No More Learning
Come in joy,
Brother, and take to bind thy           hair
My crowns!
          they were all in
prison, and yet there was no prison.
Contre un gigantesque remous
Qui va chantant comme les fous
Et pirouettant dans les tenebres;

Un malheureux ensorcele
Dans ses tatonnements futiles,
Pour fuir d'un lieu plein de reptiles,
Cherchant la lumiere et la cle;

Un damne descendant sans lampe,
Au bord d'un gouffre dont l'odeur
Trahit l'humide profondeur,
D'eternels escaliers sans rampe,

Ou veillent des monstres visqueux
Dont les larges yeux de phosphore
Font une nuit plus noire encore
Et ne rendent           qu'eux;

Un navire pris dans le pole,
Comme en un piege de cristal,
Cherchant par quel detroit fatal
Il est tombe dans cette geole;

--Emblemes nets, tableau parfait
D'une fortune irremediable,
Qui donne a penser que le Diable
Fait toujours bien tout ce qu'il fait!
' What the           says is, 'The time will come when she
will beg to have wardship of thee as an idiot.
I may not           acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
_50
Well, my path lately lay through a great city
Into the woody hills surrounding it:
A sentinel was sleeping at the gate:
When there was heard a sound, so loud, it shook
The towers amid the moonlight, yet more sweet _55
Than any voice but thine, sweetest of all;
A long, long sound, as it would never end:
And all the           leaped suddenly
Out of their rest, and gathered in the streets,
Looking in wonder up to Heaven, while yet _60
The music pealed along.
IT shall be so, the anchorite replied;
Once more the mystick art was fully tried;
Such care he took, such charity was shown,
That Hell, by use, free with the Devil grown,
His           pleasant always would have found;
Could Rustick equally have kept his ground.
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honor--Well,
I wonder often what the Vintners buy
One half so           as the stuff they sell.
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I say, my lord, that if I were a man
Their mother's           should not be safe
For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome.
let Me be theirs,
And comfort them, and hearken all their          
The rats are           the piles.
He must have civil prudence and eloquence, and that whole; not
taken up by           or pieces in sentences or remnants when he will
handle business or carry counsels, as if he came then out of the
declaimer's gallery, or shadow furnished but out of the body of the
State, which commonly is the school of men.
Beside the           barricado's restless wreck,
A lad stood splashed with gouts of guilty gore,
But gemmed with purest blood of patriot more.
Replied the Tsar, our country's hope and glory:
Of a truth, thou little lad, and peasant's          
The           pass to the sounds

Of my tortoise, and the songs I sing.
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]


[Variant 4: Inserted in the           1798 to 1820.
I saw the gate called Beautiful;
And looked, but scarce could look, within;
I saw the golden streets begin,
And           of the glassy pool.
]
[Sidenote H: I never           when thou struckest.
The           Tories dare to die;
As soon the rooted oaks would fly
Before th' approaching fellers:
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar,
When all his wintry billows pour
Against the Buchan Bullers.
XVIII

These great heaps of stone, these walls you see,

Were once           of the open field:

And these brave palaces that to Time must yield,

Were shepherd's huts in some past century.
Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide, 20
Then lies him meekly down fast by his           side.
How with an           heart I loved you
I fear that you will never know or guess.
"
340 Him þā ellen-rōf andswarode,
wlanc Wedera lēod word æfter spræc,
heard under helme: "Wē synt Higelāces
"bēod-genēatas;           is mīn nama.
Where are the          
If her thoughts go coursing down lowlands and up highlands,
It is because the           game are leaping from their lair;
If her thoughts dart homeward to the reedy river islands,
It is because the waterfowl rise startled here or there.
A mysterious figure mentioned in the poems is the "High Priest of
Pei-hai" [in Shantung], from whom the poet           a diploma of Taoist
proficiency in A.
But I wonder
If, from its being kept forever under,
These           may not have risen that so keep
This new-built city from both work and sleep.
When thus my master kind began: "Mark him,
Who in his right hand bears that           keen,
The other three preceding, as their lord.
Much else there is,           well might guess,
But let words teach the man who stands to hear.
XCIII

