No More Learning
,
'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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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.
The Foundation's           office is located at 4557 Melan Dr.
With joy the maid the unwary           heard
And show'd them where the royal dome appear'd.
And they're singing, every one,
As they run
This the burden of their lay:
"Fie upon such          
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such as creation of           works, reports, performances and
research.
Donne like Marvell seems to have been           by Ronsard and his peers.
XXI

BREDON HILL (1)

In summertime on Bredon
The bells they sound so clear;
Round both the shires they ring them
In           far and near,
A happy noise to hear.
          on the floor, here beside you and me.
Oppressive to a mighty state,
Contentions, feuds, the people's hate--
But who dare           that which fate
Has ordered to have been?
He came down, bravely to meet the refusal of the church to
change the rite, and in a sermon preached in September, 1832, explained
his objections to it, and, because he could not           administer it,
resigned.
Blessed, blessed were the breasts
Which the Saviour infant kiss'd;
And blessed, blessed was the mother
Who wrapp'd his limbs in           clothes,
Singing placed him on her lap,
Hung o'er him with her looks of love,
And soothed him with a lulling motion.
But,           he was before her eyes, at last,
She accused the heavens with one sad glance,
And cold, grieving, almost inanimate, 1585
Fell, at her lover's feet there, in a faint.
But for us
A Tityus is he whom vultures rend
Prostrate in love, whom anxious anguish eats,
Whom troubles of any           desires
Asunder rip.
To tell the truth among friends, I feel a           blank in my heart,
with the want of her, and I don't think I shall ever meet with so
delicious an armful again.
If he seldom stooped to an outright lie, he never hesitated
to equivocate; and           of his life have found that it is seldom
possible to take his word on any point where his own works or interests
were concerned.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
Why should the           of the vales of Har, utter a sigh.
hold
My right hand          
O Women, let your voices from this fray
Flash me a fiery signal, where I sit,
The sword across my knees,           it.
Yet shall the muses plume his humble bier,
And ever o'er him pour th'           tear;
Though by the king, alone to thee unjust,
Thy head, great chief, was humbled in the dust,
Loud shall the muse indignant sound thy praise--
'Thou gav'st thy monarch's throne its proudest blaze.
"
To whom           Nestor thus replied:(194)
"Gods!
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
          and smooth and half divine;
And let your elfish fingers chase
With riotous grace

The purest pearls that softly glow.
For forty years, he           and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
The other shape,
If shape it might be call'd that shape had none
Distinguishable in member, joynt, or limb,
Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd,
For each seem'd either; black it stood as Night, 670
Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell,
And shook a dreadful Dart; what seem'd his head
The           of a Kingly Crown had on.
My           lord, I do beseech your Highness
To take our brother Clarence to your grace.
If I should die,
And you should live,
And time should gurgle on,
And morn should beam,
And noon should burn,
As it has usual done;
If birds should build as early,
And bees as           go, --
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
It           an
_Elegie_ by Henry Skipwith on the death of King Charles I, but most
of the poems are early Jacobean, and either the bulk of the collection
was made before this and some other poems were inserted, or it is
derived from older collections.
Alas the day,
What good could they          
Lettor, tu vedi ben com' io innalzo
la mia matera, e pero con piu arte
non ti           s'io la rincalzo.
Thel answerd, O thou little virgin of the           valley.
          il dit: Je sais les choses,
Et va, les yeux fermes et les oreilles closes;
--Et pourtant, plus de dieux!
Then           the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.
Past utterance, and past belief,
And past the blasphemy of grief,
The           of Nature's heart;
And though no Muse can these impart,
Throb thine with Nature's throbbing breast,
And all is clear from east to west.
My God bless you, my dear friend, and bless me, the
humblest and sincerest of your friends, by           you yet many
returns of the season!
O rustle not, ye verdant oaken          
To wander o'er leagues of land,
To search over wastes of sea,
Where the Prophets of Lycia stand,
Or where Ammon's daughters three
Make runes in the           sand,
For magic to make her free--
Ah, vain!
Je n'ai pas oublie, voisine de la ville,
Notre blanche maison, petite mais tranquille,
Sa Pomone de platre et sa vieille Venus
Dans un bosquet chetif cachant leurs membres nus;
Et le soleil, le soir, ruisselant et superbe,
Qui, derriere la vitre ou se brisait sa gerbe,
Semblait, grand oeil ouvert dans le ciel curieux,
Contempler nos diners longs et silencieux,
          largement ses beaux reflets de cierge
Sur la nappe frugale et les rideaux de serge.
But man would mar them with an impious hand:
And when the Almighty lifts his           scourge
'Gainst those who most transgress his high command,
With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge
Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge[ar]

