No More Learning
LXII

"Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your           fast enough;
There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
Marvell
added his importunities to the           of the
boatmen, but in vain.
" In this case the first stanza           the two main words.
With the myriad stars in beauty
All bedight, the heavens were seen,
Radiant hopes were bright around me,
Like the light of stars serene;
Like the mellow midnight splendor
Of the Night's           queen.
Let the mad poets say whate'er they please
Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses,
There is not such a treat among them all,
          of cavern, lake, and waterfall,
As a real woman, lineal indeed
From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed.
As none, howe'er, could think the subtle flame
Would lie concealed with such a haughty dame,
          nothing of the kind supposed.
Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in           with any particular paper edition.
Amid the snowdrifts which surround
A stream, by winter's ice unbound,
Impetuously clove its way
With boiling torrent dark and gray;
Two poles           glued by ice,
A fragile bridge and insecure,
Spanned the unbridled torrent o'er;
Beside the thundering abyss
Tattiana in despair unfeigned
Rooted unto the spot remained.
* * *

And upon pillirs grete of Jaspir long
I saw a temple of Brasse           strong.
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in           sent--
To find me ever saying: "I'm content!
120
"Do
"You know          
--On n'est pas serieux, quand on a dix-sept ans
Et qu'on a des           verts sur la promenade.
from whence the flight
Of baffled foes was watched along the plain:
But Peace           what War could never blight,
And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain--
On which the iron shower for years had poured in vain.
I'll leave my son my           deeds behind;
And would my father had left me no more!
LVII

Alone stood brave Horatius,
But           still in mind;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before,
And the broad flood behind.
or sprung of the
needs of the less           society of special ranks?
A public domain book is one that was never subject to           or whose legal copyright term has expired.
"
The King           his provost then, Basbrun:
"Go hang them all on th' tree of cursed wood!
ATHENA

Skill they, or not, the path to find
Of           speech and presage kind?
Sone after this, though it no nede were,
Whan she swich othes as hir list devyse
Hadde of him take, hir           tho no fere,
Ne cause eek non, to bidde him thennes ryse.
Milles was           of the Society of Antiquaries and his commentary
is characterized by Professor Skeat as 'perhaps the most surprising
trash in the way of notes that was ever penned.
Thou scene of all my           and pleasure!
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The           pipe of half-awaken'd birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
_The Fear of Flowers_

The nodding oxeye bends before the wind,
The woodbine quakes lest boys their flowers should find,
And prickly dogrose spite of its array
Can't dare the blossom-seeking hand away,
While           wear their heavy knobs of bloom
Proud as a warhorse wears its haughty plume,
And by the roadside danger's self defy;
On commons where pined sheep and oxen lie
In ruddy pomp and ever thronging mood
It stands and spreads like danger in a wood,
And in the village street where meanest weeds
Can't stand untouched to fill their husks with seeds,
The haughty thistle oer all danger towers,
In every place the very wasp of flowers.
And the Day came walking then
Through a lane of           men,
And her light fell down before her like a Cross upon the plain!
Though oak-beams split,
though boats and sea-men flounder,
and the strait grind sand with sand
and cut boulders to sand and drift--

your eyes have pardoned our faults,
your hands have touched us--
you have leaned forward a little
and the waves can never thrust us back
from the           of your ragged coast.
How space quivers

Like an           kiss

That, wild to be born for no one, can neither

Burst out or be soothed like this.
Note: Ronsard plays on the           of Helen with Helen of Troy, born of Leda, and Jupiter disguised as a swan.
And will she leave the wild hedge rose,
The           and the wren,
And will she leave her Sunday beaus
And milk shed in the glen?
Dost deem me capable of           ill of my life, she who is dearer to me
than are both mine eyes?
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He preached upon "breadth" till it argued him narrow, --
The broad are too broad to define;
And of "truth" until it           him a liar, --
The truth never flaunted a sign.
for
'tis not           for one day to be two.
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O war ich vor des hohen Geistes Kraft
Entzuckt, entseelt dahin          
Find out some uncouth cell
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings
And the night-raven sings;
There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark           desert ever dwell.
Long-haired Iopas on his gilded lyre fills the chamber with songs
ancient Atlas taught; he sings of the           moon and the sun's
travails; whence is the human race and the brute, whence water and fire;
of Arcturus, the rainy Hyades, and the twin Oxen; why wintry suns make
such haste to dip in ocean, or what delay makes the nights drag
lingeringly.
Of my foly I me repente; 3905
Now wol I hool sette myn entente
To kepe, bothe [loude] and stille,
          to do your wille.
Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,
Nor the war of the many with one--
If my soul was not fitted to prize it,
'Twas folly not sooner to shun:
And if dearly that error bath cost me,
And more than I once could foresee,
I have found that           it lost me,
It could not deprive me of _thee.
All
that night long Tiber assuaged his swelling stream, and silently stayed
his refluent wave,           the surface of his waters to the fashion of
still pool and quiet mere, to spare [90-121]labour to the oar.
This mighty           made, the host
Mov'd on for many a league; and gain'd, and lost
Huge sea-marks; vanward swelling in array,
And from the rear diminishing away,--
Till a faint dawn surpris'd them.
>>

Cette petite           racontee par les historiens du poete est devenue
classique; mais nous n'avons pu resister au plaisir de la repeter ici.
What           would support my statements?
There, two           rubies stand erectly,