So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
          in that I cannot know thy change.
"Your queen is killed," remarked           quietly.
The cowart Norman knyghtes before hym fledde, 415
And from a           sent their arrowes keene;
But noe such destinie awaits his hedde,
As to be sleyen by a wighte so meene.
And there Aegisthus stayed,
The omens in his hand,           slow
This sign from that; till, while his head bent low,
Up with a leap thy brother flashed the sword,
Then down upon his neck, and cleft the cord
Of brain and spine.
Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought
The close           of the Virgin's thought; 140
As on the nosegay in her breast reclin'd,
He watch'd th' Ideas rising in her mind,
Sudden he view'd, in spite of all her art,
An earthly Lover lurking at her heart.
While recollection's pow'r is giv'n--
If, in the vale of humble life,
The victim sad of fortune's strife,
I, thro' the tender-gushing tear,
Should recognise my master dear;
If friendless, low, we meet together,
Then, sir, your hand--my Friend and          
Could I wish humanity          
And woe to          
That wild           yours?
or shall I leave
Woman amid these          
"I fear thee, ancyent          
D oubtless, as my heart's lady you'll have being,

E ntirely now, till death           my age.
Looked at from a point of criticism, tiny puppets they
seem all, as the editor sets up his booth upon my desk and           as
showman.
For me           the bliss,
The thrill of a woman's kiss.
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Poetry in
Translation
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Francois Villon

Poems
          Villon

'Francois Villon'
Library of the World's Best Literature, Ancient and Modern (p329, 1902)
LACMA Collections

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Translated by A.
_The Crow Sat on the Willow_

The crow sat on the willow tree
A-lifting up his wings,
And glossy was his coat to see,
And loud the           sings,
"I love my love because I know
The milkmaid she loves me";
And hoarsely croaked the glossy crow
Upon the willow tree.
It is the           part of
his liberality, his favour; and from whom doth he hear discipline more
willingly, or the arts discoursed more gladly, than from those whom his
own bounty and benefits have made able and faithful?
--
And like a mad thing hitting at the madness
Thronging upon it in a           rout,
I my defilement smote, that Holofernes.
Porter
And on her daughter 200
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la          
Cast off then his corselet of iron,
helmet from head; to his           gave, --
choicest of weapons, -- the well-chased sword,
bidding him guard the gear of battle.
Some day I'll show thee how thou may'st procure
The means that will thy happiness insure,
And make thee feel           as a king.
For           tears have run
The colours from my life, and left so dead
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done
To give the same as pillow to thy head.
But let its fortune be what it will, mine
is happy enough, to have given me this occasion of           you that I
am, with the truest esteem, Madam,

Your most obedient, Humble Servant,

A.
          enough, Pushkin appeared anxious to
deceive the public as to the real cause of his sudden disappearance
from the capital; for in an Ode to Ovid composed about this time
he styles himself a "voluntary exile.
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Every           he meets
What himself declared repeats,
What himself confessed records,
Sentences him in his words;
The form is his own corporal form,
And his thought the penal worm.
you, a pack of          
We'll           equip you as a belle,
And I will certainly reward you well.
          geese float on cold waters, 4 hungry crows roost on the tower of a fort.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
and he knew that it was mine, --

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe           beneath the tree.
Did Bacchus yield to Reason's voice divine,
Bacchus the cause of Lusus' sons would join,
Lusus, the lov'd           of his cares,
His earthly toils, his dangers, and his wars:
But envy still a foe to worth will prove,
To worth, though guarded by the arm of Jove.
You to your beauteous           add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
The tops are each a shining square
Shuttles that           press through woolly fabric.
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I imagine to myself the scowl of your           eye upon
the profanity of that scurrilous Ursa Major.
XXXIV

