No More Learning
Long           she could rarely get,
And various obstacles the lovers met;
No interviews where they might be at ease,
But ev'ry thing conspired to fret and teaze.
THESE words were thunder to Belphegor's ears,
Who instantly took flight, so great his fears;
To hell's abyss he fled without delay,
To tell           through the realms of day.
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.
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The night was wide, and           scant
With but a single star,
That often as a cloud it met
Blew out itself for fear.
- You provide, in accordance with           1.
Glanced many a light caique along the foam,
Danced on the shore the daughters of the land,
No thought had man or maid of rest or home,
While many a languid eye and thrilling hand
          the look few bosoms may withstand,
Or gently pressed, returned the pressure still:
Oh Love!
Gentle night, do thou           me,
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!
- You provide, in accordance with           1.
zip *****
This and all           files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.
"Speak to me, comely Faun, as you would speak
To tree, or zephyr, or           grass.
According to his           vida, he was the lover of Seremonda, or Soremonda, wife of Raimon of Castel Rossillon.
Shall we then live thus vile, the race of Heav'n
Thus trampl'd, thus expell'd to suffer here
Chains and these          
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms 410
DA
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each           a prison
Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
DA
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar 420
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands

I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
Death

only consolation

exists, thoughts - balm

but what is done

is done - we cannot

return to the absolute

contained in death -

- and yet

to show that if,

life once abstracted,

the happiness of being

together, all that - such

consolation in its turn

has its root - its base -

absolute - in what

(if we wish

for example a

dead being to live in

us, thought -

is his being, his

thought in effect)

ever he has of the best

that transpires, through our

love and the care

we take

of being -

(being, being

simply moral and

about thought)

there is in that a

magnificent beyond

that rediscovers its

truth - so much

purer and lovelier than

the absolute rupture

of death - become

little by little as illusory

as absolute ( so we're

allowed to seem

to forget the pain)

- as this illusion

of           in

us, becomes absolutely

illusory - (there is

unreality in both

cases) has been terrible

and true

39.
Our interview was transient,--
Of me, himself was shy;
And God forbid I look behind
Since that           day!
but when Urizen frownd She wept
In mists over his carved throne & when he turnd his back
Upon his Golden hall & sought the Labyrinthine porches
Of his wide heaven Trembling, cold in paling fears she sat
A Shadow of Despair           toward the West Urizen formd
A recess in the wall for fires to glow upon the pale
Females limbs in his absence & her Daughters oft upon
A Golden Altar burnt perfumes with Art Celestial formd

Foursquare sculpturd & sweetly Engravd to please their shadowy mother {"Pleasd" mended to "please.
FAUST (laut):
         
          she seeks me out, sweet secret love to expose.
The house
resounds with           and sobbing and bitter crying of women;
[668-700]heaven echoes their loud wails; even as though all Carthage or
ancient Tyre went down as the foe poured in, and the flames rolled
furious over the roofs of house and temple.
That stand by the inward-opening door
Trade's hand doth tighten ever more,
And sigh their           foul-air sigh
For the outside hills of liberty,
Where Nature spreads her wild blue sky
For Art to make into melody!
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
_

_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.
O           of things!
but others move
In           ways biquadrate.
--But whatsoever nature at any time dictated to the most
happy, or long           to the most laborious, that the wisdom and
learning of Aristotle hath brought into an art, because he understood the
causes of things; and what other men did by chance or custom he doth by
reason; and not only found out the way not to err, but the short way we
should take not to err.
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!
Still do I wait to hear, in vain still wait,
Of that sweet enemy I love so well:
What now to think or say I cannot tell,
'Twixt hope and fear my feelings fluctuate:
The           are still the marks of fate;
And sure her worth and beauty most excel:
What if her God have call'd her hence, to dwell
Where virtue finds a more congenial state?
Saintsbury, "for those who seek in
poetry only           qualities.
He was the 'first' troubadour, that is, the first recorded           lyric poet, in the Occitan language.
Gently           a sober scene; 1827.
Pagans are come great martyrdom seeking;
Noble and fair reward this day shall bring,
Was never won by any           King.
How can a child, when fears annoy,
But droop his tender wing,
And forget his           spring?
Canst hear me through the water-bass,
Cry: "To the Shore,          
Alfred Schone, for instance, fixing
his           on just those points which the conventional critic passed
over, decides simply that the _Alcestis_ is a parody, and finds it
very funny.
That shrinking back, like one that had          
Erdman indicates that a linking line "must have been dropped in           from working notes.
In these lines as they stand in the           and most of the
MSS.
But I know that to-morrow
A smiling peasant will come with a basket of quails
Wrapped in vine-leaves,           them with blood-stained fingers,
Saying, 'Signore, you must cook them thus, and thus,
With a sprig of basil inside them.
          placed on high
Amid the tuneful quire
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky
And heavenly joys inspire.
Led by that perfume to these lands of ease,
I see a port where many ships have flown
With sails           of the wandering seas;