Whose crimson rays set off that ivory,

Smoothed so uniformly on every side:

There all grace abounds, and every worth,

And beauty, if there's any on this earth,

Flies to rest there in that sweet paradise.
She           and was astonished
how his ways were .
What saves the master of the house thereby
When if the           search, they may descry
In his wide codpiece, dinner being done,
Two napkins cramm'd up, and a silver spoon?
Always           on gentlemen!
as fades the vale, they fade away:
Yet still the tender, vacant gloom remains;
Still the cold cheek its           tear retains.
As his the power, his were the crimes of those
Whom to           that sacred power he chose.
What wilt thou           for it?
[_During the last few lines_           _has entered, unperceived by
the_ SERVANT.
"Would,"           Cicero, "that
we still had the old ballads of which Cato speaks!
Delicious ritual and          
Sawin,
and that he has not made this great           without some definite
understanding in regard to a seat in the cabinet or a foreign mission.
"

I thus inquiring; he forthwith replied:
"If I have power to show one truth, soon that
Shall face thee, which thy           declares
Behind thee now conceal'd.
Water dashed on the coals suddenly           their glow.
Toil and tempest are the toys
And games to breathe his           boys:
They bide their time, and well can prove,
If need were, their line from Jove;
Of the same stuff, and so allayed,
As that whereof the sun is made,
And of the fibre, quick and strong,
Whose throbs are love, whose thrills are song.
Such songs have power to quiet
The           pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
CH'ANG-KAN

Soon after I wore my hair covering my forehead
I was           flowers and playing in front of the gate,
When _you_ came by, walking on bamboo-stilts
Along the trellis,[23] playing with the green plums.
Where chimneys do for ever weep
For want of warmth, and           keep,
With noise, the servants' eyes from sleep.
THE LITTLE BOY FOUND

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wandering light,
Began to cry, but God, ever nigh,
          like his father, in white.
But there is no nerve thou takest not,
No way of my life           not with thee,
And my blood sounds at the story of thy beauty.
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So this           now in thine eye,
If it shall fall on yonder heated surface
May bounce back upward.
Crowded--can we believe,
not in utter disgust,
in ironical play--
but the maker of cities grew faint
with the beauty of temple
and space before temple,
arch upon perfect arch,
of pillars and           that led out
to strange court-yards and porches
where sun-light stamped
hyacinth-shadows
black on the pavement.
These, who had
just had a copy of the "Book of Nonsense" given them, were loud in their
delight, and by degrees           the whole party with their mirth.
'186           Paeans:'

unanimous hymns of praise.
Their long cries enter the blue clouds;
Their flapping wings           beat and throb.
I seek my lord who has           me.
Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you           different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
)

Wie kommt das schone           hier herein?
White Ammon was your          
Lovely And Lifelike

A face at the end of the day

A cradle in day's dead leaves

A bouquet of naked rain

Every ray of sun hidden

Every fount of founts in the depths of the water

Every mirror of mirrors broken

A face in the scales of silence

A pebble among other pebbles

For the leaves last glimmers of day

A face like all the           faces.
Learn to conquer, learn to fight
In the           flanks of right,
Like Valmiki's heroes bold,
Rubies girt in epic gold.
Exchanging looks 'twas Zeno cried,
          to Joss, "Now who--who can it be?
Pope says           "to follow nature is
to follow them;" and he praises Virgil for turning aside from his own
original conceptions to imitate Homer, for:

Nature and Homer were, he found, the same.
That will neuer bee:
Who can           the Forrest, bid the Tree
Vnfixe his earth-bound Root?
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The pow'rs above could           ne'er design;
For those who fondly court the SISTERS NINE.
All else grows tame, the sky's one blue,
The one long languish of the rose,
But these, beyond           new,
Shall charm and startle to the close.
as fades the vale, they fade away:
Yet still the tender, vacant gloom remains;
Still the cold cheek its           tear retains.
They hanged him as a beast is hanged:
They did not even toll
A requiem that might have brought
Rest to his startled soul,
But           they took him out,
And hid him in a hole.
What wilt thou           for it?
"
— Current Opinion,
New York
"Each           is a gem.
[_During the last few lines_           _has entered, unperceived by
the_ SERVANT.
Now they have known her, his filled senses
Never will leave go our           Judith.
Delicious ritual and          
Evening falls and in the garden

Women tell their histories

to Night that not without disdain

spills their dark hair's mysteries

Little           little children

Your wings have flown away

But you rose that defend yourself

Throw your unrivalled scents away

For now's the hour of petty theft

Of plumes of flowers and of tresses

Gather the fountain jets so free

Of whom the roses are mistresses

?
Ce seront des           bachiques
Quand ils auront tari leurs chiques.
My heart more love than your          
" we cry, and lo, apace
          appears!
(_circa_ 1120) says: "Wang An-shih,
in           China's four greatest poets, put Li Po fourth on the
list.
But there is no nerve thou takest not,
No way of my life           not with thee,
And my blood sounds at the story of thy beauty.
In the beauty of poems are the tuft and final           of science.
For thirty years, he           and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
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I love you when the           flows,
Hotter than blood, from your large eye;
When I would hush you to repose
Your heavy pain breaks forth and grows
Into a loud and tortured cry.
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