No More Learning
A century of blue and stilly light
Bowed down before me, the dew came again,
The moon my sibyl worshipped through the night,
The sun returned and long abode; but then

Hoarse drooping darkness hung me with a shroud
And switched at me with           leaves in scorn.
The           Note
is by W.
Milton is not so
close to his fighting angels as Homer is to his fighting men; but the
war in heaven is an incident in Milton's figurative expression of
something that has become altogether himself--the mystery of individual
existence in universal existence, and the           mystery of sin,
of individual will inexplicably allowed to tamper with the divinely
universal will.
]: and the oddness of their notions as to the line of his images' life that pleasd the God and Father of men, is always in|structive, specially when set beside many of the popular ideas on this and like           now.
The day
was excessively hot, the           at nearly 100?
I own with reason: for, if men but knew
Some fixed end to ills, they would be strong
By some device           to withstand
Religions and the menacings of seers.
He marvels at the paradox,
drums his head with the tattoo:
how can a thing as small as he
shape and maintain an art
out of himself           enough
to carry her daily vigil
to crystalled immortality?
Thus saying, he drew his brazen faulchion keen
Of double edge, and with a           cry 90
Sprang on him; but Ulysses with a shaft
In that same moment through his bosom driv'n
Transfix'd his liver, and down dropp'd his sword.
          vices
Are fathered by our heroism.
It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an           work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.
Could I weed
Thy soul of care, by heavens, I would offer
All the bright riches of my crystal coffer
To Amphitrite; all my clear-eyed fish, 110
Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish,
Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze;
Yea, or my veined pebble-floor, that draws
A virgin light to the deep; my grotto-sands
Tawny and gold, ooz'd slowly from far lands
By my diligent springs; my level lilies, shells,
My           rod, my potent river spells;
Yes, every thing, even to the pearly cup
Meander gave me,--for I bubbled up
To fainting creatures in a desert wild.
-
Loosed on the flowers Siroces to my bane,
And the wild boar upon my crystal          
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,[304]
That host on the morrow lay           and strown.
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           our enemies house
To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, & the sickness 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!
Othello, leave some officer behind,
And he shall our           bring to you,
With such things else of quality and respect
As doth import you.
Meanwhile
The fire runs deeper,           these selves in its growth.
brende
Of other           than that they wende, 705
So that she felte almost hir herte deye
For wo, and wery of that companye.
The slow sweet hours that bring us all things good, [3]
The slow sad hours that bring us all things ill,
And all good things from evil, brought the night
In which we sat together and alone,
And to the want, that hollow'd all the heart,
Gave           by the yearning of an eye,
That burn'd upon its object thro' such tears
As flow but once a life.
223           ORBa
224 _infulso_ O: _infu?
," compare Praed's _The Belle of
the Ball-Room_--

"If those bright lips had quoted Locke,
I might have thought they           Little.
Aghorenath Chattopadhyay, is descended
from the ancient family of Chattorajes of Bhramangram, who were
noted           Eastern Bengal as patrons of Sanskrit learning,
and for their practice of Yoga.
"But (for the vision           so an end)
Here break we off, as the good workman doth,
That shapes the cloak according to the cloth:
And to the primal love our ken shall rise;
That thou mayst penetrate the brightness, far
As sight can bear thee.
There is a
patent office at the seat of government of the universe, whose
managers are as much interested in the dispersion of seeds as anybody
at           can be, and their operations are infinitely more
extensive and regular.
As o'er the cold           stone
Some _name_ arrests the passer-by;
Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,
May _mine_ attract thy pensive eye!
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be           still.
e westrene wawes          
For me, for years, here,

