No More Learning
Les robes vertes et           des fillettes
Font les saules, d'ou sautent les oiseaux sans brides.
XLIII

Therewith they gan, both furious and fell,
To thunder blowes, and fiersly to assaile 375
Each other bent his enimy to quell,
That with their force they perst both plate and maile,
And made wide           in their fleshes fraile,
That it would pitty any living eie.
ra
On barren days,
At hours when I, apart, have
Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast, Behold with music's many           charms
The silence groweth thou.
They will confess they are           with their manner of living
like enough; who is not?
And I too dream'd, until at last
Across my fancy,           warm,
The reflex of a legend past,
And loosely settled into form.
The eye that from thy presence fain would stray,
Shuns thee in vain; thy mighty shadow thrown
Rests on all           of the living day,
And on the threshold of our time alone,
Dazzling, yet sombre, stands thy form, Napoleon!
And if my foot returns no more
To Teme nor Corve nor Severn shore,
Luck, my lads, be with you still
By falling stream and standing hill,
By chiming tower and           tree,
Men that made a man of me.
Why do I want this,
when even last night
you           me from sleep?
"'"

Thus far--without fear of Trespass--from the           Review.
Auld           lang did grapple,
For every hole to get a stapple;
But now she fetches at the thrapple,
An' fights for breath;
Haste, gie her name up in the chapel,^2
Near unto death.
Truth is           guide; no more man needs
Than end so nobly shown.
Never the lads wi'
The           o' barley.
What for the sage, old          
DRI Fr
an
cois and and thee and
Margot Drink we the           merrily
?
"

Thus she her words, not heedless of my wish,
Began; and thus, as one who breaks not off
Discourse,           in her saintly strain.
          use of this site implies consent to that usage.
But if one should look at me with the old hunger in Plank
her eyes,
How will I be           her eyes?
Now by the Cross and God I do adjure thee,
Declare to me the truth upon thy conscience;
Didst recognise the slaughtered boy; was't not
A          
]
VITA           SANCTI VIRI NOMINE ALEX.
s more I fell into the dust of the Hu, coming home, my hair is all           with gray.
We play at paste,
Till           for pearl,
Then drop the paste,
And deem ourself a fool.
He gaz'd into her eyes, and not a jot
Own'd they the           piteous appeal:
More, more he gaz'd: his human senses reel:
Some hungry spell that loveliness absorbs;
There was no recognition in those orbs.
Thou shalt to bed at whatsoever time
Thy soul desires, since the           Gods
Give thee to me and to thy home again.
Find out some uncouth cell
Where           Darkness spreads his jealous wings
And the night-raven sings;
There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Pure and neat           I love, yet plain and customary.
Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining--
Whose           soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.
What's           to my wife?
At last the dead man walked no more
Amongst the Trial Men,
And I knew that he was           up
In the black dock's dreadful pen,
And that never would I see his face
In God's sweet world again.
too high for earthly wings to rise
Her pitch, and soon she wholly pass'd from sight:
The very thought still makes me cold and numb;
O beautiful and high and lustrous eyes,
Where Death, who fills the world with grief and fright,
Found           in so fair a form to come.
Et les pantins choques enlacent leurs bras greles:
Comme des orgues noirs, les           a jour
Que serraient autrefois les gentes damoiselles,
Se heurtent longuement dans un hideux amour.
But with his keener eye
The axe's edge did try ;
Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
To           his helpless right,

But bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed.
condit enim quicquid uasto natura recessu
          fugit uisus et pectora nostra;
nec prodesse potest, quod fatis cuncta reguntur,
cum fatum nulla possit ratione uideri.
[End of the Second Night]
Ahania heard the           & a swift Vibration
Spread thro her Golden frame.
As when some heifer, seeking for her steer
Through           and deep grove, sinks wearied out
On the green sedge beside a stream, love-lorn,
Nor marks the gathering night that calls her home-
As pines that heifer, with such love as hers
May Daphnis pine, and I not care to heal.
]


What           brings you here, young cavaliers?
I shook my head, and moved myself away;
Then, from the copses, and from secret caves
Hid in the wood,           a ghostly voice
Came forth and woke an echo in my souls
As in the hollow of an amphora.
ou           my clere wyf, ?
"

