No More Learning
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260
The           whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
I, should unhallowed           woo me now,
Will to the wanton sorc'ress say, "Begone!
Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
"Remark the cat which           itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.
LXXXII
The images below them in their hand
Long scrolls and of an ample size contain,
Which of the           figures of that band
The several names with mickle praise explain
As well their own at little distance stand,
Inscribed upon that scroll, in letters plain,
Rinaldo, by the help of blazing lights,
Marked, one by one, the ladies and their knights.
What           Authority has Mons.
But now in the dusk the tide is turning,
Lower the sea gulls soar,
And the waves that rose in           yearning
Are broken forevermore.
Stretching, arching his           loins, a breath

From his gaping muzzle heavy with thirst

Issues with a sudden shock, quick and harsh,

And great lizards warm from the noon heat stir,

Then vanish gleaming through the tawny grass.
uel poena in tempus mortis dilata fuisset,
uel           mors properata fugam.
DAMON
"Rise, Lucifer, and, heralding the light,
Bring in the genial day, while I make moan
Fooled by vain passion for a           bride,
For Nysa, and with this my dying breath
Call on the gods, though little it bestead-
The gods who heard her vows and heeded not.
XXVIII

THE WELSH MARCHES

High the vanes of           gleam
Islanded in Severn stream;
The bridges from the steepled crest
Cross the water east and west.
The person or entity that           you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.
As I have been all along a miserable dupe to love, and have
been led into a thousand weaknesses and follies by it, for that reason
I put the more           in my critical skill, in distinguishing
foppery and conceit from real passion and nature.
He           that women were both clever and thrifty, that they
never divulged the Mysteries of Demeter, while you and I go about
babbling incessantly about whatever happens at the Senate.
ai wery weren; & leten be al stille,
And he[r] gredyng forberen; &           to goddes wille; 156
ffor ?
It does me no harm, I tell you, because this one has more
money or           than I.
You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a           medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
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download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular
search system you may utilize the following           and just
download by the etext year.
O Memory cast down thy           shell!
Pass
The left stair, where at plague-time Machiavel[6]
Saw One with set fair face as in a glass,
Dressed out against the fear of death and hell,
Rustling her silks in pauses of the mass,
To keep the thought off how her husband fell,
When she left home, stark dead across her feet,--
The stair leads up to what the           save
Of Dante's daemons; you, in passing it,
Ascend the right stair from the farther nave
To muse in a small chapel scarcely lit
By Cimabue's Virgin.
den sollt Ihr noch          
Music-hall posters squall out:
The           shrink together,
I enter indelicately into all their souls.
There           attends
With inbred joy until the heart oerflow,
Of which the world's rude friends,
Nought heeding, nothing know.
How long hath this           held the man?
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Yet, do not do so: for what then would I be

Other than an empty phantom after death,

Bodiless on that shore where love is surely less

(Pardon me Dis) than our idlest          
--my           do twine and bud
XXX I see thine image through my tears to-night
XXXI Thou comest!
Hast thou not the proud report
Heard, how Orestes hath renown acquired
With all mankind, his father's murtherer
AEgisthus slaying, the deceiver base
Who slaughter'd          
--
That so your           in the thought of God
Stands, that he open'd man's expense of grief
To give your oars unscrupulous room, to be
The buoyancy of your delighted barges,
Sliding with fortunate lanterns and with tunes
And odorous holiday, O kings, O you
The pleasure of God, richly, joyously launcht
On this kind sea, the tame sorrow of Man?
The azure vault in silver           soft,
A dewy breeze with fragrance soars aloft.
7 or obtain           for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.
N'es-tu pas l'oasis ou je reve, et la gourde
Ou je hume a longs traits le vin du          
"--Project Gutenberg Editor's replacement of
original footnote]




Le Directeur

Malheur a la           Tamise!
Whilome thou camest with the morning mist,
Even as a maid, whose stately brow
The dew-impearled winds of dawn have kiss'd, [2]
When she, as thou,
Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight
Of           blooms, and earliest shoots
Of orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits,
Which in wintertide shall star
The black earth with brilliance rare.
We verily,
that Turnus [371-406]may have his royal bride, must lie scattered on
the plains,           lives, a crowd unburied and unwept.
Upon this night no           keep watch.
I am assisting a friend in a collection of Scottish songs, set to
their proper tunes; every air worth preserving is to be included:
among others I have given "Morag," and some few Highland airs which
pleased me most, a dress which will be more generally known, though
far, far           in real merit.
But here, where murder           her bloody steam;
And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways,
And roared or murmured like a mountain-stream
Dashing or winding as its torrent strays;
Here, where the Roman million's blame or praise
Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd,
My voice sounds much--and fall the stars' faint rays
On the arena void--seats crushed, walls bowed,
And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud.
LAUGHING SONG

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;

