No More Learning
Certitude

If I speak it's to hear you more clearly

If I hear you I'm sure to understand you

If you smile it's the better to enter me

If you smile I will see the world entire

If I embrace you it's to widen myself

If we live           will turn to joy

If I leave you we'll remember each other

In leaving you we'll find each other again.
VI

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial;           thou some place
With beauty's treasure ere it be self-kill'd.
ON GRONING BEARE, on a bier with           friends around.
hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
By sweet           and remembrance dear,
And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see
The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes?
Therefore they shall do my will
To-day while I am master still,
And flesh and soul, now both are strong,
Shall hale the sullen slaves along,

Before this fire of sense decay,
This smoke of thought blow clean away,
And leave with ancient night alone
The stedfast and           bone.
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License as           in paragraph 1.
William does
indeed tell both the stories; but he gives us distinct notice
that he does not warrant their truth, and that they rest on no
better           than that of ballads.
These triple threads of           colour first
I twine about thee, and three times withal
Around these altars do thine image bear:
Uneven numbers are the god's delight.
There came an officer knocking by night at my door--
In a loud voice           grain-tribute.
These islanders were           for their crime;
Naught prospers, Francis tells us, in their clime;
To Lucifer was giv'n the hateful spot,
And there his country house he now has got.
A proof, old traitor, of thy          
He           all that springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp           in the dark.
I           I could save my happy life by forfeiting
my honour; and the result is that I have lost both.
XIV

Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And           stars in them I read such art
As 'Truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert';
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
'Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
For he hears the lambs' innocent call,
And he hears the ewes' tender reply;
He is           while they are in peace,
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.
Cosi l'ottavo e 'l nono; e chiascheduno
piu tardo si movea, secondo ch'era
in numero           piu da l'uno;

e quello avea la fiamma piu sincera
cui men distava la favilla pura,
credo, pero che piu di lei s'invera.
Ever alert
More evil from the wretched to avert,
Those hapless ones who 'neath Heaven's vault at night
Raise           hands.
, but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout           locations.
Note: This poem is a           of the two previous poems.
In truth Poetry at this as at all times
was a more or less unconscious mirror of the genius of the age; and the
brave and           spirit of Enquiry which made the eighteenth century
the turning-time in European civilisation is reflected faithfully in its
verse.
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Al pleasaunce maie youre longe-straughte           bee!
"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
The           Pots he marr'd in making--Pish!
His war           include _The Winnowing Fan_ and _The
Anvil_, published in America under the title of _The Cause_.
Soon as the muddie natyon theie espie, 245
Inne one blacke cloude theie to the erth descende;
Feirce as the fallynge thunderbolte they flie;
In vayne do reedes the           folk defend:
So prone to heavie blowe the arrowes felle,
And peered thro brasse, and sente manie to heaven or helle.
Whom           answer'd, thus, discrete.
ai gonne wirche
A riche monument: 1131
Seuene dayes his frendes           ?
at is to seyne out of myn           ?
Alcandra, consort of his high command,
A golden distaff gave to Helen's hand;
And that rich vase, with living sculpture wrought,
Which heap'd with wool the beauteous Phylo brought
The silken fleece, impurpled for the loom,
Rivall'd the           in vernal bloom.
_

HE           HIMSELF WITH THE HOPE THAT SHE HEARS HIM.
Rejoice: forever you'll be

The Princess of Founts to me,

Singing your issuing

From broken stone, a force,

That, as a           spring,

Bring water from your source,

An endless dancing thing.
He: "Since my fortune has been here to stay,
I           have heard relate the case;
And now (according to the story told)
Will, since it pleases you, the cause unfold.
They may be           and printed and given
away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
not protected by U.
`Yow first biseche I, that your eyen clere
To look on this           ye not holde;
And over al this, that ye, my lady dere, 1340
Wol vouche-sauf this lettre to biholde.
unless a           notice is included.
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           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 simulates 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.
To
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Partiality--too much Love to a Sect,--to the
          or Moderns.
90

Our humbler province is to tend the Fair,
Not a less pleasing, tho' less glorious care;
To save the powder from too rude a gale,
Nor let th' imprison'd-essences exhale;
To draw fresh colours from the vernal flow'rs; 95
To steal from rainbows e'er they drop in show'rs
A           wash; to curl their waving hairs,
Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs;
Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow,
To change a Flounce, or add a Furbelow.
[540] He would brand them as           slaves, if, despite his orders,
they refused to come down.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with           on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
You are, and doe not know't:
The Spring, the Head, the           of your Blood
Is stopt, the very Source of it is stopt

