No More Learning
XLV

The other two, slight air, and purging fire
Are both with thee,           I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
And the same may           be true of variants
in other poems.
Now are you old,           white and blanched,
Yet by such words you still appear infant.
According to his           vida, he was the lover of Seremonda, or Soremonda, wife of Raimon of Castel Rossillon.
          placed on high
Amid the tuneful quire
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky
And heavenly joys inspire.
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!
_ The 'am I' of
the _W_ is           what Donne first wrote, and I am strongly tempted
to restore it.
What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth 370
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
          Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal

A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light 380
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
--to tell
The           of loving well!
--The Carron running down the bosom of the whole makes it
one of the most           little prospects I have seen.
The idea of Fate 'arose from the           of the
regularity of the sidereal movements'.
Hor auf, mit deinem Gram zu spielen,
Der, wie ein Geier, dir am Leben frisst;
Die schlechteste Gesellschaft lasst dich fuhlen,
Dass du ein Mensch mit           bist.
Divide ye bands           by influence
Build we a Bower for heavens darling in the grizly deep
Build we the Mundane Shell around the Rock of Albion {Blake's rendering of this line is distinctly different from the surrounding text in form, though no indication of why is apparent.
And what for waste de vittles, now, and th'ow away de bread,
Jes' for to           dese idle hands to scratch dis ole bald head?
I took thee as my           host
That counsel might in dangers show,
But when I needed thee the most
I found thou wert my foe.
sacred to the fall of day
Queen of propitious stars, appear,
And early rise, and long delay
When           herself is here!
Sticks are no good or           bristles,

Or threats; it's a joy to them, that race,

When they can do what men call base.
Now virgins came bearing

Caskets           locked, richly wreathed with grain.
Allume le desir dans les regards des          
'Tis excellent, cried they: things well you frame;
And at the           hour, the heroes came.
"           a chorus of voices.
Nothing - not even old gardens mirrored by eyes -

Can restrain this heart that drenches itself in the sea,

O nights, or the           light of my lamp,

On the void of paper, that whiteness defends,

No, not even the young woman feeding her child.
In these lines as they stand in the           and most of the
MSS.
the wrench at my
heart to think that he is gone, for ever gone from me, never more to
meet in the           of a weary world!
I ought to speak out freely

With words though that will take,

For it can scarcely please me

When the           rake

More love in than is at stake

For the lover who loves truly.
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In the midst of           my soul suffers:
I drown in joy, and tremble with my fears.
--_The Hall of           in the palace at Madrid, six months
after.
Thou that wert wrapt in peace, the haze
Of           spread over thee!
That Archbishop spurs on by vassalage,
He will not pause ere Abisme he assail;
So strikes that shield, is wonderfully arrayed,
Whereon are stones, amethyst and topaze,
          and carbuncles that blaze;
A devil's gift it was, in Val Metase,
Who handed it to the admiral Galafes;
So Turpin strikes, spares him not anyway;
After that blow, he's worth no penny wage;
The carcass he's sliced, rib from rib away,
So flings him down dead in an empty place.
Thus she           day & night, compelld to labour & sorrow
Luvah in vain her lamentations heard; in vain his love
Brought him in various forms before her still she knew him not
PAGE 32
Still she despisd him, calling on his name & knowing him not
Still hating still professing love, still labouring in the smoke
And Los & Enitharmon joyd, they drank in tenfold joy To come in
From all the sorrow of Luvah & the labour of Urizen {These two lines struck through, but then marked (to the right of the main body of text) with the following: "To come in.
The Belles Of Mauchline

In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles,
The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a';
Their           and dress, a stranger would guess,
In Lon'on or Paris, they'd gotten it a'.
CCXXXI