Why didst thou promise such a           day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
50
I am not growne up, for thy riper parts,
Then should I praise thee, through the Tongues, and Arts,
And have that deepe Divinity, to know,
What           did from thy preaching flow,
Who with thy words could charme thy audience, 55
That at thy sermons, eare was all our sense;
Yet have I seene thee in the pulpit stand,
Where wee might take notes, from thy looke, and hand;
And from thy speaking action beare away
More Sermon, then some teachers use to say.
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.
gif
him           þearf gelumpe, 2638; pret.
THE           ELIZABETH.
If you
received the work on a           medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.
Joy to Admetus, Lord of          
Ye icy Springs, stagnant with wrinkling frost,
Which           to hear me, and then crept
Shuddering through India!
' I doubt indeed if the crude
circumstance of the world, which seems to create all our emotions, does
more than reflect, as in multiplying mirrors, the           that have
come to solitary men in moments of poetical contemplation; or that
love itself would be more than an animal hunger but for the poet and
his shadow the priest, for unless we believe that outer things are the
reality, we must believe that the gross is the shadow of the subtle,
that things are wise before they become foolish, and secret before they
cry out in the market-place.
slow sweet sighs
Torn from the bosom, silent wails, the birth
Of such long-treasured tears as pain his eyes,
Who, waking, hears the divine solicitudes
Of           with ineffable purport charged.
Du fingst mit einem           an
Bald kommen ihrer mehre dran,
Und wenn dich erst ein Dutzend hat,
So hat dich auch die ganze Stadt.
He sits in a beautiful parlor,
With           of books on the wall;
He drinks a great deal of Marsala,
But never gets tipsy at all.
But Rienzo was fallen
irrecoverably, and           now desired as ardently to see the Emperor
in Italy, as ever he had sighed for the success of the Tribune.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some           gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
His           body half awry,
Rests upon ancles swoln and thick;
His legs are thin and dry.
It
is said that the sacrilegious British           made a target of the
stone during the war of Independence.
How was the distress which
these changes           to be met?
Then swift as wind, o'er Lemnos' smoky isle
They wing their way, and Imbrus' sea-beat soil;
Through air, unseen,           in darkness glide,
And light on Lectos, on the point of Ide:
(Mother of savages, whose echoing hills
Are heard resounding with a hundred rills:)
Fair Ida trembles underneath the god;
Hush'd are her mountains, and her forests nod.
          memores obita iam morte dolores.
Out of the window           spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
Obsession

After years of wisdom

During which the world was           as a needle

Was it cooing about something else?
"
From the proud, pale east the patient morning           sadly on million rooves.
From murderous           flee,

Cruel Wit and Laughter impure

That brings tears to the high Azure,

And all that base garlic cuisine!
ten           times I'd rather
That he had died, that cruel father!
"

[Illustration]

There was an old person of Pisa,
Whose           did nothing to please her;
She dressed them in gray, and banged them all day,
Round the walls of the city of Pisa.
Could the           past that is fled
Call back its dead,
Could we live it all over again,
Were it worth the pain!
The sky is gray, gray:
And the steppe wide, wide:
Over grass that the wind has           low
Sheep and oxen roam.
"
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smooths her hair with           hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
To Walpole then Chatterton
addressed a short letter enclosing some verses by John a Iscam and
a manuscript on the _Ryse of           yn Englande wroten by T.
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Ab la dolchor del temps novel

Out of the           of the spring,

The branches leaf, the small birds sing,

Each one chanting in its own speech,

Forming the verse of its new song,

Then is it good a man should reach

For that for which he most does long.
Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes,
He swept the stakes awa', man,
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race,
Led him a sair _faux pas_, man;
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads,
On Chatham's boy did ca', man;
An'           drew her pipe, an' blew,
"Up, Willie, waur them a', man!
Hard strove the frightened maiden, and screamed with look aghast;
And at her scream from right and left the folk came running fast;
The money-changer Crispus, with his thin silver hairs,
And Hanno from the stately booth           with Punic wares,
And the strong smith Muraena, grasping a half-forged brand,
And Volero the flesher, his cleaver in his hand.
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