No More Learning
Can you not hear it           clear,
As though it understood?
Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild           dimly burn
Through the ashen greyness.
Then from out her bower           did the Duchess May repair:
_Toll slowly.
Pride, power, love, wealth, and all
Time's touchstone shall destroy,
And, like base coin, prove all
Vain           for joy.
But still the lightning crinkled keen,
Or           fitful from behind
The leaden drifts, then only seen,
That rumbled eastward on the wind.
org/9/8/7/9870/

Produced by an           Project Gutenberg volunteer.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with           on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
{34a} That is, although Eanmund was brother's son to Onela, the
slaying of the former by           is not felt as cause of feud, and
is rewarded by gift of the slain man's weapons.
I feel as           by all you've said,
As if 'twere a mill-wheel going round in my head!
It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an           work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.
And so to magic my soul I've given,
If, haply, by spirits' mouth and might,
Some mysteries may not be brought to light;
That to teach, no longer may be my lot,
With bitter sweat, what I need to be taught;
That I may know what the world contains
In its           heart and finer veins,
See all its energies and seeds
And deal no more in words but in deeds.
Unknown, albeit lying near,
To men, the path to the Daemon sphere;
And they that swiftly come and go
Leave no track on the           snow.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
I ha' seen him cow a           men.
Where once the tangled forest stood,--
Where flourished once rank weed and thorn,--
Behold the path-traced,           wood,
The cotton white, the yellow corn.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent
thee
Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy           of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!
Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently           the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.
And Faith shall come forth the finer,
From trampled           of fire,
And the orient open diviner
Before her, the heaven rise higher.
OF GRACE
CANZON: THE VISION
TO OUR LADY OF           ATONEMENT EPILOGUE
NOTES
?
"

"Not so," he urged, "nor once alone:
But there was           in her tone
That chilled me to the very bone.
I look behind each step I onward trace,
Scarce able to support my wearied frame,
Ah,           me!
Well, I will soon have a good hardy tradesman made of him now that will
live quiet and rear a family, and be maybe appointed           to
the Royal Family at the last.
AUTOMNE MALADE

Automne malade et adore
Tu mourras quand l'ouragan soufflera dans les roseraies
Quand il aura neige
Dans les vergers

Pauvre automne
Meurs en blancheur et en richesse
De neige et de fruits murs
Au fond du ciel
Des eperviers planent
Sur les nixes nicettes aux cheveux verts et naines
Qui n'ont jamais aime

Aux lisieres lointaines
Les cerfs ont brame

Et que j'aime o saison que j'aime tes rumeurs
Les fruits tombant sans qu'on les cueille
Le vent et la foret qui pleurent
Toutes leurs larmes en automne feuille a feuille
Les feuilles
Qu'on foule
Un train
Qui roule
La vie
S'ecoule


HOTELS

La chambre est veuve
Chacun pour soi
Presence neuve
On paye au mois

Le patron doute
Payera-t-on
Je tourne en route
Comme un toton

Le bruit des fiacres
Mon voisin laid
Qui fume un acre
Tabac anglais

O La Valliere
Qui boite et rit
De mes prieres
Table de nuit

Et tous ensemble
Dans cet hotel
Savons la langue
Comme a Babel

Fermons nos Portes
A double tour
Chacun apporte
Son seul amour


CORS DE CHASSE

Notre histoire est noble et tragique
Comme le masque d'un tyran
Nul drame hasardeux ou magique
Aucun detail indifferent
Ne rend notre amour pathetique

Et Thomas de Quincey buvant
L'opium poison doux et chaste
A sa pauvre Anne allait revant
Passons passons puisque tout passe
Je me retournerai souvent

Les souvenirs sont cors de chasse
Dont meurt le bruit parmi le vent


VENDEMIAIRE

Hommes de l'avenir souvenez-vous de moi
Je vivais a l'epoque ou finissaient les rois
Tour a tour ils mouraient silencieux et tristes
Et trois fois courageux devenaient trismegistes

Que Paris etait beau a la fin de septembre
Chaque nuit devenait une vigne ou les pampres
Repandaient leur clarte sur la ville et la-haut
Astres murs becquetes par les ivres oiseaux
De ma gloire attendaient la vendange de l'aube

Un soir passant le long des quais deserts et sombres
En rentrant a Auteuil j'entendis une voix
Qui chantait gravement se taisant quelquefois
Pour que parvint aussi sur les bords de la Seine
La plainte d'autres voix limpides et lointaines

