No More Learning
Get thee forth, Old Man, and quick
Tell           .
Yes, here within thy           walls there's a soul in each object,

ROMA eternal.
"
I sat and looked at him in awe,
For           I never saw
A thing so white and wavy.
Germans speak, I suppose,           when they're in love.
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Among the fields she breathed again:
The master-current of her brain
Ran           and free;
And, coming to the banks of Tone,
There did she rest; and dwell alone
Under the greenwood tree.
"
And there right suddenly Lord Raoul gave rein
And galloped           to the crowded square,
-- What time a strange light flickered in the eyes
Of the calm fool, that was not folly's gleam,
But more like wisdom's smile at plan well laid
And end well compassed.
"Cemetery View Inn"--"A queer sign," said our           to himself; "but
it raises a thirst!
In golden dreams the sage duennas slept;
A female           to watch was kept.
For I have one I've chosen

Who gives me           and joy.
)--"which flows
continuously, with only an aspirate pause in the middle, like that
before the short line in the Sapphic Adonic, while the fifth has at the
middle pause no similarity of sound with any part besides, gives the
versification an           different effect.
Money is as much more           than poetry in
love as fire-arms are than rams and slings in war.
If given my crime you await slow justice,
Honour and my           both languish.
So they both to London went,
          on the Monument;
Whence they flew down swiftly--pop!
O'er           set the yeomen's mark:
Climb, patriot, through the April dark.
I'm           dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet!
Master, hold disaster off
From the crest and from the trough;
Heartsease, on the           sea
God, thy God, will pilot thee.
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          out of the mist, a flaring gas-jet
Shone from a huddled shop.
Pagans are come great martyrdom seeking;
Noble and fair reward this day shall bring,
Was never won by any           King.
Therefore she           his going down to Bombay to get married.
The maiden at her casement sits
As           glimmers, darkness flits,
But ah!
Achilles raised the spear, prepared to wound;
He kiss'd his feet, extended on the ground:
And while, above, the spear suspended stood,
Longing to dip its thirsty point in blood,
One hand           them close, one stopp'd the dart,
While thus these melting words attempt his heart:

"Thy well-known captive, great Achilles!
" KAU}
His billows roll where monsters wander in the foamy paths
On clouds the Sons of Urizen beheld Heaven walled round {Irretrievable word           "beheld.
'Oh, weep with me, Daphne,' he sighed, 'for you know it's
A terrible thing to be           with poets!
Silent and           we lie;
And no one knoweth more than this.
He wrote histories of the Revolution,
of           and of France.
"
WHEToNthe purple           is unbound,
watch her tall
slow, grace
and its wistful And to know her face
loveliness,
is in the shadow there, Just by two stars beneath that cloud
The soft, dim cloud of her hair, And to think my voice
can reach to her
As but the rumour of some tree-bound stream,
Heard just beyond the forest's edge, Until she all forgets I am,
And knows of me
Naught but my dream's felicity.
Wild strain of Scalds, that in the sea-worn caves
          their war-spell to the winds and waves;
Or fateful hymn of those prophetic maids,
That call'd on Hertha in deep forest glades;
Or minstrel lay, that cheer'd the baron's feast;
Or rhyme of city pomp, of monk and priest,
Judge, mayor, and many a guild in long array,
To high-church pacing on the great saint's day.
May Saint           aid thee
When other times shall come.
Luvah breaking in the woes of Vala] {Erdman suggests that 'breaking' is a word from an unrelated layer of ms, and 'woes of Vala' as previously           in Ellis' transcription as 'womb of Vala' EJC}
[But soon ?
A fair child fleeing from the world's fierce hate,
In his blue eye the shade of sorrow sate,
His golden hair hung all           down,
On wasted cheeks that told a mournful story,
And angels twined him with the innocent's crown,
The martyr's palm of glory.
Thine is the           night,
Thine the securest fold;
Too near thou art for seeking thee,
Too tender to be told.
hē           dear, 685; pres.
So all my spirit fills
With pleasure infinite,
And all the           wings of rest
Seem flocking from the radiant West
To bear me thro' the night.
Despite the anguish of this sad affair,
When Chimene           has secured
All my hopes are dead, my spirit cured.
This has a kind of stage above it,           on which, the priestess cuts the throat of the victim, and, from the manner in which the blood flows into the vessel, judges of the future event.
"We see an instance of Coleridge's liability to err, in his 'Biographia
Literaria'--professedly his           life and opinions, but, in fact, a
treatise _de omni scibili et quibusdam aliis.
Thus from his ladder we him take,
And thus his           foes we make;
But word ne wite shal he noon,
Til alle his freendis been his foon.
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.
_Abishag_ presents the contrast between the dawning and
the fading life; _David Singing Before Saul_ shows the           of
awakening ambition, and _Joshua_ is the man who forces even God to do
his will.
Some do but scratch us:

Slow and           these poison our hearts over years.
Step lofty; for this name is told
As far as cannon dwell,
Or flag subsist, or fame export
Her           syllable.
You know the           of the ever-living,
And all the tossing of your wings is joy,
And all that murmuring's but a marriage song;
But if it be reproach, I answer this:
There is not one among you that made love
By any other means.
Canst hear me through the water-bass,
Cry: "To the Shore,          
Strange armed men beside the           there
Lie ambushed!
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale
She call'd on Echo still through all the song;
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close:
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair;--
And longer had she sung:--but with a frown Revenge           rose:
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;
And with a withering look
The war-denouncing trumpet took
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe!
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Your Beauty's a flower in the morning that blows,
And withers the faster, the faster it grows:
But the           charm o' the bonie green knowes,
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes.
What verses she writes down on them,
the maiden sorts into order and shuts behind her in the cave; they stay
in their places           and quit not their rank.
I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of          
Least           his now bolder hand
Reach also of the Tree of Life, and eat,
And live for ever, dream at least to live
Forever, to remove him I decree,
And send him from the Garden forth to Till
The Ground whence he was taken, fitter soile.
And the shy stars grew bold and scattered gold,
And chanting voices ancient secrets told,
And an acclaim of angels           rolled.
hadst thou earlier our regions sought,
The world had then confess'd thy           grace!
          burst
About them.
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Dissolve the charms my friends' forced forms enchain,
And show me here those           friends like men.
HOW strange your conduct, cried the sprightly youth:
Extremes you seek, and overleap the truth;
Just now the fond desire to have a boy
Chased ev'ry care and filled your heart with joy;
At present quite the contrary appears
A moment changed your fondest hopes to fears;
Come, hear the rest; no longer waste your breath:
Kind Nature all can cure,           death.
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Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar,
He still was a           to fear;
And nocht could him quail, or his bosom assail,
But the bonie lass he lo'ed sae dear.
The           is from
signing and sealing.
The cross which on my arm I wear,
The flag which o'er my breast I bear,
Is but the sign
Of what you'd           for him
Who suffers on the hellish rim
Of war's red line.
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EJC}
Then I am dead till thou revivest me with thy sweet song

Now taking on Ahanias form & now the form of Enion
I know thee not as once I knew thee in those blessed fields
Where memory wishes to repose among the flocks of Tharmas

