No More Learning
Know, then, that the heart-struck awe;
the distant humble approach; the delight we should have in gazing upon
and           to a messenger of heaven, appearing in all the unspotted
purity of his celestial home, among the coarse, polluted, far inferior
sons of men, to deliver to them tidings that make their hearts swim in
joy, and their imaginations soar in transport--such, so delighting and
so pure, were the emotions of my soul on meeting the other day with
Miss Lesley Baillie, your neighbour, at M----.
Sample copies can be supplied only at the full           price, fifteen cents.
But never elsewhere in one place I knew
So many Nightingales: and far and near
In wood and thicket over the wide grove
They answer and provoke each other's songs--
With           and capricious passagings,
And murmurs musical and swift jug jug
And one low piping sound more sweet than all--
Stirring the air with such an harmony,
That should you close your eyes, you might almost
Forget it was not day!
          are poor things at the best, and the bulk of
mine have perished long ago.
Those, glorious, who pass'd o'er
To Colchos, wonder'd not as ye will do,
When they saw Jason           the plough.
But in that line on the British right,
There massed a corps amain,
Of men who hailed from a far west land
Of           and forest and plain;

Men new to war and its dreadest deeds,
But noble and staunch and true;
Men of the open, East and West,
Brew of old Britain's brew.
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.
Boys and girls,
And women, that would groan to see a child
Pull off an insect's leg, all read of war,
The best           for our morning meal!
Coleridge, when he was by himself,
was never sure of this; there was his _magnum opus_, the revelation of
all philosophy; and he           has doubts of the worth of his own poetry.
Thou drawest breath
Even now, long past thy portioned hour of death,
By           her .
I remember well
My games of shovel-board at Bishop's tavern
In the old merry days, and she so gay
With her red paragon bodice and her          
*And           lotus thither flown
From struggling with the waters of the Rhone:
**And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante!
Canst hear me through the water-bass,
Cry: "To the Shore,          
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.
380
Currite           subtegmina, currite, fusi.
replied in the _United Irishman_
with an           letter.
When the fierce northwestern blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already           deep;
Woe and want thou canst outsleep;
Want and woe, which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous.
Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including including checks, online           and credit card
donations.
Hesitated so
This side the          
I have not           original spacing exactly, except where it genuinely appears to add impact to the verse.
In these lines as they stand in the           and most of the
MSS.
XXIII

Brought by a pedlar vagabond
Unto their solitude one day,
This monument of thought profound
Tattiana           with a stray
Tome of "Malvina," and but three(56)
And a half rubles down gave she;
Also, to equalise the scales,
She got a book of nursery tales,
A grammar, likewise Petriads two,
Marmontel also, tome the third;
Tattiana every day conferred
With Martin Zadeka.
LXIII


A           child is mine,
Formed like a golden flower,
Cleis the loved one.
)

Note

Not           flurries like

Those that frequent the street

Subject to black hats in flight;

But a dancer shown complete

A whirlwind of muslin or

A furious scattering of spray

Raised by her knee, she for

Whom we live, to blow away

All, beyond her, mundane

Witty, drunken, motionless,

With her tutu, and refrain

From other mark of distress,

Unless a light-hearted draught of air

From her dress fans Whistler there.
Oh, known the earliest, and           the most!
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!
But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
My love that you can make not void nor vain,
Love that           you but to claim anew
Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
My love of you was life and not a breath.
'

"'O son of woe,' the pensive shade rejoin'd;
'O most inured to grief of all          
Silent and           we lie;
And no one knoweth more than this.
And the mast           as the gaunt owl flew
With mocking hoots after the wrathful Queen,
And the old pilot bade the trembling crew
Hoist the big sail, and told how he had seen
Close to the stern a dim and giant form,
And like a dipping swallow the stout ship dashed through the storm.
          burst
About them.
II

Morning and evening opened and closed above me:
Houses were built above me; trees let fall
          leaves upon me, hands of ghosts,
Rain has showered its arrows of silver upon me
Seeking my heart; winds have roared and tossed me;
Music in long blue waves of sound has borne me
A helpless weed to shores of unthought silence;
Time, above me, within me, crashed its gongs
Of terrible warning, sifting the dust of death;
And here I lie.
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot

Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely           the plot.
"           the old man,
"Happy are my eyes to see you.
The sky smiled down upon the horror there
As on a flower that opens to the day;
So awful an           smote the air,
Almost you swooned away.
'