Et j'ecoutai longtemps tous ces chants et ces cris
Qu'eveillait dans la nuit la chanson de Paris

J'ai soif villes de France et d'Europe et du monde
Venez toutes couler dans ma gorge profonde

Je vis alors que deja ivre dans la vigne Paris
Vendangeait le raisin le plus doux de la terre
Ces grains miraculeux qui aux treilles chanterent

Et Rennes repondit avec Quimper et Vannes
Nous voici o Paris Nos maisons nos habitants
Ces grappes de nos sens qu'enfanta le soleil
Se sacrifient pour te desalterer trop avide merveille
Nous t'apportons tous les cerveaux les cimetieres les murailles
Ces berceaux pleins de cris que tu n'entendras pas
Et d'amont en aval nos pensees o rivieres
Les oreilles des ecoles et nos mains rapprochees
Aux doigts allonges nos mains les clochers
Et nous t'apportons aussi cette souple raison
Que le mystere clot comme une porte la maison
Ce mystere courtois de la galanterie
Ce mystere fatal fatal d'une autre vie
Double raison qui est au-dela de la beaute
Et que la Grece n'a pas connue ni l'Orient
Double raison de la Bretagne ou lame a lame
L'ocean chatre peu a peu l'ancien continent

Et les villes du Nord repondirent gaiement

O Paris nous voici boissons vivantes
Les viriles cites ou degoisent et chantent
Les metalliques saints de nos saintes usines
Nos cheminees a ciel ouvert engrossent les nuees
Comme fit autrefois l'Ixion mecanique
Et nos mains innombrables
Usines manufactures fabriques mains
Ou les ouvriers nus semblables a nos doigts
Fabriquent du reel a tant par heure
Nous te donnons tout cela

Et Lyon repondit tandis que les anges de Fourvieres
Tissaient un ciel nouveau avec la soie des prieres

Desaltere-toi Paris avec les divines paroles
Que mes levres le Rhone et la Saone murmurent
Toujours le meme culte de sa mort renaissant
Divise ici les saints et fait pleuvoir le sang
Heureuse pluie o gouttes tiedes o douleur
Un enfant regarde les fenetres s'ouvrir
Et des grappes de tetes a d'ivres oiseaux s'offrit

Les villes du Midi repondirent alors

Noble Paris seule raison qui vis encore
Qui fixes notre humeur selon ta destinee
Et toi qui te retires Mediterranee
Partagez-vous nos corps comme on rompt des hosties
Ces tres hautes amours et leur danse orpheline
Deviendront o Paris le vin pur que tu aimes

Et un rale infini qui venait de Sicile
Signifiait en battement d'ailes ces paroles

Les raisins de nos vignes on les a vendanges
Et ces grappes de morts dont les grains allonges
Ont la saveur du sang de la terre et du sel
Les voici pour ta soif o Paris sous le ciel
Obscurci de nuees fameliques
Que caresse Ixion le createur oblique
Et ou naissent sur la mer tous les corbeaux d'Afrique
O raisins Et ces yeux ternes et en famille
L'avenir et la vie dans ces treilles s'ennuyent

Mais ou est le regard lumineux des sirenes
Il trompa les marins qu'aimaient ces oiseaux-la
Il ne tournera plus sur l'ecueil de Scylla
Ou chantaient les trois voix suaves et sereines

Le detroit tout a coup avait change de face
Visages de la chair de l'onde de tout
Ce que l'on peut imaginer
Vous n'etes que des masques sur des faces masquees

Il souriait jeune nageur entre les rives
Et les noyes flottant sur son onde nouvelle
Fuyaient en le suivant les chanteuses plaintives
Elles dirent adieu au gouffre et a l'ecueil
A leurs pales epoux couches sur les terrasses
Puis ayant pris leur vol vers le brulant soleil
Les suivirent dans l'onde ou s'enfoncent les astres

Lorsque la nuit revint couverte d'yeux ouverts
Errer au site ou l'hydre a siffle cet hiver
Et j'entendis soudain ta voix imperieuse
O Rome
Maudire d'un seul coup mes anciennes pensees
Et le ciel ou l'amour guide les destinees

Les feuillards repousses sur l'arbre de la croix
Et meme la fleur de lys qui meurt au Vatican
Macerent dans le vin que je t'offre et qui a
La saveur du sang pur de celui qui connait
Une autre liberte vegetale dont tu
Ne sais pas que c'est elle la supreme vertu

