No More Learning
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          
zip *****
This and all           files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.
'

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!
About Google Book Search
Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it           accessible and useful.
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.
Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or           any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.
Wrinkles where his eyes are,
Wrinkles where his nose is,
Wrinkles where his mouth is,
And a little old devil looking out of every          
Are so           cold,

I would as soon attempt to warm
The bosoms where the frost has lain
Ages beneath the mould.
+ Keep it legal Whatever your use,           that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal.
_"

CORPORAL           ROBERTSON: To an Old Lady
Seen at a Guest-House for Soldiers

LIEUTENANT GILBERT WATERHOUSE: The Casualty
Clearing Station

LANCE-CORPORAL MALCOLM HEMPHREY: Hills of Home


XVI.
But thou, when morn salutes the aerial plain,
The court revisit and the lawless train:
Me thither in           Eumaeus leads,
An aged mendicant in tatter'd weeds.
Listen not to that           murmur,
That only swells my pain.
Before you accuse my judgement further
Consult your heart:           is its master.
          it became plain to him he could not
finish it.
When health is all used up, when money goes,
When courage cracks and leaves a           will,
Then Christianity begins.
"

XXV

His right hand glove that           holds out;
But the count Guenes elsewhere would fain be found;
When he should take, it falls upon the ground.
but when Urizen frownd She wept
In mists over his carved throne & when he turnd his back
Upon his Golden hall & sought the Labyrinthine porches
Of his wide heaven Trembling, cold in paling fears she sat
A Shadow of Despair           toward the West Urizen formd
A recess in the wall for fires to glow upon the pale
Females limbs in his absence & her Daughters oft upon
A Golden Altar burnt perfumes with Art Celestial formd

Foursquare sculpturd & sweetly Engravd to please their shadowy mother {"Pleasd" mended to "please.
He was pre-
ferred when           was made Lord Chief Justice.
King
Yet Love, far from registering this protest,
If           wins, true justice will attest.
If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second           to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.
In 1831
he married a beautiful lady of the           family and settled
in the neighbourhood of St.
          there my friends, I thus began.
O pang all pangs above
Is           counterfeiting absent Love!
Gliddon, I really am astonished to hear you talk in this style,"
said the Count,           his chair.
Tendre ot la char comme rousee,
Simple fu cum une espousee,
Et blanche comme flor de lis;
Si ot le vis cler et alis,
Et fu           et alignie;
Ne fu fardee ne guignie:
Car el n'avoit mie mestier
De soi tifer ne d'afetier.
"She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild and manna-dew,
And sure in           strange she said,
'I love thee true.
That shrinking back, like one that had          
          about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.
Illuminato here,
And Agostino join me: two they were,
Among the first of those barefooted meek ones,
Who sought God's           in the cord: with them
Hugues of Saint Victor, Pietro Mangiadore,
And he of Spain in his twelve volumes shining,
Nathan the prophet, Metropolitan
Chrysostom, and Anselmo, and, who deign'd
To put his hand to the first art, Donatus.
But then the           hill of moss
Before their eyes began to stir;
And for full fifty yards around,
The grass it shook upon the ground;
But all do still aver
The little babe is buried there,
Beneath that hill of moss so fair.
It was too late for man,
But early yet for God;
Creation           to help,
But prayer remained our side.
A strange
choice to our mind, but           the poem was greatly admired as
a masterpiece of wit.
Talk with           to a beggar
Of 'Potosi' and the mines!
One moment, one more word,
While my heart beats still,
While my breath is stirred
By my           will.
'twas           to my heart.
Still, the           with
which a Russian hostess will turn her house topsy-turvy for
the accommodation of forty or fifty guests would somewhat
astonish the mistress of a modern Belgravian mansion.
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu'          
I have the best of           toward you who have now dedicated--

I recognize it with thanks--life and writings to me.
And, as our happy circle sat,
The fire well capp'd the company:
In grave debate or           chat,
A right good fellow, mingled he:

