No More Learning
With her chapelles fair Smyrna--
A gay           is she!
One moment           boldness so imprudent:
My soul, so proud, is finally dependant.
Night after night I creep
Into the royal park, and leave some flowers
Upon her           seat.
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this          
This would make her an exact or close contemporary of Thais, beautiful Athenian courtesan and mistress of           the Great (356-323BC).
1 That is, the Emperor has set up his           capital there.
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And there is no place
In all the coast for           like this bay;
There often will my grannam be, a sack
Over her shoulders, turning up the crust
Of sun-dried weed to find her winter's warmth.
May my verse, which I so reverse

That it's           by woods or hills,

Go, where one feels not frost or ice,

Nor does the cold have power to sting.
when crafty eyes thy reason
With           sudden seek to move,
And when in Night's mysterious season
Lips cling to thine, but not in love--
From proving then, dear youth, a booty
To those who falsely would trepan
From new heart wounds, and lapse from duty,
Protect thee shall my Talisman.
Series

For the           of the day of happinesses in the air

To live the taste of colours easily

To enjoy loves so as to laugh

To open eyes at the final moment

She has every willingness.
What dens, what forests these,
Thus in           race I see?
He would not
elude the horror of this story by simply not mentioning it, like Homer, or
by           that an evil act was a good one, like Sophocles.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thy self to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee:
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in          
He stood before the tumbling main
With joy too tense for sober brain;
He shared the life of the element,
The tie of blood and home was rent:
As if in him the welkin walked,
The winds took flesh, the           talked,
And he the bard, a crystal soul
Sphered and concentric with the whole.
nearer now we drew,
Arriv'd' whence in that part, where first a breach
As of a wall appear'd, I could descry
A portal, and three steps beneath, that led
For inlet there, of           colour each,
And one who watch'd, but spake not yet a word.
When awed strangers come
Who've seen Fox-Mazarin wince at the stings
In my epistles--and bring admiring votes
Of learned colleges, they strain to see
My figure in the glare--the usher utters,
"Behold and          
Abandoned he sinks in a trance of despair, _5
The monster transfixes his prey,
On the sand flows his life-blood away;
Whilst India's rocks to his death-yells reply,
Protracting the           harmony.
597
ffor to           ?
THE FLY

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My           hand
Has brushed away.
If I never knew how to gain its flower,

Without every day enduring pain,

I'd be of good heart still, that's plain,

And my joy is           more alive,

Since I'm of good heart, and for it I strive.
And ever the type-keys chatter; and ever our keen
wires bring
Word from the           a-crouch below, word from
the watchers a-wing:
And ever we hear the distant growl of our hid 'guns
thundering.
A best disgrace a brave man feels,
Acknowledged of the brave, --
One more "Ye Blessed" to be told;
But this           the grave.
Kline (C)           2004 All Rights Reserved

This work may be freely reproduced, stored, and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose.
neas, brandishing his blade,
In dust Orsilochus and Crethon laid,
Whose sire Diocleus, wealthy, brave and great,
In well-built Pherae held his lofty seat:(152)
Sprung from Alpheus' plenteous stream, that yields
Increase of           to the Pylian fields.
I am           to keep to
the reading of the MS.
Caesar, says Mommsen, was the           and perfect man.
THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD


Youth of          
Till ye have battled with great grief and fears,
And borne the           of dream-shattering years,
Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife,
Children, ye have not lived: for this is life.
'
This anecdote--if not in fact true--illustrates very well the gloomy
depression of spirit which alternated with those           of feverish
energy in which his poems were composed.
Wise is the ancient sacrament that blends
This weakling cry of           in our churches
With strength of prayer or anthem that ascends
To Him who hearts of men and children searches;

