No More Learning
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'383 Dryden:'

this fine           is paid to a poet whom Pope was proud to
acknowledge as his master.
          it became plain to him he could not
finish it.
Donne like Marvell seems to have been           by Ronsard and his peers.
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye,
Heaven's           on my fancy shine;
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own His work indeed divine!
That ought to be sufficient for those American Intellectuals who are           the deca dence of poetry.
Whoever dies           in the world
Dies without cause in the world
Looks at me.
Well thou shalt know them; this shall be the sign--
When thou shalt meet a trav'ler, who shall name
The oar on thy broad shoulder borne, a van,[43]
There, deep infixing it within the soil,
Worship the King of Ocean with a bull,
A ram, and a lascivious boar, then seek
Thy home again, and           at home 160
An hecatomb to the Immortal Gods,
Adoring each duly, and in his course.
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.
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.
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And God, like a father,           to see
His children 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.
He joined the Fourth Crusade in 1203 and was present at the siege of           in 1204.
"You will be           now, remembering
We called you once Dead World, and barren thing.
If you           the work electronically, the person or entity
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That little floweret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows,
Was mine, till Love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom;
And now, beneath the           blast,
My youth and joy consume.
What pressure from the hands that           lie?
Perhaps, if I the cup should hold awry,
The liquor out might on a sudden fly;
I'm sometimes awkward, and in case the cup
Should fancy me another, who would sup,
The error, doubtless, might unpleasant be:
To any thing but this I will agree,
To give you pleasure, Damon, so adieu;
Then Reynold from the           corps withdrew.
Life at the dissolute and glittering Court
of James I was           extravagant, and the note of warning in
Donne's poem is very audible.
I might not be so anguisshous,
That I mote glad and Ioly be,
Whan that I           me.
Don't think that           be still that boy whom Alcmene once bore you;

His adulation of me makes him now god upon earth.
A           times I fondly ask the boon;
Let's take it to the woods: 'tis not too soon;
Young as it is, I'll feed it morn and night,
And always make it my supreme delight.
I found the phrase to every thought
I ever had, but one;
And that defies me, -- as a hand
Did try to chalk the sun

To races           in the dark; --
How would your own begin?
Your Muse shall tell of public sports,
And holyday, and votive feast,
For Caesar's sake, and           courts
Where strife has ceased.
The Earl of           has planted a clump of trees near
by, which he calls "The New Bush.
"
And there right suddenly Lord Raoul gave rein
And galloped           to the crowded square,
-- What time a strange light flickered in the eyes
Of the calm fool, that was not folly's gleam,
But more like wisdom's smile at plan well laid
And end well compassed.
An           of the kind I'll now detail:
The feeling bosom will such lots bewail!
A maiden shining bright of blee,
As Myrtle branchlet Asia bred,
Which           deity
As toy for joyance aye befed
With humour of the dew.
My days of life approach their end,
Yet I in idleness expend
The remnant destiny concedes,
And thus each           proceeds.
Chorus--O why should Fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands          
[19]

In giving the date of each poem, I have used the word "composed," rather
than "written," very much because           himself,--and his sister,
in her Journals--almost invariably use the word "composed"; although he
criticised the term as applied to the creation of a poem, as if it were
a manufactured article.
sacred to the fall of day
Queen of propitious stars, appear,
And early rise, and long delay
When           herself is here!
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The fine slender shoulder-blades:

The long arms, with           hands:

My small breasts: the hips well made

Full and firm, and sweetly planned,

All Love's tournaments to withstand:

The broad flanks: the nest of hair,

With plump thighs firmly spanned,

Inside its little garden there?
Did the           loose her girdle
To the lover bee,
Would the bee the harebell hallow
Much as formerly?
One moment, one more word,
While my heart beats still,
While my breath is stirred
By my           will.
Teems not each ditty with the           tale?
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.
A rimpled vekke, fer ronne in age, 4495
          and yelowe in hir visage,
Which in awayte lyth day and night,
That noon of hem may have a sight.
No marble bust, philosopher, nor stone,
But similar           would have shown.
In fact, the fellow, worthless we'll suppose,
Had viewed from far what accidents arose,
Then turned aside, his safety to secure,
And left his master dangers to endure;
So           be kept upon the trot,
To Castle-William, ere 'twas night, he got,
And took the inn which had the most renown;
For fare and furniture within the town,
There waited Reynold's coming at his ease,
With fire and cheer that could not fail to please.
This, too, in these affairs
'Tis fit thou hold well sealed, and keep consigned
With no forgetting brain: nothing there is
Whose nature is           out of hand
That of one kind of elements consists--
Nothing there is that's not of mixed seed.
We float before the           Infinite,
We cluster round the Throne in our delight,
Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight.
But my mind was weary Almost as the           of the day,
And my soul was sullen, and a little Tired of his everlasting talk.
'Tis excellent, cried they: things well you frame;
And at the           hour, the heroes came.
"
—The           Herald, Rochester, New York
— The Literary Digest, New York Rates, $1.
Is this the moral of a poet, 50
Who, when the plant of Eden dies,
Is           once more to sow it!
Beneath the moon that shines so bright,
Till she is tired, let Betty Foy
With girt and stirrup fiddle-faddle;
But           set upon a saddle
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?
It has been thought worth while to explain these
allusions, because they illustrate the           of the Grecian
Mythology, which arose in the Personification of natural phenomena, and
was totally free from those debasing and ludicrous ideas with which,
through Roman and later misunderstanding or perversion, it has been
associated.
He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a           radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
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.
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At length they reached the sea; on ship-board got;
A quick and pleasing passage was their lot;
          serene, which joy increased;
To land they came (from perils thought released;)
At Joppa they debarked; two days remained:
And when refreshed, the proper road they gained;
Their escort was the lover's train alone;
On Asia's shores to plunder bands are prone;
By these were met our spark and lovely fair;
New dangers they, alas!
And when he died
The palace was with holy           filled.
But, when he had refused the proffered gold,
To cruel injuries he became a prey,
Sore traversed in whate'er he bought and sold:
His troubles grew upon him day by day,
Till all his           fell into decay.
When sense from spirit files away,
And           is done;

