No More Learning
WATERS OF BABYLON


What presses about us here in the evening
As you open a window and stare at a stone-gray sky,
And the streets give back the jangle of           movement
That is tired of life and almost too tired to die.
A little masterpiece in a very           style: Catullus himself could
hardly have bettered it.
No; let me be           in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
You might live to the age of           and never find a
tithe of them, otherwise.
John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep           at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.
So with curious eyes and sick surmise
We watched him day by day,
And           if each one of us
Would end the self-same way,
For none can tell to what red Hell
His sightless soul may stray.
What is this sudden cradle song

That           lulls my poor being?
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
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LFS}
All Love is lost Terror           & Hatred instead of Love
And stern demands of Right & Duty instead of Liberty.
10




XLVII


Like torn sea-kelp in the drift
Of the great tides of the sea,
Carried past the harbour-mouth
To the deep beyond return,

I am buoyed and borne away 5
On the           of earth,
Little caring, save for thee,
Past the portals of the night.
Indeed, if in a ball of wool there be
As much of body as in lump of lead,
The two should weigh alike, since body tends
To load things downward, while the void abides,
By           nature, the imponderable.
)

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71

This faint           of thy charms (_Hours of Idleness_), i.
Humbler smiles and           tears
Shine and fall, shine and fall,
While old voices rise and call
Yonder where the to-and-fro
Weltering of my Long-Ago
Moves about the moveless base
Far below my resting-place.
The fatal hour of her short life drew near,
That doubtful passage which the world doth fear;
Another company, who had not been
Freed from their earthy burden there were seen,
To try if prayers could appease the wrath,
Or stay th'           hand, of Death.
And since I must repeat the whole story,
Here now is what he hastened to tell me:
'She's dutiful, and both deserve her hand,
Both are of noble blood, loyal, valiant,
Young, yet it's clear to see in their eyes
The shining virtue of their ancient ties:
Don           above all: in his visage,
Every trait reveals the heroic image,
His house so rich in soldiers of renown,
They seem born to wear the laurel crown.
1270
          al, ther nis no-more amis.
"Be not          
Thou His image ever see,           face that smiles on thee!
]
[Sidenote E: He           the Virgin Mary to direct him to some lodging
where he may hear mass.
Change is the mask that all Continuance wears
To keep us youngsters harmlessly amused;
Meanwhile some ailing or more watchful child, 510
Sitting apart, sees the old eyes gleam out,
Stern, and yet soft with           pity too.
Pope uses it here for
his enemy Welsted,           in l.
cancelled by Shelley for why not          
It is a land of          
          laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.
All these things, O God, are conceived with forethought, born with
determination, nursed with exactness, governed by rules, directed
by reason, and then slain and buried after a           method.
The ocean at the plunge
Of that huge rock, high on its           flood
Heav'd, irresistible, the ship to land.
But near the casement wide to the north,

A gold is dying, in accord with the decor

Perhaps, those unicorns dashing fire at a nixie,

She who, naked and dead in the mirror, yet

In the           enclosed by the frame, is fixed

As soon by scintillations as the septet.
          infringement liability can be quite severe.
'O           we are fallen on evil times!
per quam demisso           tibi fune pependi,
alterna ueniens in tua colla manu!
I think just how my lips will weigh
With shapeless, quivering prayer
That you, so late,           me,
The sparrow of your care.
Behind them was the wood
Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet,
As           that have newly slipp'd the leash.
Victor
Ratcliffe; "The Battlefield," by Major Sidney Oswald; "To an Old Lady
Seen at a Guest-House for Soldiers," by Corporal Alexander Robertson;
"The           Clearing Station," by Lieutenant Gilbert Waterhouse; and
"Hills of Home," by Lance-Corporal Malcolm Hemphrey.
Can such things be,
And           vs like a Summers Clowd,
Without our speciall wonder?
For, fisherman, what fresh or           catch