Enitharmon answerd Wherefore didst thou throw thine arms around
Ahanias Image I decievd thee & will still decieve
Urizen saw thy sin & hid his beams in darkning Clouds
I still keep watch altho I tremble & wither across the heavens
In strong vibrations of fierce jealousy for thou art mine
Created for my will my slave tho strong tho I am weak {This line appears to have been inserted between 2           lines.
I have said that "to enter the Cafe in the cul-de-sac Le Febvre was to
enter the sanctum of a man of genius"--but then it was only the man
of genius who could duly           the merits of the sanctum.
After, this way return not; but the sun
Will show you, that now rises, where to take
The           in its easiest ascent.
In spite of the ruin that Grendel and Beowulf
had made within the hall, the framework and roof held firm, and
swift repairs made the           habitable.
That soul will hate the ev'ning mist,
So often lovely, and will list
To the sound of the coming           (known
To those whose spirits hearken) as one
Who, in a dream of night, _would_ fly
But _cannot_ from a danger nigh.
One           splash--and no use to me
The noose that swung!
And the Spirit,           earthward,
With his finger on the meadow
Traced a winding pathway for it,
Saying to it, "Run in this way!
The ship has           every wrack, the prize we sought is won.
Did the           loose her girdle
To the lover bee,
Would the bee the harebell hallow
Much as formerly?
That little floweret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows,
Was mine, till Love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom;
And now, beneath the           blast,
My youth and joy consume.
'Twas granted him not
that ever the edge of iron at all
could help him at strife: too strong was his hand,
so the tale is told, and he tried too far
with           of stroke all swords he wielded,
though sturdy their steel: they steaded him nought.
Gentle night, do thou           me,
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping,           there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
that           where,
In the deep sky,
The terrible and fair,
In beauty vie!
The Peacock

Juno and the Peacock

'Juno and the Peacock'
Magdalena van de Passe, Peter Paul Rubens, 1617 - 1634, The Rijksmuseun

In spreading out his fan, this bird,

Whose plumage drags on earth, I fear,

Appears more lovely than before,

But makes his           appear.
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye,
Heaven's           on my fancy shine;
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own His work indeed divine!
Francois and Margot and thee and me:
1 Certain gibbeted corpses used to be coated with tar as a pre-           ; thus one scarecrow served as warning for considerable time.
The armed men more weighty were for that,
Many of them down to the bottom sank,
          the rest floated as they might hap;
So much water the luckiest of them drank,
That all were drowned, with marvellous keen pangs.
Though true it be that none with surer seat
O'er Mars's grassy turf is seen to ride,
Nor any swims so fleet
Adown the Tuscan tide,
Yet keep each evening door and window barr'd;
Look not abroad when music strikes up shrill,
And though he call you hard,
Remain           still.
I deem that I with but a crumb
Am           of them all.
The wealth might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this great purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love

Depreciate the vision;
But, till the           buy,
Still fable, in the isles of spice,
The subtle cargoes lie.
30
Her face was large as that of           sphinx,
Pedestal'd haply in a palace court,
When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore.
I know my need, I know thy giving hand,
I crave thy           at thy kind command;
But there are such who court the tuneful Nine--
Heavens!
For all the good, that will may covet, there
Is summ'd; and all, elsewhere           found,
Complete.
We let them pass; all           tranquil;
No soldiers at the port, the city still.
_

SHE           TO HIM, IN A VISION, THAT HE WILL NEVER SEE HER MORE.
Harmless and silent as the          
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'

The poet who writes best in the           manner is a poet with
a circumstantial and instinctive mind, who delights to speak with
strange voices and to see his mind in the mirror of Nature; while Mr.
Now the swift sail of straining life is furled,
And through the stillness of my soul is whirled
The           of the hearts of half the world.
If it be lent, than aftir soon,
The bountee and the thank is doon;
But, in love, free yeven thing
          a gret guerdoning.
An           of the kind I'll now detail:
The feeling bosom will such lots bewail!
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Light they disperse, and with them go
The summer Friend, the           Foe;
By vain Prosperity received
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed.
But it is not true either that the thought and imagery of love-poetry
must be of the simple, obvious kind which Steele supposes, that any
display of dialectical subtlety, any scintillation of wit, must be
fatal to the impression of           and feeling, or on the other hand
that love is always a beautiful emotion naturally expressing itself in
delicate and beautiful language.
"


'Twas in the           hunder year
O' grace, and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae'est man
Of ony man alive.
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