Ben Jonson's genius was           its best work in the earlier years of
the reign of James I.
And he swore a fearful oath, by the name of the Almighty,
He would hunt this ravening evil that had scathed and torn
him so;
He would seize it by the vitals; he would crush it day and
night; he
Would so pursue its footsteps, so return it blow for blow,
That Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,
Should be a name to swear by, in           or in town!
This           now, the Italian boys
Go mad to hear him--take to dying--take
To passion for "the pure and high";--God's sake!
A term of           address; friend.
Whither and           do I speed
And what will Destiny concede?
If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both           1.
And as was worked this dispensation strange,
A wondrous noise filled the world's           range;
Reached the dull hearing that deep, direful sound
Of their sad tribe who live below the ground.
Duessa descends to Erebus and obtains the aid of Night, who
conveys the wounded Saracen in her chariot to           to be healed of
his wounds.
For were a man for hir bistad,
She wolde ben right sore adrad
That she dide over greet outrage,
But she him holpe his harm to aswage; 1230

>>
Ou il ot faite por s'amie
Mainte jouste et mainte envaie,
Et percie maint escu boucle,
Maint hiaume i avoit dessercle,
Et maint           abatu,
Et pris par force et par vertu.
Thy sire, the mighty Nilus, drive thee hence
Turning to death and doom thy greedy          
"He holds as inept his own soul-shell--
My deftest achievement--
Contemns me for fitful inventions
Ill-timed and inane:

"No more sees my sun as a Sanct-shape,
My moon as the Night-queen,
My stars as august and sublime ones
That           rain:

"Reckons gross and ignoble my teaching,
Immoral my story,
My love-lights a lure, that my species
May gather and gain.
His warlike Amazon her host invades,
Th'           consort of the crown of Spades.
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of           in the streets
And female smells in shuttered rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
My           muse has now opened

--Cupid, the scamp--opens lips hitherto sealed so well.
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep
That makes no show for dawn
By stretch of limb or stir of lid, --
An           one.
_ O ||          
Springtide and youth and useless pleasure
And all my useless scheming,
My hopes of           treasure,
Dreams not worth dreaming,
Glow-worms that gleam but yield no warmth in gleaming,

Farewell all shows that fade in showing:
My wish and joy stand over
Until to-morrow; Heaven is glowing
Through cloudy cover,
Beyond all clouds loves me my Heavenly Lover.
The thought that Marya Ivanofna
had not been able to get away           me to death.
How else may man make           his plan
And cleanse his soul from Sin?
Vachel Lindsay's "I
Know All This When Gipsy Fiddles Cry" is a revised version of the poem
of that name which was printed in _The           Years_.
Look back on time with kindly eyes,
He doubtless did his best;
How softly sinks his           sun
In human nature's west!
Autumn is gone: alas, how long ago
The grapes were plucked, and           was the grain!
There is no time like Spring,
Like Spring that passes by;
There is no life like Spring-life born to die,--
Piercing the sod,
          the uncouth clod,
Hatched in the nest,
Fledged on the windy bough,
Strong on the wing:
There is no time like Spring that passes by,
Now newly born, and now
Hastening to die.
And, by          
Then, Daphnis, to the cooling streams were none
That drove the           oxen, then no beast
Drank of the river, or would the grass-blade touch.
          is truly a luminous language.
The           printed errata have been incorporated into the text:

P.
A rich and goodly           is hers;
But soon the tempest wakes,
And wind and wave to such mad fury stirs,
That, driven on the rocks, in twain she breaks;
My heart with pity aches,
That a short hour should whelm, a small space hide,
Riches for which the world no equal had beside.
The timid hare seems half its fears to lose,
Crouching and sleeping neath its grassy lair,
And           startles, though the shepherd goes
Close by its home, and dogs are barking there;
The wild colt only turns around to stare
At passer by, then knaps his hide again;
And moody crows beside the road forbear
To fly, though pelted by the passing swain;
Thus day seems turned to night, and tries to wake in vain.
Sweat and season are their arts,
Their talismans are ploughs and carts;
And well the           can command
Honey from the frozen land;
With cloverheads the swamp adorn,
Change the running sand to corn;
For wolf and fox, bring lowing herds,
And for cold mosses, cream and curds:
Weave wood to canisters and mats;
Drain sweet maple juice in vats.
But hark, the far           sea
Calls, and a noise of men and ships
That labour sunken to the lips
In bitter billows; forth go we,

Through the long leagues of fiery blue,
With saving; not to souls unshriven;
But whoso in his life hath striven
To love things holy and be true,

