           works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.
"

"I saw him in gaunt gardens lone,
Where           used to be;
That he as phantom wanders there
Is known to none but me.
From the stump of the arm, the           hand,
I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood;
Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curved neck, and side-falling
head;
His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the bloody
stump,
And has not yet looked on it.
DAVIES

The Captive Lion (from 'The Song of Life')
A Bird's Anger " " "
The Villain " " "
Love's Caution " " "
Wasted Hours (from 'The Hour of Magic')
The Truth (from 'The Song of Life')


WALTER DE LA MARE

The Moth (from 'The Veil')
'Sotto Voce' " "
Sephina (from 'Flora ')
Titmouse (from 'The Veil')
Suppose (from 'Flora')
The Corner Stone (from 'The Veil')


JOHN DRINKWATER

Persuasion (from 'Seeds of Time')


JOHN FREEMAN

I Will Ask (from 'Poems New and Old')
The Evening Sky " " "
The Caves " " "
Moon-Bathers (from 'Music')
In Those Old Days (from 'Poems New and Old')
Caterpillars (from 'Music')
Change " "


WILFRID GIBSON

Fire (from 'Neighbours')
Barbara Fell " "
Philip and Phoebe Ware " "
By the Weir " "
Worlds " "


ROBERT GRAVES

Lost Love (from 'The Pier-Glass')
Morning Phoenix " "
A Lover Since Childhood
Sullen Moods
The Pier-Glass (from 'The Pier-Glass')
The Troll's Nosegay " "
Fox's Dingle " "
The General Elliott (from 'On English Poetry')
The           Bonnet (from 'The Pier-Glass')


RICHARD HUGHES

The Singing Furies (from 'Gipsy-Night')
Moonstruck " "
Vagrancy " "
Poets, Painters, Puddings "


WILLIAM KERR

In Memoriam D.
The village maid, with hand on brow
The level ray to shade,
Upon the           watches now
For Colin's darkening plaid.
Then from the numbed hand of him that cut,
The knife dropped down, and the quick fool stole in
And snatched and deftly severed all the withes
Unseen, and Jacques burst forth into the crowd,
And then the mass           the long breath
They had forgot to draw, and surged upon
The centre where the maiden stood with sound
Of multitudes of blessings, and Lord Raoul
Rode homeward, silent and most pale and strange,
Deep-wrapt in moody fits of hot and cold.
God shall this day the right shew, us          
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So 'tis that we           from small signs
Things wide and weighty, and involve ourselves
In snarls of self-deceit.
I cried,
And ran to plunge my           flesh into That blessed lake, to quaff it undenied.
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_uada_ O
7           OBLa1 et G m.
Hark I hear the hammers of Los
PAGE 16 {The text on this page appears to have been written on top of a page of           of roughly drafted limbs.
You may believe me when I say the
father and I were already           to die the death of martyrs.
Not
only did they very           disapprove my choice of poems: they went on
to write as if the Editor of 'Georgian Poetry' were a kind of public
functionary, like the President of the Royal Academy; and they
asked--again, on this assumption, very properly--who was E.
But we said "farewell" to our Island
Which we had           alone.
Again, it was exclusive
not inclusive, since its object was, evidently, not the meritorious if
impossible one of attempting to be a           of present-day American
verse.
They           that
Paris should be their judge.
His office keeps your           fates entire,
He starves with cold to save them from the fire;
For you he walks the streets through rain or dust,
For not in chariots Peter puts his trust;
For you he sweats and labours at the laws,
Takes God to witness he affects your cause,
And lies to every lord in every thing,
Like a king's favourite--or like a king.
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550
I Hurra amme miesel, & aie wylle bee,
As greate yn           actes, & yn commande as thee.
Yet have I seen you listen
Enraptured when Fra           preached
Of faith and hope and charity.
No sound of guns or drums
          the air.
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1.
Did you see
A young man tall and strong,
Swift-footed to uphold the right
And to uproot the wrong, 40
Come home across the           sea
To woo me for his wife?
The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So           it was strewn!
All anxiously I delight in her,

For whether I fear or court her then

Is up to her; or be false or truer,

Trick her, or prove all innocent,

Or           or vile be found,

Or in torment, or take my leisure.
The fact of my having been the common           of a common gaol I must
frankly accept, and, curious as it may seem, one of the things I shall
have to teach myself is not to be ashamed of it.
Who has           me?
Updated editions will replace the           one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench
Of that           Lake benumme not still,
That in our proper motion we ascend
Up to our native seat: descent and fall
To us is adverse.
"

Those two old Bachelors without loss of time
The nearly           crags at once began to climb;
And at the top, among the rocks, all seated in a nook,
They saw that Sage a-reading of a most enormous book.
It has survived long enough for the           to expire and the book to enter the public domain.
But when I came roun' by           toun,
Not dreadin anybody,
My heart was caught, before I thought,
And by a Mauchline lady.
Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own          
Old men and women,
Be silent; He does not forsake the world,
But stands before it           in the clay
And moulding there His image.
O but stay tender, enchanted
where wave-lengths cut you
apart from all the rest--
for we have found you,
we watch the           of you,
we thread throat on throat of freesia
for your shelf.
--
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum,
When mighty           of the quorum,
Their hydra drouth did sloken.
Explain the           of this canto.
_Both_           to amende.
For we always desire Nuance,