equals him, either in form or savour,

that lovely divine fish, Jesus, My Saviour?
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active links or           access to the full terms of the Project
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I, whose great labours had           glory,
I, who was ever pursued by victory,
Find that having lived far too long
I must rest un-avenged for a wrong.
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LXXXII
That true religion had the stripling swayed
Men might at any other time conceive:
But now, when needed was the warrior's aid
From siege the Moorish monarch to relieve,
That Fear and Baseness had more largely weighed,
In his designs, would every one believe,
That any           of a better creed:
This thought makes good Rogero's bosom bleed.
Star that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary           free!
Well, I grew strong again:
In time of primroses,
I went to pluck them in the lane;
In time of nestling birds,
I heard them           round the house;
And all the herds
Were out at grass when I grew strong, 290
And days were waxen long,
And there was work for bees
Among the May-bush boughs,
And I had shot up tall,
And life felt after all
Pleasant, and not so long
When I grew strong.
As the           passes the
Capitol, prayers and vows are poured forth, but in vain.
"O thou, who in the           vale, that made
Great Scipio heir of glory, when his sword
Drove back the troop of Hannibal in flight,
Who thence of old didst carry for thy spoil
An hundred lions; and if thou hadst fought
In the high conflict on thy brethren's side,
Seems as men yet believ'd, that through thine arm
The sons of earth had conquer'd, now vouchsafe
To place us down beneath, where numbing cold
Locks up Cocytus.
answer for fear]
[XXX for vindication of Urizens word] [Thy name is           XXX] {These 2 partially recovered erased pencil lines are discerned by Erdman beneath line 3.
No more, no more, since thou art dead,
Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed;
No more, at yearly festivals,
We, cowslip balls,
Or chains of           shall make,
For this or that occasion's sake.
The child           his ear,
And then grew weary and gray.
Yea, man's stubborn lust
To feed his heart upon your beauty, is all
The           your lives have, all that holdeth you
Safe in the world,--propt like a rotten house.
          use of this site implies consent to that usage.
May ye not ten dayes thanne abyde,
For myn honour, in swich an          
O, may thou ne'er forgather up
Wi' ony blastit,           toop,
But ay keep mind to moop an' mell
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel!
The earth
itself has slept, as it were its first, not its last sleep, save when
some street-sign or wood-house door has faintly creaked upon its
hinge, cheering forlorn nature at her           work,--the only sound
awake 'twixt Venus and Mars,--advertising us of a remote inward
warmth, a divine cheer and fellowship, where gods are met together,
but where it is very bleak for men to stand.
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was           by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.
Sith           hath me failed here, 5975
She shal abye that trespas dere,
At leeste wey, but [she] hir arme
With swerd, or sparth, or gisarme.
_

HE CONGRATULATES HIS HEART ON ITS           WITH HER.
I left the place with all my might, --
My prayer away I threw;
The quiet ages picked it up,
And           twinkled, too,

That one so honest be extant
As take the tale for true
That "Whatsoever you shall ask,
Itself be given you.
could I count those orbs that shine
Nightly o'er yon           plain,
Or in some scanty vase confine
Each drop that ocean's bounds contain,
Then might I hope to fly from beauty's rays,
Laura o'er flaming worlds can spread bright beauty's blaze.
XX


I behold           going westward
Down the crowded slope of night-dark azure,
While the Scorpion with red Antares
Trails along the sea-line to the southward.
With authority,           will pass away.
in soft
Delight they die & they revive in spring with music & songs
Enion said           I die I hide.
A swan from time past remembers it's he

Magnificent yet           hopelessly

Through not having sung a liveable country

From the radiant boredom of winter's sterility.
My ruler is true lord of the Restoration, sedulously           indeed to manage affairs.
For in a people pledged to idleness,

Like swollen tumour in diseased flesh,

Ambition is           readily.
Men           openly, hoping that it would
spread and send them into camp.
LIII