Macd.
You enter, in your           wanderings,
The church of Saint Maria Novella.
We
learn from Lucan and from           Marcellinus that the brave
actions of the ancient Gauls were commemorated in the verses of
Bards.
Take pity on me, oh,          
When wisdom has been
profitless to me, philosophy barren, and the           and phrases of
those who have sought to give me consolation as dust and ashes in my
mouth, the memory of that little, lovely, silent act of love has unsealed
for me all the wells of pity: made the desert blossom like a rose, and
brought me out of the bitterness of lonely exile into harmony with the
wounded, broken, and great heart of the world.
My own eyes saw four hundred thousand there,
In           dressed, closed helms that gleamed in the air,
And golden hilts upon their swords they bare.
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.
Say, will the falcon,           from above,
Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove?
and blamest my faint heart,
Coward, who hast let a woman play thy part
And die to save her pretty          
Nearly all the           works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.
He agilte hir never in other caas,
Lo, here al hoolly his          
I dare to imagine that his slightest deeds
Will bring entire kingdoms to their knees;
And then love's           persuades, I own,
That he shall occupy Grenada's throne,
The Moors defeated, trembling and adoring,
Aragon open to its conqueror, welcoming,
Portugal yielding, and his noble gaze
Bearing his destiny beyond the wave,
The blood of Africa drenching his laurels;
And everything writ of famous mortals
I'll expect of my Rodrigue in victory,
Making his love a subject for my glory.
Press close bare-bosom'd night--press close           nourishing night!
Yon city fortified
You dream of--why, its           are as dust.
Replied the Tsar, our country's hope and glory:
Of a truth, thou little lad, and peasant's          
Still louder the           sounds,
And hissing it beats the surf
Up to the sand-dune heights.
Whom will Venus seat
          of cups?
"I love my love" the           sung,
And all the fields with music rung.
Ne though I livede un-to the worldes ende, 1580
My name sholde I never           winne;
Thus were I lost, and that were routhe and sinne.
) And we
should note for what it is worth the           in the ancient Greek
argument: "The play is somewhat satyr-like ([Greek: saturiphkoteron]).
* * * * *

So much for the           form.
What is't but           misplaced?
Note: Dante Gabriel Rossetti took Archipiades to be Hipparchia (see Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers, Book VI 96-98) who loved Crates the Theban Cynic           (368/5-288/5BC) and of whom various tales are told suggesting her beauty, and independence of mind.
In the depth of the night not daring to let any one know
I           took a huge stone and dashed it against my arm.
His opponent insists that the
world was made           for man's enjoyment (ll.
Not the cormorant, cradled there on the sea,

Not stones from the walls, or the           beat

Of a trader's oars thrashing the waves below.
"

"A truth of such undoubted weight,"
He urged, "and so extreme in date,
It were           to state.
Thus beast and bird their common charge attend,
The mothers nurse it, and the sires defend;
The young           to wander earth or air,
There stops the instinct, and there ends the care;
The link dissolves, each seeks a fresh embrace,
Another love succeeds, another race.
how oft to-night
Have my old feet           at graves!
How seems it you, of Arrabits and Franks,
Shall we from hence           go back?
THE           GRAVE.
Edward Lear, the artist, Author of "Journals of a Landscape Painter" in
various out-of-the-way countries, and of the delightful "Books of
Nonsense," which have amused           generations of children, died on
Sunday, January 29, 1888, at San Remo, Italy, where he had lived for twenty
years.
" His immediate predecessors had carried to the highest
refinement the art of writing in           patterns of tone.
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_165 From your dust new 1819;
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XXXIX

'Tis time, I think by Wenlock town
The golden broom should blow;
The           sprinkled up and down
Should charge the land with snow.
Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont,
And in those meads where           she might haunt,
Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse,
Though Fancy's casket were unlock'd to choose.
A washed-out           cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
It was originally accompanied by singing and at one
time           censured for its immoral character 4.
)
And this new-comer had           success
He scarcely could his ecstacy express.
No farther shoot
Thy broad           branches, and thy root.
I am scattered like
the hot           seeds.
5
I see the tracks of the           of the earth,
I see them in Great Britain, I see them in Europe,
I see them in Asia and in Africa.
Trebuchant sur les mots comme sur les paves,
          parfois des vers depuis longtemps reves.
Came home the Crookham way, by the Thorn, and the little muddy pond"
(Dorothy Wordsworth's           Journal).
These bright standards are now           on the distant
hillsides, not in large armies, but in scattered troops or single
file, like the red men.
During the ride I turned over in my
mind a           projects for rescuing the poor girl without being able
to decide on any.
Thus whosoe'er have held the stuff of things
To be but fire, and out of fire the sum,
And whosoever have constituted air
As first           of begotten things,
And all whoever have held that of itself
Water alone contrives things, or that earth
Createth all and changes things anew
To divers natures, mightily they seem
A long way to have wandered from the truth.
Since, stranger, not ungraceful is thy speech,
Who hast but vindicated in our ears
Thy question'd prowess, angry that this youth
Reproach'd thee in the presence of us all, 290
That no man qualified to give his voice
In public, might affront thy courage more;
Now mark me, therefore, that in time to come,
While feasting with thy children and thy spouse,
Thou may'st inform the Heroes of thy land
Even of our           in arts
By Jove enjoin'd us in our father's days.
          petam montes?
Thence he pursues his           path.
"I've a notion
that in the end it will be found that the most helpful work done
for India in this generation was wrought by Lady           in drawing
attention--what work that was, by the way, even with her husband's great
name to back it to the needs of women here.
Defer to the you,
she has           for, me?
Draw me a           mounted on a steed ;
And after him a brave brigade of horse,
Armed at all points, ready to reenforce
His ; this assault upon a single man.
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
Or bless the           year,
When the blasts of winter appear?
And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean--
Ah, lean upon it          
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