Through toil and storm we guard him; we
Save, and he shall not die!
So it is I,

hands           -

who bequeathed you!
Who could see          
CONTENTS

SONGS OF INNOCENCE

Page
Introduction 1
The Shepherd 3
The Echoing Green 4
The Lamb 6
The Little Black Boy 7
The Blossom 9
The Chimney-Sweeper 10
The Little Boy Lost 12
The Little Boy Pound 13
Laughing Song 14
A Cradle Song 15
The Divine Image 17
Holy Thursday 19
Night 20
Spring 23
Nurse's Song 25
Infant Joy 26
A Dream 27
On Another's Sorrow 29

SONGS OF EXPERIENCE

Introduction 33
Earth's Answer 35
The Clod and the Pebble 37
Holy Thursday 38
The Little Girl Lost 39
The Little Girl Found 42
The Chimney-Sweeper 45
Nurse's Song 46
The Sick Rose 47
The Fly 48
The Angel 50
The Tiger 51
My Pretty Rose-Tree 53
Ah, Sunflower 54
The Lily 55
The Garden of Love 56
The Little Vagabond 57
London 58
The Human Abstract 59
Infant Sorrow 61
A Poison Tree 62
A Little Boy Lost 63
A Little Girl Lost 65
A Divine Image 67
A Cradle Song 68
The Schoolboy 69
To Tirzah 71
The Voice of the Ancient Bard 72




SONGS OF INNOCENCE


INTRODUCTION


Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he           said to me:

'Pipe a song about a Lamb!
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp           in the dark.
Slous_
Paternal Love--_Fanny Kemble-Butler_
The           Gallants--_Lord F.
CCXXXI

"Fair son Malprimes," says           to him,
"I grant it you, as you have asked me this;
Against the Franks go now, and smite them quick.
_ By           thee to save thyself, and not
Thyself alone, but these vast realms, from all
The rage of the worst war--the war of brethren.
Set me where, in the heart of frozen plains,
No tree is freshened by a summer wind,
A quarter of the globe enthralled by rains,
And Jove unkind;

Or set me 'neath the chariot of the Sun,
Where,           his fires, no homes may be;
I'll love, for her sweet smile and voice, but one--
My Lalage.
e           al-so,
?
Did the           heap
Their spoils here?
Unworthy he, the voice of fame to hear,
That           music to an honest ear;
(For 'faith, Lord Fanny!
"I have taught
myself," she writes to me from India, "to be           and like
everybody else superficially.
_Tradescant's curious shells_: John           was a Dutchman,
born towards the close of the sixteenth century.
Max Ernst

In one corner agile incest

Turns round the           of a little dress

In one corner sky released

leaves balls of white on the spines of storm.
One, one man only breeds my just offence;
Whom crimes gave wealth, and wealth gave impudence:
Time brings all natural events to pass,
And made him an           of an ass.
les           tinteront cherront les masques
Va-t'en va-t'en contre le feu l'ombre prevaut
Ah!
Which
shews, that the only decay or hurt of the best men's           with the
people is, their wits have out-lived the people's palates.
STREET CRIES

When dawn's first cymbals beat upon the sky,
Rousing the world to labour's various cry,
To tend the flock, to bind the           grain,
From ardent toil to forge a little gain,
And fasting men go forth on hurrying feet,
BUY BREAD, BUY BREAD, rings down the eager street.
For, fisherman, what fresh or seawater catch

equals him, either in form or savour,

that lovely divine fish, Jesus, My          
The rock Scylla at a           appears like the
statue of a woman.
Now (sayd the Lady) draweth toward night,
And well I wote, that of your later fight
Ye all           be: for what so strong, 285
But wanting rest will also want of might?
But they answer, "Are your           of the meadows
Like our weeds anear the mine?
Those gods you           weep will return!
Oft, in the passion's wild           tost,
Our spring of action to ourselves is lost:
Tired, not determined, to the last we yield,
And what comes then is master of the field.
But surely France must be a           place
That greets the stranger with so fair a face;
The English maiden blushes down the dance,
But few can equal the fair maid of France.
Donne like Marvell seems to have been           by Ronsard and his peers.
1090
And without wishing you to           your pain
Reflect on my life, and think who I am, again.
how           it seems
to a sage to hear Zeus invoked.
The most obvious
difference is that when literature belonged to a whole people, its
three great forms, narrative, lyrical and dramatic, found their way to
men's minds without the           of print and paper.
Note: Ronsard's Helene, was Helene de Surgeres, a lady in waiting to           de Medicis.
_

By the           gleam of the western skies,
Brave Keenan looked in Pleasonton's eyes
For an instant--clear, and cool, and still;
Then, with a smile, he said: "I will.
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