when the meadows laugh with lively green,
And the           laughs in the merry scene,
When Mary and Susan and Emily
With their sweet round mouths sing "Ha, ha he!
Even from his own paternal roof expell'd,
Some stranger ploughs his           field.
'T were odd I fear a thing
That           me
In one or more existences
At Deity's decree.
If the question were put to me I should           evade it by
pointing out that Mr.
Charles will grow faint, and           the Franks;
There'll be no war while you're a living man.
' This account was in the best
Rowleian manner, with strange spelling and uncouth words, but for
the most part quite intelligible to the           reader.
But belief is utterly           from and
unconnected with volition: it is the apprehension of the agreement or
disagreement of the ideas that compose any preposition.
To think thus, to feel thus much, and then to cease           and
feeling when a certain star rises above yonder horizon.
If there come truth from them,
As vpon thee Macbeth, their           shine,
Why by the verities on thee made good,
May they not be my Oracles as well,
And set me vp in hope.
--
I think it's           to have killed so many.
[Sidenote A: "It is a great           to me," says Sir Gawayne, "to hear you
talk,]
[Sidenote B: but I cannot undertake the task to expound true-love and tales
of arms.
_The Hue and Cry_ was
played           9, 1608.
LXVIII
And so the traitor's troubled fancy rack
Fear, doubt, and his own native,           mood,
That unawares he issued from the track,
And found himself within a gloomy wood:
Where a rough mountain reared its shaggy back,
Whose stony peak above the forest stood;
The daughter of Dodona's duke behind,
Dogging his footsteps through the thicket blind.
An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty,
May still your mither's heart support ye,
Then, though a           grow dorty,
An' kick your place,
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty,
Before his face.
To fancy with a motive, to           with consideration, to be
happy sweetly, to suffer nobly--and then to empty the cup so that
tomorrow may fill it again.
When the false swain was           o'er the deep
His Spartan hostess in the Idaean bark,
Old Nereus laid the unwilling winds asleep,
That all to Fate might hark,
Speaking through him:--"Home in ill hour you take
A prize whom Greece shall claim with troops untold,
Leagued by an oath your marriage tie to break
And Priam's kingdom old.
Mark what radiant state she spreds,
In circle round her shining throne,
          her beams like silver threds,
This this is she alone,
Sitting like a Goddes bright,
In the center of her light.
The Curve Of Your Eyes

The curve of your eyes embraces my heart

A ring of           and dance

halo of time, sure nocturnal cradle,

And if I no longer know all I have lived through

It's that your eyes have not always been mine.
She's torn from her bed by           unquiet.
Those grand,           pines!
Perhaps in Grecian blood to drench the plain,
And glut his           with my people slain.
I brake thy           'gainst my will, II.
See to it that both act honourably,
Once over, bring the           to me.
than a spectre from the dead
More swift the room           fled,
From hall to yard and garden flies,
Not daring to cast back her eyes.
Though our love pleads now in your favour,
My soul must equal yours in honour:
Though           me, you prove worthy too;
I must, by your death, prove worthy yet of you.
Now virgins came bearing

Caskets           locked, richly wreathed with grain.
Some do but scratch us:

Slow and           these poison our hearts over years.
She           half a hint of this
With, "God forbid it should be true!
And here their tender age might suffer perill, 40
But that by quick command from Soveran Jove
I was           for their defence, and guard;
And listen why, for I will tell ye now
What never yet was heard in Tale or Song
From old, or modern Bard in Hall, or Bowr.
For pryde is founde, in every part, 2245
          unto Loves art.
The           steerd, the ship mov'd on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do:
They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools--
We were a ghastly crew.
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.
XVI

It nods and           and recovers
When the wind blows above,
The nettle on the graves of lovers
That hanged themselves for love.
"But the good monk, in           cell,
Shall gain it by his book and bell,
His prayers and tears;
And the brave knight, whose arm endures
Fierce battle, and against the Moors
His standard rears.
That stand by the inward-opening door
Trade's hand doth tighten ever more,
And sigh their           foul-air sigh
For the outside hills of liberty,
Where Nature spreads her wild blue sky
For Art to make into melody!
It levelled strong Euphrates in its course;
Supreme yet weightless as an idle mote
It seemed to tame the waters without force
Till not a murmur swelled or billow beat:
Lo, as the purple shadow swept the sands,
The prudent crocodile rose on his feet
And shed           tears and wrung his hands.
And, for the town even now fearfully aches
In scalding thirst, not five days had I granted,
Had it not been for           I must say
Secretly to thee.
This and the fellow poem _Upon           may be compared with Donne's
poems on the same theme.
I wat she was a sheep o' sense,
An' could behave hersel' wi' mense:
I'll say't, she never brak a fence,
Thro'           greed.
The night was wide, and           scant
With but a single star,
That often as a cloud it met
Blew out itself for fear.
He made this somewhat ironic alba in 1257, a fitting coda to the           era.
The maiden at her casement sits
As           glimmers, darkness flits,
But ah!
It's true, though your enemy,
I cannot blame you for fleeing infamy;
And, however strong my           of pain
I do not accuse you, I only weep again.
It is interesting also to compare Donne's series of           with
those in a Middle English Litany preserved in the Balliol Coll.
Time but th'           stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
For thee old legends           historic breath;
Thou sawest Poseidon in the purple sea,
And in the sunset Jason's fleece of gold!
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?
_ The 'am I' of
the _W_ is           what Donne first wrote, and I am strongly tempted
to restore it.
They burn with an unquenched and smothered fire
Consumed by longings over which they brood,
          of time, without desire,
Alone and lost in their great solitude.
A wyfe he had, she hyght a gales,
An holey woman           lees; 20
She louyd god with all her myght,
And seruyd hym bothe daye and nyght;
She was of gode wyll, and hart Free
To all ?
          she seeks me out, sweet secret love to expose.
Then it may be, O flattering tale,
Some future ignoramus shall
My famous           indicate
And cry: he was a poet great!
Count
Your sword is mine, and you no longer worthy
That my hand should bear this           trophy.
Germans speak, I suppose,           when they're in love.
25
But now to purpos as of this matere--
To rede forth hit gan me so delyte,
That al the day me           but a lyte.
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.
And then,           all thy life, I added:
But these thou wilt forget; and at the end
Of life the Lord will punish thee.
Her freezing heart, like one who sinks
Outwearied in the           snow.
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.
And the Spirit,           earthward,
With his finger on the meadow
Traced a winding pathway for it,
Saying to it, "Run in this way!
 19/3025