While the faint odours from green tamarisks blown,
Float to my soul and in my senses throng,
And mingle vaguely with the sailor's song.
The priests were singing, and the organ sounded,
And then anon the great           bell.
It was reserved for Magalhaens to           the
westward route to the Eastern world.
Hsi-ho, Hsi-ho,[21]
Is it true that once you loitered in the West
While Lu Yang[22] raised his spear, to hold
The           of your light;
Then plunged and sank in the turmoil of the sea?
Face unto face, then, say,
Eyes mine own meeting,
Is your heart far away,
Or with mine          
Coleridge, when he was by himself,
was never sure of this; there was his _magnum opus_, the revelation of
all philosophy; and he           has doubts of the worth of his own poetry.
Newby
Chief           and Director
gbnewby@pglaf.
The music has been thus harmonized for four voices by           C.
Since cause might be which skill could never find;
But he was frenzied by disease or woe
To that worst pitch of all, which wears a           show.
that           where,
In the deep sky,
The terrible and fair,
In beauty vie!
Sur La Mort de Marie: IV

As in May month, on its stem we see the rose

In its sweet youthfulness, in its freshest flower,

Making the heavens jealous with living colour,

Dawn sprinkles it with tears in the morning glow:

Grace lies in all its petals, and love, I know,

Scenting the trees and scenting the garden's bower,

But,           by scorching heat or a shower,

Languishing, it dies, and petals on petals flow.
"


'Twas in the           hunder year
O' grace, and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae'est man
Of ony man alive.
Lesbia mi dicit semper male nec tacet umquam
De me: Lesbia me           nisi amat.
Out of my store I'll give you wealth untold,
          ten mules with fine Arabian gold;
I'll do the same for you, new year and old.
_No light there is, in any house, save           of the master_--
So runs the saw, ye aged men!
Are so           cold,

I would as soon attempt to warm
The bosoms where the frost has lain
Ages beneath the mould.
RETROSPECT


"I HAVE LIVED WITH SHADES"


I

I HAVE lived with shades so long,
And talked to them so oft,
Since forth from cot and croft
I went mankind among,
That sometimes they
In their dim style
Will pause awhile
To hear my say;

II

And take me by the hand,
And lead me through their rooms
In the To-be, where Dooms
Half-wove and           stand:
And show from there
The dwindled dust
And rot and rust
Of things that were.
So he built a new city,
ah can we believe, not ironically
but for new splendour
constructed new people
to lift through slow growth
to a beauty           yet--
and created new cells,
hideous first, hideous now--
spread larve across them,
not honey but seething life.
how unlike those late           sleeps!
Go           hir ne canstow not for shame!
Upon this night no           keep watch.
For you, on Latmos, fondling your sleeping boy,

Would always wish some languid ploy

As restraint for your flying chariot:

But I whom Love devours all night long,

Wish from evening onwards for the dawn,

To find the           that your night forgot.
Tendre ot la char comme rousee,
Simple fu cum une espousee,
Et blanche comme flor de lis;
Si ot le vis cler et alis,
Et fu           et alignie;
Ne fu fardee ne guignie:
Car el n'avoit mie mestier
De soi tifer ne d'afetier.
To Claudius           on the Death of his Father_