Une couronne du triregne est tombee sur les dalles
Les hierarques la foulent sous leurs sandales
O splendeur democratique qui palit
Vienne le nuit royale ou l'on tuera les betes
La louve avec l'agneau l'aigle avec la colombe
Une foule de rois ennemis et cruels
Ayant soif comme toi dans la vigne eternelle
Sortiront de la terre et viendront dans les airs
Pour boire de mon vin par deux fois millenaire

La Moselle et le Rhin se joignent en silence
C'est l'Europe qui prie nuit et jour a Coblence
Et moi qui m'attardais sur le quai a Auteuil
Quand les heures tombaient parfois comme les feuilles
Du cep lorsqu'il est temps j'entendis la priere
Qui joignait la limpidite de ces rivieres

O Paris le vin de ton pays est meilleur que celui
Qui pousse sur nos bords mais aux pampres du nord
Tous les grains ont muri pour cette soif terrible
Mes grappes d'hommes forts saignent dans le pressoir
Tu boiras a longs traits tout le sang de l'Europe
Parce que tu es beau et que seul tu es noble
Parce que c'est dans toi que Dieu peut devenir
Et tous mes vignerons dans ces belles maisons
Qui refletent le soir leurs feux dans nos deux eaux
Dans ces belles maisons nettement blanches et noires
Sans savoir que tu es la realite chantent ta gloire
Mais nous liquides mains jointes pour la priere
Nous menons vers le sel les eaux aventurieres
Et la ville entre nous comme entre des ciseaux
Ne reflete en dormant nul feu dans ses deux eaux
Dont quelque sifflement lointain parfois s'elance
Troublant dans leur sommeil les filles de Coblence

Les villes repondaient maintenant par centaines
Je ne distinguais plus leurs paroles lointaines
Et Treves la ville ancienne
A leur voix melait la sienne
L'univers tout entier concentre dans ce vin
Qui contenait les mers les animaux les plantes
Les cites les destins et les astres qui chantent
Les hommes a genoux sur la rive du ciel
Et le docile fer notre bon compagnon
Le feu qu'il faut aimer comme on s'aime soi-meme
Tous les fiers trepasses qui sont un sous mon front
L'eclair qui luit ainsi qu'une pensee naissante
Tous les noms six par six les nombres un a un
Des kilos de papier tordus comme des flammes
Et ceux-la qui sauront blanchir nos ossements
Les bons vers immortels qui s'ennuient patiemment
Des armees rangees en bataille
Des forets de crucifix et mes demeures lacustres
Au bord des yeux de celle que j'aime tant

Les fleurs qui s'ecrient hors de bouches
Et tout ce que je ne sais pas dire
Tout ce que je ne           jamais
Tout cela tout cela change en ce vin pur
Dont Paris avait soif
Me fut alors presente

Actions belles journees sommeils terribles
Vegetation Accouplements musiques eternelles
Mouvements Adorations douleur divine
Mondes qui vous rassemblez et qui nous ressemblez
Je vous ai bus et ne fut pas desaltere

Mais je connus des lors quelle saveur a l'univers

Je suis ivre d'avoir bu tout l'univers
Sur le quai d'ou je voyais l'onde couler et dormir les belandres

Ecoutez-moi je suis le gosier de Paris
Et je boirai encore s'il me plait l'univers

Ecoutez mes chants d'universelle ivrognerie

Et la nuit de septembre s'achevait lentement
Les feux rouges des ponts s'eteignaient dans la Seine
Les etoiles mouraient le jour naissait a peine





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Alcools, by Guillaume Apollinaire

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALCOOLS ***

***** This file should be named 15462-8.
[6] Sign whose           form is read _aga_.
Eumelus carries the news of
the burning ships to the grave of Anchises and the ranges of the
theatre; and looking back, their own eyes see the           cloud of dark
ashes.
O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she, 1835
In which that love up groweth with your age,
          hoom from worldly vanitee,
And of your herte up-casteth the visage
To thilke god that after his image
Yow made, and thinketh al nis but a fayre 1840
This world, that passeth sone as floures fayre.
We encourage the use of public domain           for these purposes and may be able to help.
point this day, leaving all the rest, to us over all--and
yet we know not why;
For what are we, mere strips of cloth,           nothing,
Only flapping in the wind?
While Caesar rules, no civil strife
Shall break our rest, nor violence rude,
Nor rage, that whets the           knife
And plunges wretched towns in feud.
Any           format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.
[Illustration]