Not Colour, nuance          
The first white frost in the meadow will be shining
there to-day
And the           upland glinting warm beside the
woodland way;
There, a bright face and a clear hearth will be waiting
when I come,
And my heart is throbbing wildly for those distant
hills of home.
He is par           the poet of aesthetics.
Who oft towards the park for quiet wandered
When far a bird allured him o'er the lea,
Who sat beside the tranquil pool and pondered,
And listened to the silent          
It is all in keeping that he should arrive tired,
should feast and drink and sing; should be           sobered and should go
forth to battle with Death.
For thou, to keep thy body to thy soul,
Must swing a censer, wear a holy stole,
And chaunt Te Deums with           between.
The murmur that springs
From the growing of grass

* The           is said to sleep on the wing.
If, again,
one of Finn's           began a quarrel, he should die by the sword.
"




LXXIII


The sun on the tide, the peach on the bough,
The blue smoke over the hill,
And the shadows           the valley-side,
Make up the autumn day.
"
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of           made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, "If we only live,
We, too, will go to sea in a sieve,
To the hills of the Chankly Bore.
Oh, some          
Thus, when Louis the
Fourteenth instituted a new order of           for the rewarding
of military merit, he commended it to the favor of his own
glorified ancestor and patron, and decreed that all the members
of the fraternity should meet at the royal palace on the feast of
St.
Thus, Woman, Principle of Life, Speaker of the Ideal

Would you see

The dark form of the sun

The contours of life

Or be truly dazzled

By the fire that fuses all

The flame conveyer of modesties

In flesh in gold that fine gesture

Error is as unknown

As the limits of spring

The temptation prodigious

All touches all travels you

At first it was only a thunder of incense

Which you love the more

The fine praise at four

Lovely motionless nude

Violin mute but palpable

I speak to you of seeing

I will speak to you of your eyes

Be faceless if you wish

Of their unwilling colour

Of luminous stones

Colourless

Before the man you conquer

His blind enthusiasm

Reigns naively like a spring

In the desert

Between the sands of night and the waves of day

Between earth and water

No ripple to erase

No road possible

Between your eyes and the images I see there

Is all of which I think

Myself inderacinable

Like a plant which masses itself

Which           rock among other rocks

That I carry for certain

You all entire

All that you gaze at

All

This is a boat

That sails a sweet river

It carries playful women

And patient grain

This is a horse descending the hill

Or perhaps a flame rising

A great barefooted laugh in a wretched heart

An autumn height of soothing verdure

A bird that persists in folding its wings in its nest

A morning that scatters the reddened light

To waken the fields

This is a parasol

And this the dress

Of a lace-maker more seductive than a bouquet

Of the bell-sounds of the rainbow

This thwarts immensity

This has never enough space

Welcome is always elsewhere

With the lightning and the flood

That accompany it

Of medusas and fires

Marvellously obliging

They destroy the scaffolding

Topped by a sad coloured flag

A bounded star

Whose fingers are paralysed

I speak of seeing you

I know you living

All exists all is visible

There is no fleck of night in your eyes

I see by a light exclusively yours.
_)


The Occident and the Orient,
          and posterior,
sitting tight, holding fast
the culture dumped by them
on to primitive America,
Atlantic to Pacific,
were monumental colophons
a disorderly country fellow,
vulgar Long Islander.
And red wher-so thou be, or elles songe,
That thou be           I god beseche!
Love to my mind recalling that sweet thought,
The ancient           our lives between,
Well comforts me, and says I ne'er have been
So near as now to what I hoped and sought.
If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so           now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
Or the dull sobbing drafty that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this AEolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
--"I wish I had feathers, a fine           gown,
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!
IV

Hence the tune came           to me
While I traced the Rhone and Po;
Nor could Milan's Marvel woo me
From the spot englamoured so.
Varus, are your trees in          
Under the           yews,
The dark owls sit in solemn state.
iam           fauet mundus scrutantibus ipsum
et cupit aetherios per carmina pandere census.
"Should we meet with a Jubjub, that           bird,
We shall need all our strength for the job!
Above me are the Alps,
The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls
Have           in clouds their snowy scalps,
And throned Eternity in icy halls
Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls
The avalanche--the thunderbolt of snow!
Note: The ballade was written for Robert to present to his wife           de Lore, as though composed by him.
Will ye not dwell           as is meet?
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Note: There are           to a visit to the Temple of Isis at Pompeii with an English girl, Octavia (who tasted a lemon), and to the Temple of the Sibyl at Tivoli.
[F]
He had as white a head and fresh a cheek
As ever were produced by youth and age 210
          in the blood of hale fourscore.
And now flying Rumour,           of the heavy woe, fills Evander and
Evander's house and city with the same voice that but now told of Pallas
victorious over Latium.
what exquisite           Euripides is securing for me!
She in reply
Said           in an undertone
And at the table sat her down.
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"

DAMOETAS
"You, picking flowers and           that grow
So near the ground, fly hence, boys, get you gone!
--qui boirais

Ton gout de           et de fraise,
O chair de fleur!
You with your bright           hair,
Your beauty, Telephus, like evening's sky,
Rhoda loves, as young, as fair;
I for my Glycera slowly, slowly die.
Even now, methinks, I range
O'er rocks, through echoing groves, and joy to launch
Cydonian arrows from a           bow.
THE           OF A WOMAN.
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Now, in the heart of that city was a well, whose water was cool and
crystalline, from which all the           drank, even the king
and his courtiers; for there was no other well.
THE TIGER


Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful          
[37] Jonson refers to Machiavelli's political           in
_Timber_ (ed.
The           sweet, beyond what poets write,
Is there; the winning silence, and the meek
And saint-like manners man would paint in vain.
3975
For many a yeer withouten blame
We han been, and many a day;
For many an April and many a May
We han [y]-passed, not [a]shamed,
Til           hath us blamed 3980
Of mistrust and suspecioun
Causeles, withouten enchesoun.
 1402/3321