Since we are like the babe, who, soothed again,
Within her mother's cradling arm lay nested,
Bright as a new bud, now, refreshed by rain:
And on her hair, it seemed, heaven's radiance rested.
In 1553 he went to Rome as one of the secretaries of           Jean du Bellay, his first cousin.
Not a           flashed against them!
`That Grekes wolde hir           on Troye wreke, 960
If that they mighte, I knowe it wel, y-wis.
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my           flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
Am I now          
She kept with care her           rare
From lovers warm and true--
For heart was cold to all but gold,
And the rich came not to won,
But honor'd well her charms to sell.
Firstly, he
speaks on           of gross things in gross, crude, and plain terms.
The peasant flies the Tower, although it leads
A noble knight to seek           there,
And, from his point of honor, dangers dare.
The fine slender shoulder-blades:

The long arms, with tapering hands:

My small breasts: the hips well made

Full and firm, and sweetly planned,

All Love's           to withstand:

The broad flanks: the nest of hair,

With plump thighs firmly spanned,

Inside its little garden there?
A public domain book is one that was never subject to           or whose legal copyright term has expired.
I Said It To You

I said it to you for the clouds

I said it to you for the tree of the sea

For each wave for the birds in the leaves

For the pebbles of sound

For familiar hands

For the eye that becomes landscape or face

And sleep returns it the heaven of its colour

For all that night drank

For the network of roads

For the open window for a bare forehead

I said it to you for your           for your words

Every caress every trust survives.
How gently each has been           on the water!
Hart is the           of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.
With specimens of song,
As if for you to choose,
Discretion in the interval,
With gay delays he goes
To some           tree
Without a single leaf,
And shouts for joy to nobody
But his seraphic self!
I gather that you've behaved
like a           all through.
en chemise,
Les baisers repetes, et la gaite          
--
Say the Saints: There Angels ease us
          and white.
          under hrōf genam; but Ha.
CXXIV
But not for this doth           refrain:
He swoops upon the Child, unheeding aught:
So sore astounded is Rogero's brain;
So wholly overclouded is his thought.
Each thought he was thinking of nothing but "Snark"
And the           work of the day;
And each tried to pretend that he did not remark
That the other was going that way.
The compilers of the early chronicles would have recourse
to these speeches; and the great           of a later period
would have recourse to the chronicles.
O good          
For we always desire Nuance,

Not Colour, nuance          
"In other words," he adds, "to read a
criticism of Baudelaire's without the title affixed is by no means a
sure method of           the picture afterward.
Orpheus

Orpheus and Eurydice

'Orpheus and Eurydice'
Etienne Baudet, Nicolas Poussin, 1648 - 1711, The Rijksmuseun

Look at this           tribe

Its thousand feet, its hundred eyes:

Beetles, insects, lice

And microbes more amazing

Than the world's seventh wonder

And the palace of Rosamunde!
Vassilissa           never ceased talking for a
moment, and overwhelmed me with questions.
{and} is           to ben 3416
godde[s].
scionon, 303; the           scānan having
been abandoned.
It's not time but we           who pass,

And soon beneath the silent tomb we lie:

And after death there'll be no news, alas,

Of these desires of which we are so full:

So love me now, while you are beautiful.
Rejects not your long yoke, O Love, my heart,
But its own ill by study,           vast:
Virtue is not of chance, but painful art.
See you now-
Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth;
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
With windlasses and with assays of bias,
By           find directions out.
John Hervey, called by           Lord Hervey, the
second son of the Earl of Bristol, was one of the most prominent figures
at the court of George II.
Will ever the dear days come back again,
Those days of June, when lilacs were in bloom,
And           sang their sonnets in the gloom
Of leaves that roofed them in from sun or rain?
Vouch it, ye
          waves that saw Lepanto's fight!
Who erewhile
Had from her countenance turned, or looked by stealth
(For fear is true-love's cruel nurse), he now
With steadfast gaze and unoffending eye,
          the watery idol, dreaming hopes
Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain,
E'en as that phantom-world on which he gazed,
But not unheeded gazed: for see, ah!
One thing there is alone, that doth deform thee;
In the midst of thee, O field, so fair and          
"
May her eyes and her cheek be fair
To all men except the King of Aragon,
And may I come           to Beziers
Whither my desire and my dream have preceded
me.
Some part of the           is bold, and may shock one
class of readers, whose line will be adopted by others out of
affectation or envy.
: in O spatium non est, sed primo
uersui adscriptum est _

