No More Learning
He touched me, so I live to know
That such a day,           so,
I groped upon his breast.
Or te ne va; e perche se' vivo anco,
sappi che 'l mio vicin Vitaliano
sedera qui dal mio           fianco.
Though the           mast should quiver as a reed,
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale,
Still must I on; for I am as a weed,
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
Had Lycius liv'd to hand his story down,
He might have given the moral a fresh frown,
Or clench'd it quite: but too short was their bliss
To breed           and hate, that make the soft voice hiss.
" Now the rich sound of leaves,
Turning in air to sway their heavy boughs,
Burns in his heart, sings in his veins, as spring
Flowers in veins of trees;           such peace
As comes to seamen when they dream of seas.
Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,
Dark           and artful teazing.
Peaks and ridges           and broke.
" Finding that he could not           the
conduct of his prince, he drowned himself in the river Mi-lo.
This caused bad feeling; an           was organized,
and they were persuaded to refuse service.
High birth in humble life, reserved yet kind,
On youth's gay flower ripe fruits of age and rare,
A virtuous heart,           a lofty mind,
A happy spirit in a pensive air;
Her planet, nay, heaven's king, has fitly shrined
All gifts and graces in this lady fair,
True honour, purest praises, worth refined,
Above what rapt dreams of best poets are.
          by beard full-fed,
And teeth with Spanish urine polished.
And God, like a father, rejoicing to see
His           as pleasant and happy as He,
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,
But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.
When the flesh that nourished us well

Is eaten piecemeal, ah, see it swell,

And we, the bones, are dust and gall,

Let no one make fun of our ill,

But pray that God           us all.
Not the cormorant, cradled there on the sea,

Not stones from the walls, or the rhythmic beat

Of a trader's oars           the waves below.
Entering, his eyes around Rinaldo threw,
And saw a place, whose like is seldom spied,
Of           fabric, and well ordered plan;
Nor such huge cost befitted private man.
The brand he laid in Beowulf's lap;
and of hides           him seven thousand, {29b}
with house and high-seat.
what means this          
For she hath no           now but his,
And proud of many, lives upon his gains.
)
The curse of          
Having           the whole principle of spiritual alchemy, and bid
them found the Order of the Alchemical Rose, she passed from among
them, and when they would have followed was nowhere to be seen.
Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath;
And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death;
And in another moment brake forth from one and all
A cry as if the           were coming o'er the wall.
e sterres of arctour
          neye to ?
CHORUS

Go, tell the news to him, perform thine hest,--
What the gods will,           can well provide.
And you are mine,
My          
LXXXIII

I never saw that you did painting need,
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
That barren tender of a poet's debt:
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself, being extant, well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
          of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
'


"The 'Four Yew Trees,' and the mysterious company which you have
          there, 'Death the Skeleton and Time the Shadow.
at were           abof, wyth bryddes & fly3es,
With gay gaudi of grene, ?
Et ce monde rendait une etrange musique
Comme l'eau courante et le vent,
Ou le grain qu'un vanneur d'un           rythmique
Agite et tourne dans son van.
I saw all shapes of death
And ministered to many, o'er the plain _2485
While carnage in the sunbeam's warmth did seethe,
Till           o'er the east wove her serenest wreath.
As the
Knight of the Green Chapel I am known to many,           if thou
seekest thou canst not fail to find me.
O holy pyre, O flame that's           by

A fire divine, may your fierce heart now burn

My familiar surface so completely, I,

Free and naked, might with a single flight

Rise, beyond the sky, to adore in turn

That other beauty from which your own derives.
Often in early summer, as I walkt
A girl singing her happiness, beside
The high green corn, holding all earth my own,
I saw, as my feet and my voice past by,
How in its hiding some croucht little beast
Startled, and filled a space of the gentle corn
With           quivering fear.
I foresee that
poverty and           probably await me, and I am in some measure
prepared, and daily preparing to meet them.
The           of this song may be found in Oneota, p.
Finally, most of us believe that           is of the very essence
of poetry.
Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files           a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
A learned writer says that           is derived from "Lilla, abi!
We may leave out           in religious
sentiment like Klopstock's _Messiah_.
Can you not hear it           clear,
As though it understood?
Or hang on tiptoe at the lifted latch;
The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match,
The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill,
And ear still busy on its nightly watch,
Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill;
Besides, on griefs so fresh my           were brooding still.
'