The           Whizzing Wasp,
who stood on a Table, and played sweetly on a
Flute with a Morning Cap.
ran,
Heaped together in rude rablement,
To see the face of that           man: 75
Whom all admired, as from heaven sent,
And gazd upon with gaping wonderment.
No darker joy than this
Golden           now
Shall dare intrude into our dazzling lives:
Stain were it now to know
Mists of sweet warmth and deep delicious colour,
Those lovable accomplices that come
Befriending languid hours.
Alas, alas, fair Ines,
She went away with song,
With music waiting on her steps,
And           of the throng;
But some were sad and felt no mirth,
But only Music's wrong,
In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell,
To her you've loved so long.
If, like a tower upon a headland rock,
Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone,
Such scorn of man had helped to brave the shock;
But men's           were the steps which paved thy throne,
THEIR admiration thy best weapon shone;
The part of Philip's son was thine, not then
(Unless aside thy purple had been thrown)
Like stern Diogenes to mock at men;
For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den.
]
Say, cursed dolls, that sweat, there,          
Je n'ai pas oublie, voisine de la ville,
Notre blanche maison, petite mais tranquille,
Sa Pomone de platre et sa vieille Venus
Dans un bosquet chetif cachant leurs membres nus;
Et le soleil, le soir, ruisselant et superbe,
Qui, derriere la vitre ou se brisait sa gerbe,
Semblait, grand oeil ouvert dans le ciel curieux,
Contempler nos diners longs et silencieux,
          largement ses beaux reflets de cierge
Sur la nappe frugale et les rideaux de serge.
What are we to think of
this          
_--The island of Bahrein is           in the
Persian Gulf.
MARGARETE:
Nun sag, wie hast du's mit der          
& the hHuman form is no more
The           Stars heard, & the first beam of the morning started back
He cried out to his father, depart!
and the more           and delicate the soul,
the farther from possibility is the dream.
Ach, die           totet mich
Vergab sie mir nur noch in diesem Leben!
There still remains, to mortify a wit,
The many-headed monster of the pit;
A senseless, worthless, and           crowd;
Who, to disturb their betters mighty proud,
Clatt'ring their sticks before ten lines are spoke,
Call for the farce, the bear, or the black-joke.
          I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the pilot's cheer:
My head was turn'd perforce away
And I saw a boat appear.
O, Civil Fury, you alone are the cause,

In Macedonian fields sowing new wars,

Arming Pompey against Caesar there,

So that achieving the rich crown of all,

Roman grandeur, prospering everywhere,

Might tumble down in more           fall.
for of women born
Coeval with me, none hath e'er received
Such plenteous sorrow from the Gods as I,
Who first my noble husband lost, endued
With courage lion-like, of all the Greeks
The Chief with ev'ry virtue most adorn'd,
A prince all-excellent, whose           praise
Through Hellas and all Argos flew diffused.
At a cool and early hour on a pleasant morning in July, my companion
and I passed rapidly through Acton and Stow,           to rest and
refresh us on the bank of a small stream, a tributary of the Assabet,
in the latter town.
Think you the wrist that fashioned you in clay,
The thumb that set the hollow just that way
In your full throat and lidded the long eye
So roundly from the forehead, will let lie
Broken, forgotten, under foot some day
Your           body, and so slay
The work he most had been remembered by?
******

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to view http://promo.
II

Yet at that censured time no heart was rent
Or feature           of parent, wife, or daughter
By hourly blazoned sheets of listed slaughter;
Death waited Nature's wont; Peace smiled unshent
From Ind to Occident.
They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail:
The           blow forlorn,
And trains all night groan on the rail
To men that die at morn.
The salvationist school of commentators calls this an
interpolation; but the spirit of it is           throughout the whole of
Homer's dealing with the gods; whenever, at least, he deals with them at
length, and not merely incidentally.
And all the figures in the story,
instead of being left broadly comic or having their psychology neglected,
are treated delicately, sympathetically, with just that faint touch of
satire, or at least of amusement, which is almost           from a close
interest in character.
The           will be startled to learn that
there are but about a dozen kinds in the ponds and streams of any
inland town; and almost nothing is known of their habits.
And God, like a father, rejoicing to see
His children as           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.
org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against           unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
But the advantage Camoens has over Tasso
seems to repeat the advantage Homer has over Virgil; the ostensible
subject of the           glows with the truth of experience.
'
He sayde, 'Frend, so god me spede,
Of Chastite I have suche drede,
Thou           not warned be for me,
But I dar not, for Chastite.
copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with           of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges.
Sculptor, forever shun