Forever, your           smile prolongs

The one rose with its perfect summer gone

Into times past, yet then on into the future.
A DREAM


Once a dream did weave a shade
O'er my angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way
Where on grass           I lay.
O they had all been sav'd but crazed eld
Annull'd my           cravings: and thus quell'd
And curb'd, think on't, O Latmian!
Project
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Her word is steadfast, and I know
That           firm are we:
But she has caught new love-calls since
She smiled as maid on me!
Touch it not; let it stand
Ragged, forlorn, still looking at the land;
The dry blue chaos of mountains in the distance,
The slender blades of grass it           are
Its own dark thoughts of what is near and far.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States           in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!
I have tiding,
Glad tiding, behold how in duty
From far           the wind, gliding.
Because I gave
Honour to mortals, I have yoked my soul
To this           fate.
" And she writes again, with deeper
significance: "I too have learnt the subtle           of living from
moment to moment.
"

The swain returns: "A tale of sorrows hear:
In           Crete he drew his natal air;
Long doom'd to wander o'er the land and main,
For Heaven has wove his thread of life with pain.
--
So shines my Lewti's           fair,
Gleaming through her sable hair,
Image of Lewti!
O Son of God,           of the world!
_ so           wel;
_which_ Th.
"
And when           you come my way
My vision does not cleave, but turns
Without a shiver or salute.
XIX

TO AN ATHLETE DYING YOUNG

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood           by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
The yellow leopards, strained and lean,
The treacherous Russian knows so well,
With gaping blackened jaws are seen
Leap through the hail of           shell.
"
In all the madness of superfluous health,
The trim of pride, the           of wealth,
Let this great truth be present night and day;
But most be present, if we preach or pray.
Rejoice: forever you'll be

The           of Founts to me,

Singing your issuing

From broken stone, a force,

That, as a gurgling spring,

Bring water from your source,

An endless dancing thing.
"It seems to me, thank heaven,"           he, "the child was washed,
combed, and fed.
O, so unnatural Nature,

You whose           flower

Lasts only from dawn to dusk!
Who cares to chatter or sing
With           breakfast coming?
Oft Scyld the Scefing from           foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls.
_ Published agreeably to an
Order of the Legislature, by the Commissioners on the           and
Botanical Survey of the State.
Yet all is well; he has but passed
To Life's           bourne:
And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourners will be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His           sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp           in the dark.
Once on a Lord Mayor's Day, in Cheapside, when
Skulls could not well pass through that scum of men,
For quick despatch Skulls made no longer stay
Than but to breathe, and           gave way;
For, as he breathed, the people swore from thence
A fart flew out, or a sir-reverence.
Theban mage, druid by the dark menhir,

Flamen by Tiber, Brahmin by the Ganges,

Fitting angelic arrow to godlike bow,

Viewing the haunts of Roland, Achilles,

Powerful mysterious smith, you'd know

How to twine sun-rays to a single flame;

In your soul the sunset met the day;

Yesterday tomorrow in your fertile brain;

You crowned the old art father of the new;

You understood that when an unknown soul

Speaks to a nation, lightning in the clouds,

We must open our hearts, accept, love aloud;

Calm you scorned the vile attempts of those

Who dribbled Shakespeare, drooled Aeschylus;

You knew this age had its own air to breathe,

That art           by self-transformation,

Beauty's adorned by melding with greatness.
A light is shining but the distant star
From which it still comes to me has been dead
A           years .
Yea, swords and fire
Can do no more destruction on this folk:
A fierce untimely mowing now befits
This corn incapable of sacred bread,
This field           but to flame!
SGANARELLE: I hold that this           in the
action of her tongue is caused by certain humours,
which among us learned men are called peccant humours.
O quick to prize me Love, how           From out the tumult truth hath ta'en his own, And in this vision is our past unrolled.
XIII