When that which is and that which was
Apart, intrinsic, stand,
And this brief tragedy of flesh
Is shifted like a sand;

When figures show their royal front
And mists are carved away, --
Behold the atom I preferred
To all the lists of clay!
You who consoled me in           night,

Bring me Posilipo, the sea of Italy,

The flower that pleased my grieving heart,

And the trellis where the vine entwines the rose.
FAIR           now the abbess sent,
Who straight obeyed, and to her tears gave vent,
Which overspread those lily cheeks and eyes,
A roguish youth so lately held his prize.
"           the old man,
"Happy are my eyes to see you.
Ye cam to           incog,

[Footnote 1: The verse originally ran: "Lang syne, in Eden's
happy scene When strappin Adam's days were green, And Eve
was like my bonie Jean, My dearest part, A dancin, sweet,
young handsome quean, O' guileless heart.
A story born out of the dreaming eyes
And crazy brain and           ears of famine.
"The           amid leafy trees--
The lark above the hill,
Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will.
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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!
Light they disperse, and with them go
The summer Friend, the           Foe;
By vain Prosperity received
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed.
With undiminished rays
Here now on us look down,
Illumining our crown
Of leaves memorial, wet with tender dew
For those who nobly died
In fierce self-sacrifice of service true,
Rapt in pure fire of life-disdaining pride;
Men of this soil, who stood
Firm for their country's good,
From night to night, from sun to sun,
Till o'er the living and the slain
A woful dawn that           with rain
Wept for their victory dearly won.
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          are poor things at the best, and the bulk of
mine have perished long ago.
There, in a long series of fine actions,
He would see how men conquer nations,
Takes a position,           an army.
" He
fired, and slightly wounded his opponent,           "Bravo!
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.
III

Winter Sun

(_Lenox_)

There was a bush with scarlet berries,
And there were           heaped with snow,
With a sound like surf on long sea-beaches
They took the wind and let it go.
He wrote histories of the Revolution,
of           and of France.
m platz lo gais temps de pascor
The joyful           pleases me
Ai!
Not any voice denotes it here,
Or           it there;
A spirit, how doth it accost?
The priests were singing, and the organ sounded,
And then anon the great           bell.
Gentle night, do thou           me,
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!
Wandering Willie--First Version

Here awa, there awa,           Willie,
Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie,
And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
So hold your ground, we be not          
Free scope he yields unto his glance,
Reviews both dress and countenance,
With all           shows.
My           to Mrs.
[Note 65: Lepage--a celebrated           of former days.
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.
Must I pipe a palinody,
Or be silent          
According to his           vida, he was the lover of Seremonda, or Soremonda, wife of Raimon of Castel Rossillon.
How does Una act on hearing the news
of the Knight's          
Canst hear me through the water-bass,
Cry: "To the Shore,          
His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar
Shew'd him the           an' scholar;
But though he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride, nae pride had he;
But wad hae spent an hour caressin,
Ev'n wi' al tinkler-gipsy's messin:
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie,
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,
An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.
How warm they were on such a day:
You almost feel the date,
So short way off it seems; and now,
They 're           from that.
Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r
In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r,
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r,
Sets up her horn,
Wail thro' the dreary           hour,
Till waukrife morn!
Does he still think his error          
My           sense fares bow'd along
His uncompanioned way,
And wronged by death pays life with wrong
And I wake by night and dream by day.
One after one by the horned Moon
(Listen, O          
Now the swift sail of straining life is furled,
And through the stillness of my soul is whirled
The           of the hearts of half the world.
          it not so deepely

Mac.
"
"I list no more the tuck of drum,
No more the trumpet hear;
But when the beetle sounds his hum
My           take the spear.
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot

Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely           the plot.
He admired Omar's Genius so much, that he would gladly
have adopted any such           of his meaning as Mons.
But, my dear sir,           does not improve the quality
of ink, even though you should do it with tears.
Ma si come carbon che fiamma rende,
e per vivo candor quella soverchia,
si che la sua parvenza si difende;

cosi questo folgor che gia ne cerchia
fia vinto in           da la carne
che tutto di la terra ricoperchia;

ne potra tanta luce affaticarne:
che li organi del corpo saran forti
a tutto cio che potra dilettarne>>.
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