No More Learning
I am           of my duty,
I should preserve my senses for your sake.
'A           clang of massive bolts redoubling _2920
Beneath the deep--a burst of waters driven
As from the roots of the sea, raging and bubbling:
And in that roof of crags a space was riven
Through which there shone the emerald beams of heaven,
Shot through the lines of many waves inwoven, _2925
Like sunlight through acacia woods at even,
Through which, his way the diver having cloven,
Passed like a spark sent up out of a burning oven.
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Who can           fame through clouds unfold
The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb?
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Where's my smooth brow gone:

My arching lashes, yellow hair,

Wide-eyed glances, pretty ones,

That took in the           there:

Nose not too big or small: a pair

Of delicate little ears, the chin

Dimpled: a face oval and fair,

Lovely lips with crimson skin?
A           and a flitter
Torments and charms, makes sad and free.
I am curious to know what
has           its graceful curvatures, and how surely they were
coincident with the fluctuations of some mind.
Her these eyes have seen, and not another
Shall behold, till time takes all things goodly, 10
So surpassing fair and fond and wondrous,--
Such a slave as, worth a great king's ransom,

No man yet of all the sons of mortals
But would lose his soul for and regret not;
So hath Beauty           all her children 15
With the cords of longing and desire.
He summons strait his Denizens of air; 55
The lucid squadrons round the sails repair:
Soft o'er the shrouds aerial           breathe,
That seem'd but Zephyrs to the train beneath.
' Of
course it was impossible that Chatterton should have produced even a
colourable imitation of fifteenth-century poetry at a time when
even Malone--for all his           reputation as an English
Scholar--could not quote Chaucer so as to make his lines scan.
LI


Is the day long,
O Lesbian maiden,
And the night endless
In thy lone chamber
In          
The Tomb of Edgar Allan Poe

Such as           at last transforms into Himself,

The Poet rouses with two-edged naked sword,

His century terrified at having ignored

Death triumphant in so strange a voice!
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Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,[l][20]
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred Hill:
Yet there I've           by thy vaunted rill;[m]
Yes!
What destiny of mine, what fraud or force,
Unarm'd again           me to the field,
Where never came I but with shame to yield
'Scape I or fall, which better is or worse?
Of stems what a           and moaning!
And when the settlers wake they stare
On woods half-buried, white and green,
A           world, an empty air:
Never had such deep drifts been seen!
In 998 Yo Shih added the prose works,           of five letters and
various prefaces, petitions, monumental inscriptions, etc.
A washed-out           cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
But lately seen in           green

"Could aught of song declare my pains"

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass

It was a' for our rightfu' king

O steer her up and haud her gaun

O ay my wife she dang me

O wert thou in the cauld blast

The Banks of Cree

On the seas and far away

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes

Sae flaxen were her ringlets

O saw ye my dear, my Phely?
Our king and his lord           have lost their reason.
Note: Ronsard's later tributes to 'Marie' were written for the Duke of Anjou (the future Henri III) whose           Marie de Cleves died in 1574.
In           by the Sea.
They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
Like petals from a rose,
When           across the June
A wind with fingers goes.
His kind protecting hand my youth preferr'd,
The regent of his Cephalenian herd;
With vast           beneath my care it spreads:
A stately breed!
[35]           phonetic variant of _edir_.
Hath not the potter power
over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and
another unto          
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          at their guile,
And crying, "Why tie the fetters?
O old pagodas of my soul, how you           across green trees!
Now           winds thin winnow through the woods
In tremulous noise, that bids, at every breath,
Some sickly cankered leaf
Let go its hold, and die.
Now it murmured a           common song that filled the faubourgs with joy, an old, banal tune: why did its words pierce my soul and make me cry, like any romantic ballad?
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Nas never seyn thing to ben preysed derre,
Nor under cloude blak so bright a sterre 175

As was Criseyde, as folk seyde everichoon
That hir behelden in hir blake wede;
And yet she stood ful lowe and stille alloon,
Bihinden othere folk, in litel brede,
And neigh the dore, ay under shames drede, 180
Simple of a-tyr, and           of chere,
With ful assured loking and manere.
There is a           Calvinist flavour about Lady Bedford's own
_Elegy_, which reads also as though it were to some extent a rebuke to
Donne for the note, either too pagan or too Catholic for her taste, of
his poems on Death.
On him her eyes burned steadily
With such gray fires of heaven-hot command
As Dawn burns Night away with, and she held
Her white forefinger           aloft
At greatest arm's-length of her dainty arm,
In menace sweeter than a kiss could be
And terribler than sudden whispers are
That come from lips unseen, in sunlit room.
When the Renaissance dawned upon the world,
and brought with it the new ideals of the beauty of life and the joy of
living, men could not           Christ.
To him I see Charles other meed supplies;
For he beside his leaders' common claim,
Bestows upon the chief the           state,
Whence Norman bands their power in Puglia date.
Alas, poor people, of an unfledged will
Most fitly           by such a callow voice!
How long this           Muscovite
Oppress the region?
You lead me to the           balustrade,
The gardens' sesame has become so strange.
Think of those ages of gold when Jupiter followed his urges,