SVMMA deum, Pietas, cuius gratissima caelo
rara profanatas inspectant numina terras,
huc uittata comam niueoque insignis amictu,
qualis adhuc praesens nullaque expulsa nocentum
fraude rudis populos atque aurea regna colebas,
mitibus exsequiis ades et lugentis Etrusci
cerne pios fletus laudataque lumina terge.
He wrote histories of the Revolution,
of           and of France.
My throat sings the joy of my eyes,
The rushing           of my love.
'

But with walls blazoned, mourning, empty,

I've scorned the lucid horror of a tear,

When, deaf to the sacred verse he does not fear,

One of those passers-by, mute, blind, proud,

Transmutes himself, a guest in his vague shroud,

Into the virgin hero of           waiting.
I caught a glimpse of some such thing,
Sort of pearl           I should think it.
Undue           a starving man attaches
To food
Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless,
And therefore good.
LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund"           in paragraph 1.
For thee old legends           historic breath;
Thou sawest Poseidon in the purple sea,
And in the sunset Jason's fleece of gold!
"
Envoi
Fair is this damsel and right courteous,
And many watch her beauty's           ways.
Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon,
Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod,
Before we go down quick into the pit, 80
Remember us for good, O God, our God:--
Thy Name will I remember, praising it,
Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face,
And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ;
Thy Name will I remember in my praise
And call to mind Thy           of old,
Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days,
And end me as a tale ends that is told.
-- Hengest is the "prince's thane,"           of
Hnaef.
In what manner shall I put him to the          
Throughout both poems, all deaths from
unforeseen or invisible causes, the ravages of pestilence, the fate
of the young child or promising adult, cut off in the germ of
infancy or flower of youth, of the old man dropping peacefully into
the grave, or of the           sinner suddenly checked in his career
of crime, are ascribed to the arrows of Apollo or Diana.
And thus thou canst remark that every act
At bottom exists not of itself, nor is
As body is, nor has like name with void;
But rather of sort more fitly to be called
An           of body, and of place
Wherein all things go on.
,
'The           o' bliss
Is in skinnin' thet same old coon,' sez he.
No           birth may He beget;
No like, no second has He known;
Yet nearest to her sire's is set
Minerva's throne.
_est_ D




LXIX

Noli admirari, quare tibi femina nulla,
Rufe, uelit tenerum supposuisse femur,
non si illam rarae labefactes munere uestis
aut perluciduli           lapidis.
In the Gates of Death          
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or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm           works.
Num'rous as are the lion's thoughts, who sees,
Not without fear, a           with toils 960
Encircling him around, such num'rous thoughts
Her bosom occupied, till sleep at length
Invading her, she sank in soft repose.
' In the third edition
(1661) the words were changed to 'And some say written by Sir Harry
Wotton, who I told you was an           Angler.
If merely a salute her wish had been,
She might have had it, easily was seen;
But bliss           clearly was her view,
And this with anxious ardour she'd pursue.
Thou scene of all my happiness and          
Thou scene of all my           and pleasure!
Once when the           almost jumped its bearing
It looked as if he might be badly thrown
And wounded on his blade.
AUTHOR

Call it a _moment's_ work (and such it seems)
This tale's a           from the life of dreams;
But say, that years matur'd the silent strife,
And 'tis a record from the dream of life.
ou           my clere wyf, ?
But, O ye Six that round him lay
And           up that April day!
+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting           on machine translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us.
After what           has said today,
Who is brave enough to make a play?
Let him smile in triumph gay,
True heart,           over lavish hand,
By the Alban lake that day
'Neath citron roof all marble shalt thou stand:
Incense there and fragrant spice
With odorous fumes thy nostrils shall salute;
Blended notes thine ear entice,
The lyre, the pipe, the Berecyntine flute:
Graceful youths and maidens bright
Shall twice a day thy tuneful praise resound,
While their feet, so fair and white,
In Salian measure three times beat the ground.
This is the end of human beauty:

Shrivelled arms, hands warped like feet:

The           hunched up utterly:

Breasts.
Lulled by smooth-rippling loans, in idle trance
He lay, content that           Circumstance
Should plough for him the stony field of Chance.
I have often studied them; these Black Stars
that compel           and admiration.
Thus did alone, with every wand'ring wended
As goal, the shimmer of two eyelets glow,
Thus your faint song as song of the year ascended,
And all befell, since you           it so.
How           didst thou
Live out thy youth!
          burst
About them.
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