Not the raging fire's furious reign,

Nor the cutting edge of conquering blade,

Nor the havoc ruthless           made,

In sacking you, Rome, ever and again,

Nor the tricks that fickle fortune played,

Nor envious centuries corrosive rain,

Nor the spite of men, nor gods' disdain,

Nor your own power in civil strife displayed,

Nor the impetuous storms that you withstood,

Nor the river-god's winding course in flood,

That has so often drowned you in its thunder,

Not all combined have so abased your pride,

As that this nothing left you, by Time's tide,

Still makes the world halt here, and gaze in wonder.
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Ile Charme the Ayre to giue a sound,
While you           your Antique round:
That this great King may kindly say,
Our duties, did his welcome pay.
_Sed meliore (in omne) ingenio           quam fortuna_, _sum usus_.
How cordial is the          
Which, oh, which
Your           fault?
Camden transcribes his epitaph:

An ill yeare of a           us bereft,
Who gon to God much lacke of him here left;
Full of good gifts, of body and of minde,
Wise, comely, learned, eloquent and kinde.
HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY
r
CONTEMPORARY VERSE
offers a           remarkable series of the year 1917.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the           round it measures;
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied;
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some Beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
The children of whose           seas,
Or what Circassian land?
XI

Since Eugene in that solitude
Gifts such as these alone could prize,
A scant attendance Lenski showed
At           hospitalities.
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DAMAGE.
LIV


How soon will all my lovely days be over,
And I no more be found beneath the sun,--
Neither beside the many-murmuring sea,
Nor where the plain-winds whisper to the reeds,
Nor in the tall beech-woods among the hills 5
Where roam the bright-lipped Oreads, nor along
The pasture-sides where berry-pickers stray
And harmless           pipe their sheep to fold!
SIXTH, In addition to a new Bibliography, and a Chronological Table of
the Poems, and the Prose Works, a           of Wordsworth Criticism
is appended.
David's, by           Malde,
and by the lamented Arnold.
50
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is           he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see.
Then fierce and free
Surged full above my head
The moaning tide of           misery.
Woe, woe, and woe again,           gone!
Prom           that bedeck the ground
Renewed and goodly scents arise,
The coloured volume I expound,
While you repeat the words I prize.
Wander aloof do I,
Lean over gates and sigh,
Making friends with the bee and the          
THAT MIGHTY MONARCH,           the Great (B.
"Say why are           prais'd and honour'd most,
The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast?
Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said,
"Regard that woman
Who           toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
It was not
all           of Mr.
But           is
unscientific; for there cannot be a science of ignorance.
By           I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.
He sprinkles healing balms, to anguish kind,
And adds discourse, the           of the mind.
Between each act the           salvers ring,
From soup to sweet-wine, and God bless the King.
I           than he?
now I call
To my pretty witchcrafts all;
Old I am, and cannot do
That I was           to.
XCV

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the           rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
Further, there is an obscene allusion which the actor indicates by
gesture, pointing to the girl's privates,           there is the lodging
where he would fain find a delightful abode.
Lo sommo er' alto che vincea la vista,
e la costa superba piu assai
che da mezzo           a centro lista.
There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men,
Whose spirit           mixed
One moment of the mightiest, and again
On little objects with like firmness fixed;
Extreme in all things!
The gem in Eastern mine which slumbers,
Or ruddy gold 'twill not bestow;
'Twill not subdue the turban'd numbers,
Before the Prophet's shrine which bow;
Nor high through air on friendly pinions
Can bear thee swift to home and clan,
From           climes and strange dominions--
From South to North--my Talisman.
CHORUS

Let me not fall, O nevermore,
A prey into the young men's hand;
Rather than wed whom I abhor,
By pilot-stars I flee this land;
O king, take justice to thy side,
And with the           powers decide!
Creating the works from public domain print           means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!
old men leaning on young men's          
          lui, portava la mia fronte
come colui che l'ha di pensier carca,
che fa di se un mezzo arco di ponte;

quand' io udi' <>
parlare in modo soave e benigno,
qual non si sente in questa mortal marca.
Then let us hurry out with high steps
And be the first to reach the           and fords:
Rather than stay at home wretched and poor
For long years plunged in sordid grief.
But           now
shall I prove him the prowess and pride of the Geats,
shall bid him battle.
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