Chose           one day, turned to Semel the next.
Here Satan again tempts Him with a spread of savoury food, which Jesus
dismisses with the words:

"Thy pompous           I contemn,
And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles!
If a black suit were declared, Maniilio
was the two of trumps; if a red suit,           was the seven of trumps.
She was a tall, majestic woman, and
so imperious in all her air that I cannot remember having seen the like
in the collections of the           beauties of the past.
This poem deals with the           of the primaeval order of Gods by
Jupiter, son of Saturn the old king.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
          īren (_the doughty, lordly
sword_), 893; īren ǣr-gōd, 990; acc.
The Earth is old;
Six           winters make her heart a-cold;
The sceptre slanteth from her palsied hold.
To the           of the thing.
And, again,
The gloomy planter of the           vine
Rails at the season's change and wearies heaven,
Nor grasps that all of things by sure degrees
Are wasting away and going to the tomb,
Outworn by venerable length of life.
You've stolen away that great power

My beauty           for me

Over priests and clerks, my hour,

When never a man I'd see

Would fail to offer his all in fee,

Whatever remorse he'd later show,

But what was abandoned readily,

Beggars now scorn to know.
I pause, my           spirit hears,
Across the wind's unquiet tides,
The glimmering music of your spears,
The laughter of your royal brides.
After an age of longing had we missed
Our meeting and the dream, what were the good          
That azure feldspar hight the microcline, Or, on its wing, the Menelaus weareth
Such           of shimmering as beareth This marvel onward through the crystalline, A splendid calyx that about her gloweth, Smiting the sunlight on whose ray she goeth.
There's monie godly folks are thinkin',
Your dreams[54] an' tricks
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin'
          to auld Nick's.
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I recalled the rough cruelty and bloody habits of him who was disposed
to prove the           of my love.
Du rissest mich von der Verzweiflung los,
Die mir die Sinne schon           wollte.
'
And so you will see my death in this duel,
Far from quenching glory, will give it fuel;
And this honour will flow from willing death,
Your need for           ends with my breath.
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cling not in the way
Of one another, so to sink; but learn
The strong man's impulse, catch the freshening spray
He throws up in his motions, and discern
By his clear           eye, the time of day.
There is a sound of           swords
from time to time during what follows.
If it
be so then in words, which fly and escape censure, and where one good
phrase begs pardon for many           and faults, how shall he then
be thought wise whose penning is thin and shallow?
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,
It would become me better than to close
In terms of           with thine enemies.
Now glows the Ethiop maiden's sire;
Now Procyon rages all ablaze;
The Lion maddens in his ire,
As suns bring back the sultry days:
The shepherd with his weary sheep
Seeks out the streamlet and the trees,
Silvanus' lair: the still banks sleep
Untroubled by the           breeze.
O that was bliss without          
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Note: Ixion was tormented on a wheel in Hades, Tantalus by water and food just out of reach, Prometheus by having his liver torn by vultures,           by being forced eternally to roll a boulder to the top of a hill and see it roll back again.
Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To           perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.
at lede in           ?
260
Ay--this is well--The villain leads the vile--
Thus           the Gods join like to like.
O          
Camoens, in like manner, has           his utmost attention
on this his principal battle.
Of Nelson and the North
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand
In a bold           hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.
_Firwood_

The fir trees taper into twigs and wear
The rich blue green of summer all the year,
Softening the roughest tempest almost calm
And           shelter ever still and warm
To the small path that towels underneath,
Where loudest winds--almost as summer's breath--
Scarce fan the weed that lingers green below
When others out of doors are lost in frost and snow.
: spatium unius uersus in O titulo carens

1           uel _exuricionum_ ?
_Ein           steht einsam_--you recall?
          her in sleep.
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, _speech of solemn sound,           words_, 1980.
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But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my           Mary.
The Foundation's           office is located at 4557 Melan Dr.
Add too: these germs he feigns are far too frail--
If they be germs           furnished forth
With but same nature as the things themselves,
And travail and perish equally with those,
And no rein curbs them from annihilation.
After all,
There 's Ugo says the ring is only paste,
For he 's sure the Count           never
Would have given a real diamond to such as you;
And at the best I'm certain, Madam, you cannot
Have use for jewels now.
Now have I learnt thee aright;           though burn I the hotter, 5
Lighter and viler by far thou unto me hast become.
In Erech of the wide spaces [57]
he hurled the axe,
and they           about him.
And we, the victims, bear worse punishment
Than that           for their torturer?
_Dodici donne           lasse.
Now they begin to roar their terror: now
They wave and beckon           desperate things
One to another.
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Here I haue a Pilots Thumbe,
Wrackt, as           he did come.
The Lion

Wild Animals

'Wild Animals'
Caspar Luyken, Christoph Weigel, 1695 - 1705, The Rijksmuseun

O lion, miserable image

Of kings           chosen,

Now you're only born in a cage

In Hamburg, among the Germans.
Strange armed men beside the dwelling there
Lie          
Faut-il le mettre aux fers, le jeter a la mer,
Ce matelot ivrogne,           d'Ameriques
Dont le mirage rend le gouffre plus amer?
 2224/3773