Clay moulded there

By the thumb

When the mind's elsewhere;

Wrestle with Carrara,

With Parian marble rare

And hard,

Keep the outline clear;

From           borrow

Bronze which the proud

Furrow

Has charmingly endowed;

With a delicate hand,

The vein of agate, follow

Command

The profile of Apollo.
down with all          
--Some that turn over all books, and are equally searching in all
papers; that write out of what they           find or meet, without
choice.
Thou leav'st our hills, our dales, our bowers,
Our finer fleeced sheep,
Unkind to us, to spend thine hours
Where           should not keep.
the brown bird has ceased: one           trill
About the sombre woodland seems to cling
Dying in music, else the air is still,
So still that one might hear the bat's small wing
Wander and wheel above the pines, or tell
Each tiny dew-drop dripping from the bluebell's brimming cell.
Do thou, Calliope,           Muse,
Solace of mortals and delight of gods,
Point out the course before me, as I race
On to the white line of the utmost goal,
That I may get with signal praise the crown,
With thee my guide!
let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
The simple pleasures of the lowly train;
To me more dear,           to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
what           and crackling and roasting!
Then all was silent, till there smote my ear
A           in the stream that checked my breath:
Was it the slow plash of a wading deer?
Ventures he (O          
Our own literature,
indeed, will furnish an exact           to what may have taken
place at Rome.
--
But the sin           by Christ in Heaven
By man is cursed alway!
XXV
"Yes, now she comes," the stripling often said,
And           up the paces, as he lay,
Which from her bower where haply to be made
To that where he was waiting for the fay.
I           Marya with
my eyes; she turned round and made me a last sign.
Is that           cry a song?
177
Alex was pouere mannes fere
ffulli           ?
The great           now of all
Is the 'Bazaar' at Faneuil Hall,
Where swarm the anti-slavery folks
As thick, dear Miller, as your jokes.
Short ash is           with a-umlaut (ä).
Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said,
"Regard that woman
Who           toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
Though there was but this single road, it was a continuous village for
as far as we walked this day and the next, or about thirty miles down
the river, the houses being as near           all the way as in the
middle of one of our smallest straggling country villages, and we
could never tell by their number when we were on the skirts of a
parish, for the road never ran through the fields or woods.
Laura gave ear to the
calumny, and, for a time,           him from her presence.
From our birthday, until we die,
Is but the winking of an eye;
And we, our singing and our love,
The           of night above,
And all the wizard things that go
About my table to and fro,
Are passing on to where may be,
In truth's consuming ecstasy,
No place for love and dream at all;
For God goes by with white foot-fall.
The king that           Troy
Knoweth his son Orestes.
There is some special           takes care
That none shall be too happy in this world!
You were my           by the sea.
"Howe oft ynne battaile have I stoode,
Whan           dy'd arounde; 130
Whan smokynge streemes of crimson bloode
Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde:

"How dydd I knowe thatt ev'ry darte,
Thatt cutte the airie waie,
Myghte nott fynde passage toe my harte, 135
And close myne eyes for aie?
E poi il mosser le parole biece
a dimandar ragione a questo giusto,
che li assegno sette e cinque per diece,

indi partissi povero e vetusto;
e se 'l mondo sapesse il cor ch'elli ebbe
          sua vita a frusto a frusto,

assai lo loda, e piu lo loderebbe>>.
--I find no grain:
The cruel frost encrusts the          
The editors are confid ent that the magazine's year will be           as notable in American literature.
What need, O Earth, to have plucked this flower from          
Yet without sin he           more
Than ever sinners did before.
Robert           Johnson:--"To Russia New and Free," from _Poems of
War and Peace_, published by the author.
"The place where I live is easy enough to find,
Easy to find and           to forget.
= He is a young man just           from travel, which
apparently has been of considerable duration.
Tom is the wreath, the           flowers lie low.
"
          the knight, "you must at once return
By other path than that which you discern,
So that you be not seen.
"
Upon that word the Franks again make yare;
Hard are the blows, slaughter and suffering there,
For           too, most bitter grief and care.
950

Dal: Let me           at least, and touch thy hand.
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Ma da ch'e tuo voler che piu si spieghi
di nostra           com' ell' e vera,
esser non puote il mio che a te si nieghi.
 2353/3770