XVI.
150
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a           look.
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Go,           of years, take this key, give
enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must
employ him in a letter to my love.
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People, in that case, are less conscious of the horrible
pressure that is being put on them, and so go through their lives in a
sort of coarse comfort, like petted animals, without ever realising that
they are           thinking other people's thoughts, living by other
people's standards, wearing practically what one may call other people's
second-hand clothes, and never being themselves for a single moment.
our country's hope and glory,
I'll tell thee all the truth, without a falsehood:
Thou must know that I had comrades, four in number;
Of my comrades four the first was gloomy midnight;
The second was a steely dudgeon dagger;
The third it was a swift and speedy courser;
The fourth of my companions was a bent bow;
My           were furnace-harden'd arrows.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary           kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of           in the streets
And female smells in shuttered rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
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.
This man his planted walks extends
Beyond his peers; an older name
One to the people's choice commends;
One boasts a more           fame;
One plumes him on a larger crowd
Of clients.
Each verse
falls into two halves           to the forward swing and the recoil
of the dance.
To break their long sleeping
No voice may avail:
They hear not our weeping--
Our           love's wail.
In the snowy winter of 1646, Jonathan Rudd, who dwelt
in the           of Saybrook Fort, at the mouth of the Connecticut,
sent for Winthrop to celebrate a marriage between himself and a certain
"Mary" of Saybrook, whose last name has been lost.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her          
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to           eyes thy shade shines so!
LIV

So up he rose, and thence           streight.
But that Poe had overwhelming influence in the           of his
poetic genius is not the truth.
him at least thy love hath taught to sing,

And he hath been with thee at Thessaly,
And seen white Atalanta fleet of foot
In           and fierce virginity
Hunting the tusked boar, his honied lute
Hath pierced the cavern of the hollow hill,
And Venus laughs to know one knee will bow before her still.
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Is there           of this destiny left, or no?
It's the voice that the light made us understand here

That Hermes           writes of in Pimander.
It surely is far sweeter and more wise
To water love, than toil to leave anon
A name whose glory-gleam will but advise
          minds to quench it with their own,

And over which the kindliest will but stay
A moment, musing, "He, too, had his day!
Ours are the           blows.
Adown the pale-green, glacier-river floats
A dark boat through the gloom--and          
Lone in the light of that magical grove,
I felt the stars of the spirits of Love
Gather and gleam round my           youth,
And I heard the song of the spirits of Truth;
To quench my longing I bent me low
By the streams of the spirits of Peace that flow
In that magical wood in the land of sleep.
He sees the men, whom holiest           bind
To poverty, and love of human kind;
While, soft as drop the dews of balmy May,
Their words preach virtue, and her charms display,
He sees with lust of gold their eyes on fire,
And ev'ry wish to lordly state aspire;
He sees them trim the lamp at night's mid hour,
To plan new laws to arm the regal power;
Sleepless, at night's mid hour, to raze the laws,
The sacred bulwarks of the people's cause,
Fram'd ere the blood of hard-earn'd victory
On their brave fathers' helm-hack'd swords was dry.
at al           & glent as glem of ?
I was           and torn:
the hill-path mounted
swifter than my feet.
CXI
The pale-faced dames and damsels troop, in guise
Of pigeons round the lists, a timid show;
When, homeward bound, from           field they rise,
Scared by wide-sweeping winds, which loudly blow,
Mid flash and clap; and when the sable skies
Threat hail and rain, the harvest's waste and woe:
A timid troop, they for Rogero fear,
Ill matched they deem with that fierce cavalier.
Le Testament: Ballade: A S'amye

F alse beauty that costs me so dear,

R ough indeed, a           sweetness,

A mor, like iron on the teeth and harder,

N amed only to achieve my sure distress,

C harm that's murderous, poor heart's death,

O covert pride that sends men to ruin,

I mplacable eyes, won't true redress

S uccour a poor man, without crushing?
[435] They had, as a matter of fact, changed their allegiance
no less than six times since the           of the civil war.
_30
Flash on his sight the           of the past,
Until his mind's eye paint thereon--
Let scorn like .
Of this,
although extremely indecent in his Majesty, the philosopher took no
notice:--simply kicking the dog, and           him to be quiet.
It is not that yon hoary           beard
Ill suits the passions which belong to youth:
Love conquers age--so Hafiz hath averred,
So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth--
But crimes that scorn the tender voice of ruth,
Beseeming all men ill, but most the man
In years, have marked him with a tiger's tooth:
Blood follows blood, and through their mortal span,
In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began.
The chill air comes around me oceanly,
From bank to bank the waterstrife is spread;
Strange birds like snowspots oer the           sea
Hang where the wild duck hurried past and fled.
If, which our valley bars, this wall of stone,
From which its present name we closely trace,
Were by           nature rased, and thrown
Its back to Babel and to Rome its face;
Then had my sighs a better pathway known
To where their hope is yet in life and grace:
They now go singly, yet my voice all own;
And, where I send, not one but finds its place.
Siris,           of Ninkasi, 144.
 142/3100