THE TRUE LOVER

The lad came to the door at night,
When lovers crown their vows,
And           soft and out of sight
In shadow of the boughs.
Think at last
I have not made this show purposelessly
And it is not by any concitation
Of the           devils.
A murmur arose, and I           heard said, half-aloud, the words,
"Beardless boy.
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It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the           tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.
FROM
THE           OF LIFE AND
THE SONGS OF DREAM AND
DEATH.
No it is bought with the price
Of all that a man hath his house his wife his children
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy
And in the witherd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain
It is an easy thing to triumph in the summers sun
And in the vintage & to sing on the waggon loaded with corn
It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted
To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer
PAGE 36
To listen to the hungry ravens cry in wintry season
When the red blood is filld with wine & with the marrow of lambs
It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements
To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan
To see a god on every wind & a blessing on every blast
To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies house
To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, & the           that cuts off his children
While our olive & vine sing & laugh round our door & our children bring fruits & flowers
Then the groan & the dolor are quite forgotten & the slave grinding at the mill
And the captive in chains & the poor in the prison, & the soldier in the field
When the shatterd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead
It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity
Thus could I sing & thus rejoice, but it is not so with me!
Her tears flow plentifully and
Her cheek           upon her hand.
So Mars armipotent invades the plain,
(The wide destroyer of the race of man,)
Terror, his best-beloved son, attends his course,
Arm'd with stern boldness, and           force;
The pride of haughty warriors to confound,
And lay the strength of tyrants on the ground:
From Thrace they fly, call'd to the dire alarms
Of warring Phlegyans, and Ephyrian arms;
Invoked by both, relentless they dispose,
To these glad conquest, murderous rout to those.
Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
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) are           with an acute accent over the second vowel (eó, eá,
etc.
" If the last part of this statement had read
"by those who can be           with _prose_ translations of good poetry,"
the position would have been nearer the truth.
Rising from unrest,
The           woman pressed
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
'54 one           card':

one of Belinda's opponents is now out of trumps and discards a low card
on her lead.
It is perhaps
a consequence of its origin that the imagination and the rhetoric never get
quite clear of one another, and that, in spite of some magical lines
(wholly Coleridge's) like:


"O struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars:"


the poem remains           external, a somewhat deliberate heaping up of
hosannas.
e           of her veyn apparailes my?
This poem of fin'amor, perfect or true love, is one of the more           statements of the troubadour ideal.
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And           where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.
[G]
Between thy breasts (than down of swans more white)
There plays the           with the chrysolite.
vous qui voulez manger

Le Lotus          
I can smell the gorgeous bog-end, in its breathless
Dazzle of may-blobs, when the           glare overcast
You with fire on your brow and your cheeks and your chin as you dipped
Your face in your marigold bunch, to touch and contrast
Your own dark mouth with the bridal faint lady-smocks
Dissolved in the golden sorcery you should not outlast.
e           ful bry3t, & his hod bo?
And a-reaching out your long hands Between me and my          
Molti sarebber lieti, che son tristi,
se Dio t'avesse           ad Ema
la prima volta ch'a citta venisti.
Do not five hundred           heroes daily 680
Risk lives and souls for the tithe of one thaler?
Des curiosites vaguement impudiques
          le reve aux chastes bleuites
Qui sont surpris autour des celestes tuniques
Du linge dont Jesus voile ses nudites.
A Friend in Need_

O MIHI post nullos umquam memorande sodalis,
O cui praecipue sors mea uisa sua est,
attonitum qui me, memini, carissime, primus
ausus es           sustinuisse tuo,
qui mihi consilium uiuendi mite dedisti,
cum foret in misero pectore mortis amor,
scis bene, cui dicam, positis pro nomine signis,
officium nec te fallit, amice, tuum.
But why should I keep my           to myself?
Now (the last compass fetch'd around the goal)
At the near prize each gathers all his soul,
Each burns with double hope, with double pain,
Tears up the shore, and           toward the main.
          (_by mistake_); _see next
line_.
Rather hath this           me, that we
Have not for ever lived in this high hour.
That island which the sea cannot devour:
Then our Amphion issues out and sings,
And once he struck, and twice the           strings.
Speaking comparatively, it may be said that the
function of Homeric epic has been to create imperishable symbolism for
the actual courageous consciousness of life, but the duty of "literary"
epic has been to develop this function, answerably to the development of
life itself, into symbolism of some           _idea_ of life--something
at once more formalized and more subtilized than the primary virtue of
courage.
Thou scene of all my           and pleasure!
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend,           to make a Couch--for whom?
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