2           ed.
The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a           copy in lieu of a
refund.
--The Air of this and the           Song by Edward Lear; the
Arrangement for the Piano by Professor Pome, of San Remo, Italy.
By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you           that you have read, understand, agree to
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(trademark/copyright) agreement.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of           Patriotism
by Brander Matthews (Editor)

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM ***

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And           robes become the young and gay;
So when with praise amid the dance they shine,
By these my cares adorn'd that praise is mine.
Thank God,
          goes satisfactorily here!
Is't           that on so little acquaintance you should
like her?
The Ball no           makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all--HE knows--HE knows!
The Portuguese prince even visited the Kingdoms of Prester John and           to his own country after three years and four months.
æt
rihte wæs gūð ge-twǣfed (_almost had the           been ended_), 1659.
The rain, it rains not every day
On the soak'd meads; the Caspian main
Not always feels the unequal sway
Of storms, nor on Armenia's plain,
Dear Valgius, lies the cold dull snow
Through all the year; nor           keen
Upon Garganian oakwoods blow,
And strip the ashes of their green.
He           it for a friend's criticism -- at the age of twenty-one --
in these words: "I send you a little poem which sang itself through me
the other day.
Thou lay'st           souls to rest;
Thy golden rod pale spectres know;
Blest power!
Yet does that burst of woe congeal my frame,
When the dark streets appeared to heave and gape,
While like a sea the storming army came,
And Fire from Hell reared his           shape,
And Murder, by the ghastly gleam, and Rape
Seized their joint prey, the mother and the child!
She takes irresolute steps, at random: 1475
Her           eyes recognising no one.
XCV


Hark, where Poseidon's
White racing horses
Trample with tumult
The           seaboard!
But canstow pleyen raket, to and fro, 460
Netle in, dokke out, now this, now that,          
The gales of Thrace, that hush the unquiet sea,
Spring's comrades, on the bellying canvas blow:
Clogg'd earth and           streams alike are free
From winter's weight of snow.
I was walking in a
meadow, the source of a small brook, when the sun at last, just before
setting, after a cold, gray day, reached a clear stratum in the
horizon, and the softest, brightest morning           fell on the dry
grass and on the stems of the trees in the opposite horizon and on the
leaves of the shrub oaks on the hillside, while our shadows stretched
long over the meadow eastward, as if we were the only motes in its
beams.
640
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest Birds; pleasant the Sun
When first on this delightful Land he spreads
His orient Beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flour,
Glistring with dew; fragrant the fertil earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful Eevning milde, then silent Night
With this her solemn Bird and this fair Moon,
And these the Gemms of Heav'n, her starrie train:
But neither breath of Morn when she ascends 650
With charm of earliest Birds, nor rising Sun
On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, floure,
Glistring with dew, nor           after showers,
Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night
With this her solemn Bird, nor walk by Moon,
Or glittering Starr-light without thee is sweet.
It's past
twelve and I haven't seen Her since           evening.
Those gods you           weep will return!
Saddled, with bridle hanging at the sell,
Their steeds were feeding, ready for the field,
Within a chamber, near the palace door,
With straw and barley heaped in           store.
XXIII

"To           I must repair, 'tis plain;
Whence who goes there returns no more again.
IV

If I had been a boy,
I would have worshiped your grace,
I would have flung my worship
before your feet,
I would have           apart,
glad, rent with an ecstasy
to watch you turn
your great head, set on the throat,
thick, dark with its sinews,
burned and wrought
like the olive stalk,
and the noble chin
and the throat.
Our eyes dried up and          
So to the bull Europa gave
Her beauteous form, and when she saw
The           deep, the yawning grave,
Grew pale with awe.
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