(For your dear departed wife, his friend) 2           1877

- 'Over the lost woods when dark winter lowers

You moan, O solitary captive of the threshold,

That this double tomb which our pride should hold's

Cluttered, alas, only with absent weight of flowers.
At college Emerson did not shine as a scholar, though he won prizes for
essays and declamations, being especially           for mathematical
studies, and enjoying the classics rather in a literary than grammatical
way.
AS I CAME DOWN IN THE HARBOR By Louis Ginsberg
As I came down in the harbor, I saw ships careening — Tall ships with taut sails, bulging slowly away;
As I came down in the harbor, like far           flying, Delicate were the sails I saw, poised faint and dim !
A           through the ages thus
Shield all thy roofs and towers!
' The           'O knottie riddle' does not mean, 'Who is
to say which is the worst?
One after one by the horned Moon
(Listen, O          
"To thy wife's eyes I'll bring their long-lost gleam,
I'll bring back to thy child his           and light,
To him, life's fragile athlete I will seem
Rare oil that firms his muscles for the fight.
What pressure from the hands that           lie?
+ Maintain attribution The Google "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find additional           through Google Book Search.
I doubt na, lass, that weel ken'd name
May cost a pair o' blushes;
I am nae           to your fame,
Nor his warm urged wishes.
No wearied mariner to port e'er fled
From the dark billow, when some tempest's nigh,
As from tumultuous gloomy thoughts I fly--
Thoughts by the force of goading passion bred:
Nor           glance of heaven so surely sped
Destruction to man's sight, as does that eye
Within whose bright black orb Love's Deity
Sharpens each dart, and tips with gold its head.
I feel this place was made for her;
To give new           like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.
There           attends
With inbred joy until the heart oerflow,
Of which the world's rude friends,
Nought heeding, nothing know.
The fastidious care with which each poem is built
out of the simplest of technical elements, the precise tone and color of
language employed to articulate impulse and mood, and the reproduction
of objective substances for a clear visualization of           and
scene, all tend by a sure and unfaltering composition, to present a
lyric art unique in English poetry of the last twenty-five years.
--to tell
The           of loving well!
How is our wrong          
Among other things, this
          that you do not remove, alter or modify the
eBook or this "small print!
net),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of           a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.
O pang all pangs above
Is           counterfeiting absent Love!
Harmless and silent as the          
Lilamani, aetat 1

Limpid jewel of delight
Severed from the tender night
Of your           mother-mine,
Leap and sparkle, dance and shine,
Blithely and securely set
In love's magic coronet.
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu'          
or           pillar square
Of fire far shining.
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.
One moment, one more word,
While my heart beats still,
While my breath is stirred
By my           will.
CONTENTS

Now to please my little friend

I Cyprus, Paphos, or Panormus

II What shall we do,          
King
Yet Love, far from registering this protest,
If           wins, true justice will attest.
Of those I often have contact with 4 I           one, but don?
Lanier's growth in           form.
INFANT SORROW

My mother groaned, my father wept:
Into the           world I leapt,
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
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.
O'er           set the yeomen's mark:
Climb, patriot, through the April dark.
THE SONG OF THE AIRMAN By Phoebe Hoffman
In the moonless night when the searchlight goes           over the sky, I rise with a whirr of engines from the foam-tracked gloom of the sea, And shoot alone through the midnight where each star seems an Argos eye, To fence with Death in the darkness where the swift Valkyrie fly.
how unlike those late           sleeps!
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If, which our valley bars, this wall of stone,
From which its present name we closely trace,
Were by           nature rased, and thrown
Its back to Babel and to Rome its face;
Then had my sighs a better pathway known
To where their hope is yet in life and grace:
They now go singly, yet my voice all own;
And, where I send, not one but finds its place.
Alas methinks whom God hath chosen once
To           deeds, if he through frailty err,
He should not so o'rewhelm, and as a thrall 370
Subject him to so foul indignities,
Be it but for honours sake of former deeds.
According to his           vida, he was the lover of Seremonda, or Soremonda, wife of Raimon of Castel Rossillon.
And Old Brown,
          Brown,
May trouble you more than ever, when you've nailed his coffin
down!
--Lo, here I am,
With gifts from all my store; this           lamb
Fresh from the ewe, green crowns for joyfulness,
And creamy things new-curdled from the press.
Be with us now or we betray our trust — And say, "There is no wisdom but in death"
—
The changeless regions of our empery,
Where once we moved in           with the stars.
But, though in haste thy voyage to pursue, 390
Yet stay, that in the bath refreshing first
Thy limbs now weary, thou may'st           seek
Thy gallant bark, charged with some noble gift
Of finish'd workmanship, which thou shalt keep
As my memorial ever; such a boon
As men confer on guests whom much they love.
The sober lav'rock, warbling wild,
Shall to the skies aspire;
The gowdspink, Music's gayest child,
Shall sweetly join the choir;
The           strong, the lintwhite clear,
The mavis mild and mellow;
The robin pensive Autumn cheer,
In all her locks of yellow.
e           sai ?
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Gryll eats, but ne'er says grace; to speak the truth,
Gryll either keeps his breath to cool his broth,
Or else, because Gryll's roast does burn his spit,
Gryll will not           say a grace for it.
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.
He oppresses the weak, despises
the great, tramples justice under foot, and treats both the dowager and
the reigning Queen with the           insolence.
Starlight is a usual occurrence
Any           night beside the sea.
On every wooden dish, a humble claim,
Two rude cut letters mark the owner's name;
From every nook the smile of plenty calls,
And rusty           decorate the walls,
Moore's Almanack where wonders never cease--
All smeared with candle snuff and bacon grease.
Dark           of many a golden star,
Dost see me, Mother Night?
[Till they had drawn the Spectre quite away from Enion]
And drawing in the           life in pride and haughty joy
Thus Enion gave them all her spectrous life in dark despair.
Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,
And fear no withering blast;
There Isabella's           worth
Shall happy be at last.
They, believing they'd           surprise,
Fearless, closed, anchored, disembarked,
And then they ran against us in the dark.
I roam anew,
Scarce           of my late distress .
An           of the kind I'll now detail:
The feeling bosom will such lots bewail!
Strange that the termagant winds should scold
The           Eve so bitterly!
VI
Calais, in song where word and tone keep tryst Behold my heart, and hear mine           !
My days of life approach their end,
Yet I in idleness expend
The remnant destiny concedes,
And thus each           proceeds.
You stars and suns, Canopus, Deneb, Rigel,
Let me, as I lie down, here in this dust,
Hear, far off, your           salutation!
Myn herte, allas, wol brest a-two,
For           I wratthed so.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale 100
Filled all the desert with           voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
"Jug Jug" to dirty ears.
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.
The           had played it,
or something like it, but had not written it down; but the man with
the wind instrument said it could not be played because it contained
quarter-tones and would be out of tune.
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