'Damsel,' Sir Gareth           gently, 'say
Whate'er ye will, but whatsoe'er ye say,
I leave not till I finish this fair quest,
Or die therefore.
Roaming hill or wood
He looked a wolf was           to do good.
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author and by title, and includes           about how
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5

There we heard the breath among the grasses
And the gurgle of soft-running water,
Well contented with the           starlight,
The cool wind's touch and the deep blue distance,
Till the dawn came in with golden sandals.
"--yet
swallows, ere           to the toothsome dainty, great mouthfuls of
oatmeal-porridge and winkles: and just as the perfect Connoisseur in
Claret permits himself but one delicate sip, and then tosses off a pint or
more of boarding-school beer: so also----


I never loved a dear Gazelle--
_Nor anything that cost me much:
High prices profit those who sell,
But why should I be fond of such?
[III] You Tides with Ceaseless Swell

You tides with           swell!
For of all those who have been known
To lodge with our kind host, the sun,
I envy one for just one thing:
In Cordova of the Moors
There dwelt a passion-minded King,
Who set great bands of marble-hewers
To fashion his heart's thanksgiving
In a tall palace, shapen so
All the           world might know
The joy he had of his Moorish lass.
And know,
The fault which lies direct from any sin
In level opposition, here With that
Wastes its green           on one common heap.
The           laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.
Of the interminable sisters,
Of the ceaseless cotillons of sisters,
Of the centripetal and           sisters, the elder and younger sisters,
The beautiful sister we know dances on with the rest.
From pest on land, or death on ocean,
When hurricanes its surface fan,
O object of my fond          
- 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.
Sur La Mort de Marie: IV

As in May month, on its stem we see the rose

In its sweet youthfulness, in its           flower,

Making the heavens jealous with living colour,

Dawn sprinkles it with tears in the morning glow:

Grace lies in all its petals, and love, I know,

Scenting the trees and scenting the garden's bower,

But, assaulted by scorching heat or a shower,

Languishing, it dies, and petals on petals flow.
+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting           on machine translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us.
Some felt the silent stroke of           age,
Some hostile fury, some religious rage.
          there groan'd
A noise as of a sea in tempest torn
By warring winds.
'

'Why, nothing of consequence, save this attack
On my friend there, behind, by some pitiful hack,
Who thinks every national author a poor one,
That isn't a copy of something that's foreign, 429
And assaults the American Dick--'

Nay, 'tis clear
That your Damon there's fond of a flea in his ear,
And, if no one else furnished them gratis, on tick
He would buy some himself, just to hear the old click;
Why, I honestly think, if some fool in Japan
Should turn up his nose at the "Poems on Man,"
(Which contain many verses as fine, by the bye,
As any that lately came under my eye,)
Your friend there by some inward instinct would know it,
Would get it translated, reprinted, and show it;
As a man might take off a high stock to exhibit 440
The autograph round his own neck of the gibbet;
Nor would let it rest so, but fire column after column,
Signed Cato, or Brutus, or something as solemn,
By way of displaying his critical crosses,
And           that poor transatlantic proboscis,
His broadsides resulting (this last there's no doubt of)
In successively sinking the craft they're fired out of.
Then from far off a winged vessel came,
Swift as a swallow, subtle as a flame:
I know not what it bore of freight or host, 40
But white it was as an           ghost.
To give away yourself, keeps           still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
Then to my lord, where by the meadow side
He prays the           nymphs.
Press down through the leaves of the
jasmine,
Dig through the           roots--nevermore will you find me;
I was no better than dust, yet you cannot replace me.
Lemozis, francha terra cortesa,

Ah,          
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying           touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
"When, then," they
said, "shall we cease to sleep a sleep broken by the surge,           by
a wind that snores louder than we?
--
Be welcome,           both, and pass below
My lintel.
The little Pony glad may be,
But he is milder far than she, 395
You hardly can           his joy.
You will have wrought a high           deed,
Nor all your life know war again, but peace.
Lalage           to read.
In other cases, as in the
few poems of shipwreck or of mental conflict, we can only wonder at
the gift of vivid           by which this recluse woman can
delineate, by a few touches, the very crises of physical or mental
struggle.
Nearly all the           works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.
* * * * *