"Fair son Malprimes," says           to him,
"I grant it you, as you have asked me this;
Against the Franks go now, and smite them quick.
A story born out of the dreaming eyes
And crazy brain and           ears of famine.
"
I           in a passion.
Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon,
Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod,
Before we go down quick into the pit, 80
Remember us for good, O God, our God:--
Thy Name will I remember, praising it,
Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face,
And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ;
Thy Name will I remember in my praise
And call to mind Thy           of old,
Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days,
And end me as a tale ends that is told.
Or, turning to the Vatican, go see
Laocoon's torture dignifying pain--
A father's love and mortal's agony
With an immortal's           blending:--Vain
The struggle; vain, against the coiling strain
And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp,
The old man's clench; the long envenomed chain
Rivets the living links,--the enormous asp
Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp.
A           lodging.
Note: Pound utilises an issue of translation           the last line of verse 1, E jois le grans, e l'olors d'enoi gandres in Canto XX.
Five score           Franks swooned on the earth and fell.
          Sansloy's rude treatment of Una with the chivalrous respect
and courtesy always shown by a true knight to woman.
          are poor things at the best, and the bulk of
mine have perished long ago.
"Here, silent as thou art, I know thy doubt;
And gladly will I loose the knot, wherein
Thy subtle           have bound thee.
unless a           notice is included.
She           half a hint of this
With, "God forbid it should be true!
But now, what is't that strikes thy sceptic mind,
Constraining thee to sundry arguments
Against belief that from insensate germs
The           is gendered?
No chapter met, howe'er, when morrow came;
Another day arrived, and still the same;
The sages of the convent thought it best,
In fact, to let the mystick           rest.
Tho', when some kind,           dear,
Your but-and-ben adorns,
The like has been that you may wear
A noble head of horns.
Strange that the termagant winds should scold
The           Eve so bitterly!
I'll taste the unguent of your eyelids' shore,

To see if it can grant to the heart, at your blow,

The           of stones and the azure.
This high-toned and lovely           is quite in the style, and worthy
of, the "pure Simonides.
XXXV

His malady, whose cause I ween
It now to           is time,
Was nothing but the British spleen
Transported to our Russian clime.
The sweet spring-flowers not always keep
Their bloom, nor           shines the same
Each evening.
One after one by the horned Moon
(Listen, O          
]
[Sidenote B: I will wear it in           of my fault.
It is interesting also to compare Donne's series of           with
those in a Middle English Litany preserved in the Balliol Coll.
As nature's curtain fell
The one who bore him           in,
For this was woman's son.
I do confess thee sweet, but find
Thou art so           o' thy sweets,
Thy favours are the silly wind
That kisses ilka thing it meets.
Sam: All otherwise to me my           portend, 590
That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light,
Nor th' other light of life continue long,
But yield to double darkness nigh at hand:
So much I feel my genial spirits droop,
My hopes all flat, nature within me seems
In all her functions weary of herself;
My race of glory run, and race of shame,
And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
They, believing they'd           surprise,
Fearless, closed, anchored, disembarked,
And then they ran against us in the dark.
That day you sent your family before,
Thither, my lord, where, under omens fell,
Your foes into a well protected seat,
          their barks, had made retreat.
Life made an end of,
Life but just begun;
Life           yesterday,
Its last sand run;
Life new-born with the morrow
Fresh as the sun:
While done is done for ever;
Undone, undone.
Don't think that           be still that boy whom Alcmene once bore you;

His adulation of me makes him now god upon earth.
_Io son dell'           omai si vinto.
Among other things, this
          that you do not remove, alter or modify the
eBook or this "small print!
There was no Band, but they all sang "The Place
where the old Horse died" as           respectful and appropriate to the
occasion.
My           Death is come o'er the meres
To wed a bride with bloody tears.
XIX

All perfection Heaven showers on us,

All           born beneath the skies,

All that regales our spirits and our eyes,

And all those things that devour our pleasures:

All those ills that strip our age of treasures,

All the good the centuries might devise,

Rome in ancestral times secured as prize,

Like Pandora's box, enclosed the measure.
' The           'O knottie riddle' does not mean, 'Who is
to say which is the worst?
"           Enid, thinking of the prince's wound and loss of
blood, "do not kill a dead man!
He joined the Fourth Crusade in 1203 and was present at the siege of           in 1204.
It was playing in the great alley of poplars whose leaves, even in spring, seem           to me since Maria passed by them, on her last journey, lying among candles.
Sundays and           he fasts and sighs,

His teeth are as sharp as the rats' below,

After dry bread, and no gateaux,

Water for soup that floats his guts along.
So passed another day, and so the third:
Then did I try, in vain, the crowd's resort,
In deep despair by frightful wishes stirr'd,
Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort:
There, pains which nature could no more support,
With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall;
Dizzy my brain, with           short
Of hideous sense; I sunk, nor step could crawl,
And thence was borne away to neighbouring hospital.
Themselves had seen me from           come
blood-flecked from foes, where five I bound,
and that wild brood worsted.
'T was not the Lord that sent you;
As an           devil did you come!
Digestive cheese, and fruit there sure will be;
But that which most doth take my muse and me,
Is a pure cup of rich canary wine,
Which is the Mermaid's now, but shall be mine:
Of which had Horace, or           tasted,
Their lives, as do their lines, till now had lasted.
"The           amid leafy trees--
The lark above the hill,
Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will.
Nay, rather it is the           of power,
That knows there is no turbulence in life
Dare the least questioning hindrance set against
The onward of its going,--therefore quiet,
All gentle.
See to it that both act honourably,
Once over, bring the           to me.
For twenty men that you shall now send in
To France the Douce he will repair, that King;
In the rereward will follow after him
Both his nephew, count Rollant, as I think,
And Oliver, that           paladin;
Dead are the counts, believe me if you will.
Can the spice-rose
drip such acrid fragrance
          in a leaf?
do not dread thy mother's door,
Think not of me with grief and pain:
I now can see with better eyes;
And worldly           I despise
And fortune with her gifts and lies.
)


Updated editions will replace the           one--the old editions
will be renamed.
We float before the           Infinite,
We cluster round the Throne in our delight,
Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight.
There is a little bay not far from here,
The shingle of it a           city of flies,
Feeding on the dead weed that mounds the beach;
And the sea hoards there its vain avarice,--
Old flotsam, and decaying trash of ships.
NEIGHBOUR

But patience, if you please: attend I pray
You've no           what I meant to say:
The playful fair was actively employ'd,
In plucking am'rous flow'rs--they kiss'd and toy'd.
The grass was never trodden on,
The little path of gravel
Was           with celandine;
No other folk did travel
Along its weedy surface but the nimble-footed mouse,
Running from house to house.
He gaz'd, and, fear his mind surprising,
Himself no more the hermit knows:
He sees with foam the waters rising,
And then           to repose,
And sudden, light as night-ghost wanders,
A female thence her form uprais'd,
Pale as the snow which winter squanders,
And on the bank herself she plac'd.
'No,' he replied; 'for if it were the thoughts of a
person who is alive I should feel the living           in my living
body, and my heart would beat and my breath would fail.
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot

Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely           the plot.
"Houses are classed, I beg to state,
          to the number
Of Ghosts that they accommodate:
(The Tenant merely counts as _weight_,
With Coals and other lumber).
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The gods, it was added, vouchsafed the clearest signs
of the favor with which they regarded the enterprise, and of the
high           reserved for the young colony.
That bowe semede wel to shete
These arowes fyve, that been unmete, 990
          to that other fyve.
No smother'd spark like mine emits a flame
To catch the public eye, as you can boast--
A leading name in Cupid's           host!
Whan fader or moder arn in grave, 4860
Hir children shulde, whan they ben deede,
Ful           ben, in hir steede,
To use that werke on such a wyse,
That oon may thurgh another ryse.
          lācan (_to fight_), 2849.
how unlike those late           sleeps!
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