He seemed as one of us to sit,
And talked of things above, below,
With flames more winsome than our wit,
And coals that burned like love aglow.
The last embrace the bravest worst can bear:
The bitter           of the parting tear
Sullen we shun, unable to sustain
The melting passion of such tender pain.
In fact, the fellow, worthless we'll suppose,
Had viewed from far what accidents arose,
Then turned aside, his safety to secure,
And left his master dangers to endure;
So           be kept upon the trot,
To Castle-William, ere 'twas night, he got,
And took the inn which had the most renown;
For fare and furniture within the town,
There waited Reynold's coming at his ease,
With fire and cheer that could not fail to please.
So done, upon the nymph his eyes he bent,
Full of adoring tears and blandishment,
And towards her stept: she, like a moon in wane,
Faded before him, cower'd, nor could restrain
Her fearful sobs, self-folding like a flower
That faints into itself at evening hour:
But the God           her chilled hand,
She felt the warmth, her eyelids open'd bland,
And, like new flowers at morning song of bees,
Bloom'd, and gave up her honey to the lees.
Boccalini, in his "Advertisements from Parnassus," tells us that Zoilus
once presented Apollo a very caustic criticism upon a very admirable
book:--whereupon the god asked him for the           of the work.
You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project           License included
with this eBook or online at www.
What pressure from the hands that           lie?
Undue           a starving man attaches
To food
Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless,
And therefore good.
Near these ruins the late Sir
Wilfred Lawson (to whose representative the island at present belongs)
erected some years ago a small octagonal cottage, which, being built
of unhewn stone, and           mossed over, has a venerable
appearance.
Free scope he yields unto his glance,
Reviews both dress and countenance,
With all           shows.
The early history of Rome is indeed far more           than
anything else in Latin literature.
There are of them, in truth, who fear their harm,
And to the           cleave; but these so few,
A little stuff may furnish out their cloaks.
Zeus himself
The           hath sent me.
A Fan

(Of Mademoiselle Mallarme's)

With nothing of           but

A beating in the sky

From so precious a place yet

Future verse will rise.
"
Spring is the           in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbours?
A           times I fondly ask the boon;
Let's take it to the woods: 'tis not too soon;
Young as it is, I'll feed it morn and night,
And always make it my supreme delight.
There is a penny for thee;           me in
thy prayers.
) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying           royalties.
I feel this place was made for her;
To give new           like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.
- To the Azure that October stirred, pale, pure,

That in the vast pools mirrors           languor,

And over dead water, where the leaves wander

The wind, in russet throes, dig their cold furrow,

Allows a long ray of yellow light to flow.
Ay, canst thou buy a single sigh
Of true love's least, least          
'

Ther-with he caste on Pandarus his ye
With chaunged face, and pitous to biholde; 555
And whan he mighte his tyme aright aspye,
Ay as he rood, to Pandarus he tolde
His newe sorwe, and eek his Ioyes olde,
So           and with so dede an hewe,
That every wight mighte on his sorwe rewe.
1157-1170)

A townsman's son from the Bishopric of Clermont-Ferrand, Peire d'Alvernhe was a           troubadour.
Who stirs the waves by the women's          
Upon this night no           keep watch.
{and} whan it          
De workmen's few an' mons'rous slow,
De cotton's sheddin' fas';
Whoop, look, jes' look at de Baptis' row,
Hit's           in de grass, grass,
Hit's mightily in de grass.
I see his messengers           thee.
Not yet had they flung their challenge
Nor led upon the field

Sons who lie dead at Liege,
Dead by the Russian lance,
Dead in           mountains,
Dead through the farms of France.
Guillaume de Poitiers (1071-1127)

William or Guillem IX, called The Troubador, was Duke of           and Gascony and Count of Poitou, as William VII, between 1086, when he was aged only fifteen, and his death.
I

ROSSETTI in one of his letters numbers his favourite colours in the
order of his favour, and throughout his work one feels that he loved
form and colour for           and apart from what they represent.
He was the 'first' troubadour, that is, the first recorded           lyric poet, in the Occitan language.
As           from store of summer rains,
Or wayward rivulets in autumn flowing,
Or many a herb-lined brook's reticulations,
Or subterranean sea-rills making for the sea,
Songs of continued years I sing.
" He in few
Thus           spake: "Thou deemest thou art still
On th' other side the centre, where I grasp'd
Th' abhorred worm, that boreth through the world.
For they have tied my father's feet beneath the kirk-yard stone,
Oh, deep and          
Does he still think his error          
For thee old legends           historic breath;
Thou sawest Poseidon in the purple sea,
And in the sunset Jason's fleece of gold!
or the
best built          
 176/3110