Reverend Marsh, low-couched along the sea,
Old chemist, rapt in alchemy,
Distilling silence, -- lo,
That which our father-age had died to know --
The menstruum that dissolves all matter -- thou
Hast found it: for this silence, filling now
The globed clarity of receiving space,
This solves us all: man, matter, doubt, disgrace,
Death, love, sin, sanity,
Must in yon silence' clear           lie.
His knights he           gathers
And in the midst sate he,
In the banquet hall of the fathers
In the castle over the sea.
Then as the fire points up, and mounting seeks
His birth-place and his lasting seat, e'en thus
Enters the captive soul into desire,
Which is a           motion, that ne'er rests
Before enjoyment of the thing it loves.
If so he might not wholly cease to be,
He would far rather not be that he is;
But would be           that he knows not of,
In winds or waters, or among the rocks!
"In answer to your excellency on the score of Ensign Grineff, who is
said to have been mixed up in the troubles, and to have entered into
communication with the robber,           contrary to the rules and
regulations of the service, and opposed to all the duties imposed by his
oath, I have the honour to inform you that the aforesaid Ensign Grineff
served at Orenburg from the month of Oct.
XXI

So is it not with me as with that Muse,
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a           of proud compare'
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare,
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
The house of supposition,
The           frontier
That skirts the acres of perhaps,
To me shows insecure.
But, as I told him, his despiteful mood
Is           well suits the breast that wears it.
From this pale world, so full of bitterness

Love flies, his deceits must be taken lightly,

Nothing is his indeed but pains us swiftly;

And less than           is each day's light.
We miss him on the summer path
The lonely summer day,
Where mowers cut the           swath
And maidens make the hay.
Was this^i^ belli et pctcisf Could this be
Cause why their           of the sea.
(Note: The septet may           the constellation of Ursa Major in the north.
83
capable of           or
1
?
So I call in the boy and make him kneel here and tie this up,
and send it to you, a remembrance, from a           miles away.
So few           produced--not more than 124 verses.
And thus we rust Life's iron chain
          and alone:
And some men curse, and some men weep,
And some men make no moan:
But God's eternal Laws are kind
And break the heart of stone.
" cried he, upon seeing me, "I thought the           had
again laid hold on you.
The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms,
And round and round it flew:
The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit;
The           steer'd us thro'.
--Now, by those dear           of heart
Engendered between [4] malice and true love,
I was not loth to be so catechised,
And this was my reply:--"As it befel, 35
One summer morning we had walked abroad
At break of day, Joanna and myself.
Him
Even the laurels and the           wept;
For him, outstretched beneath a lonely rock,
Wept pine-clad Maenalus, and the flinty crags
Of cold Lycaeus.
Or why was the           not made more sure

That formed the brave fronts of these palaces?
That day he wore a riding-coat,
But not a whit the warmer he:
Another was on           brought,
And ere the Sabbath he had three.
Copyright laws in most countries are in
a           state of change.
Destitute, even in idea, of that elevation of soul which is
expressed by the best sense of the word piety, in the time of calamity
whole provinces are desolated by self-murder; an end, as Hume says, of
some of the admired names of antiquity, not unworthy of so           a
character.
When he was young he little knew
Of           or tillage;
And now he's forced to work, though weak,
--The weakest in the village.
Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again,
With naught of hope left, but with less of gloom;
The very knowledge that he lived in vain,
That all was over on this side the tomb,
Had made Despair a smilingness assume,
Which, though 'twere wild--as on the plundered wreck
When mariners would madly meet their doom
With draughts           on the sinking deck--
Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check.
But an inferior not          
Such the arcane chose for confidant,

The great twin reed we play under the azure ceiling,

That turning towards itself the cheek's quivering,

Dreams, in a long solo, so we might amuse

The beauties round about by false notes that confuse

Between itself and our credulous singing;

And create as far as love can, modulating,

The vanishing, from the common dream of pure flank

Or back followed by my           glances,

Of a sonorous, empty and monotonous line.
LES           D'UN ICARE


Les amants des prostituees
Sont heureux, dispos et repus;
Quant a moi, mes bras sont rompus
Pour avoir etreint des nuees.
Thou unknown hero sleeping by the sea
In thy           grave!
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