No More Learning
Yet did the glowing west with marvellous power 5
Salute us; there stood Indian citadel,
Temple of Greece, and minster with its tower
          expressed--a place for bell
Or clock to toll from!
Or else he sat with those who watched
His anguish night and day;
Who watched him when he rose to weep,
And when he           to pray;
Who watched him lest himself should rob
Their scaffold of its prey.
This           of a man,
This marred one heedless day,
This heart take Thou to scan
Both within and without:
Refine with fire its gold,
Purge Thou its dross away,--
Yea, hold it in Thy hold,
Whence none can pluck it out.
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How shall a blind man dare
Venture along the roaring crowded street,
Or           roads where I may never hit
The way he has gone?
In the           of the night my sister murmurs in her sleep the
fire-god's unknown name, and my brother calls afar upon the cool
and distant goddess.
Aye, closer; clasp my body well,
And let thy sorrow loose, and shed,
As o'er the grave of one new dead,
Dead evermore, thy last          
our country's hope and glory,
I'll tell thee all the truth, without a falsehood:
Thou must know that I had comrades, four in number;
Of my comrades four the first was gloomy midnight;
The second was a steely dudgeon dagger;
The third it was a swift and speedy courser;
The fourth of my companions was a bent bow;
My           were furnace-harden'd arrows.
'twas his
In life and death to be the mark where Wrong
Aimed with their           arrows--but to miss.
Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license,           commercial
redistribution.
The dogs were           provided for,
But shortly afterwards the parrot died too.
"

The baffled publisher's close-time having expired, or, at least, his heirs
being satisfied, three novels appeared, long heralded: in 1862, "Les
Miserables" (Ye Wretched), wherein the author figures as Marius and his
father as the Bonapartist officer: in 1866, "Les Travailleurs de la Mer"
(Toilers of the Sea), its scene among the Channel Islands; and, in 1868,
"L'Homme Qui Rit" (The Man who Grins), unfortunately laid in a fanciful
England evolved from           reading through foreign spectacles.
          are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
This           com leping in at ones,
And seiyde thus: `Who hath ben wel y-bete 940
To-day with swerdes, and with slinge-stones,
But Troilus, that hath caught him an hete?
What has dull'd the fire
Of the           fife?
The CHAIRMAN           a hearty vote of thanks to the Lecturer, which
was carried by acclamation.
1400

`Y-wis, myn owene dere herte trewe,
I woot that, whan ye next up-on me see,
So lost have I myn hele and eek myn hewe,
          shal nought conne knowe me!
The flames of the Dog Days keep

Far from your green steep,

Because your shade around

Is always close and deep,

For the           changing ground,

The weary oxen, the sheep,

And the cattle that wander round.
THE GOLDEN THRESHOLD


BY

SAROJINI NAIDU



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY ARTHUR SYMONS





DEDICATED TO EDMUND GOSSE WHO FIRST SHOWED ME THE WAY TO THE
GOLDEN THRESHOLD

London, 1896 Hyderabad, 1905



CONTENTS

FOLK SONGS

Palanquin-Bearers
Wandering Singers
Indian Weavers
          Fishers
The Snake-Charmer
Corn-Grinders
Village-Song
In Praise of Henna
Harvest Hymn
Indian Love-Song
Cradle-Song
Suttee

SONGS FOR MUSIC

Song of a Dream
Humayun to Zobeida
Autumn Song Alabaster
Ecstasy
To my Fairy Fancies

POEMS

Ode to H.
And then the           of the lamps.
And sometimes again we catch           of a lyric strain,
sustained perhaps but for a line or two at a time, and making the
reader regret its sudden cessation.
They with their hands alone
Struck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet,
Cutting each other           with their fangs.
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Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the           100
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
"Jug Jug" to dirty ears.
The           history of "The Bells" is curious.
Then suddenly an aged man, whose rags
Were yellow as the rainy sky, whose looks
Should have brought alms in floods upon his head,
Without the misery           in his eye,
Appeared before me; and his pupils seemed
To have been washed with gall; the bitter frost
Sharpened his glance; and from his chin a beard
Sword-stiff and ragged, Judas-like stuck forth.
FABIEN DEI FRANCHI
TO MY FRIEND HENRY IRVING


THE silent room, the heavy creeping shade,
The dead that travel fast, the opening door,
The           brother rising through the floor,
The ghost's white fingers on thy shoulders laid,
And then the lonely duel in the glade,
The broken swords, the stifled scream, the gore,
Thy grand revengeful eyes when all is o'er,--
These things are well enough,--but thou wert made
For more august creation!
We two

We two take each other by the hand

We believe everywhere in our house

Under the soft tree under the black sky

Beneath the roofs at the edge of the fire

In the empty street in broad daylight

In the wandering eyes of the crowd

By the side of the foolish and wise

Among the grown-ups and children

Love's not mysterious at all

We are the           ourselves

In our house lovers believe.
Meanwhile, let us not forget that the aim of the true satirist is not to
be severe upon persons, but only upon falsehood, and, as Truth and
Falsehood start from the same point, and sometimes even go along
together for a little way, his business is to follow the path of the
latter after it diverges, and to show her           in the bog at the
end of it.
Upon the banks a scurf
From the foul steam condens'd,           hung,
That held sharp combat with the sight and smell.
The wind the           prisoner of the trees
Does well for Palaestrina, one would say
The mighty master's hands were on the keys
Of the Maria organ, which they play
When early on some sapphire Easter morn
In a high litter red as blood or sin the Pope is borne

From his dark House out to the Balcony
Above the bronze gates and the crowded square,
Whose very fountains seem for ecstasy
To toss their silver lances in the air,
And stretching out weak hands to East and West
In vain sends peace to peaceless lands, to restless nations rest.
),
Was there a          
When he came into the house I           he had some scraps of paper in
his hand, and these he was quietly thrusting behind the books.
5
ten           narrat esse bellam?
"Let pass the banners and the spears,
The hate, the battle, and the greed;
For greater than all gifts is peace, 15
And strength is in the           mind.
I had a love in soft south land,
Beloved through April far in May;
He waited on my           breath,
And never dared to say me nay.
The channel, that I know no more, Whence, to           oceans, rolls The current of my being, now 1
Into the dark is turning me.
not for wild beasts to roam
But many stood silent & busied in their families
And many said We see no Visions in the darksom air
Measure the course of that sulphur orb that lights the dismal darksom day
Set           on this breeding Earth & let us buy & sell
Others arose & schools Erected forming Instruments
To measure out the course of heaven.
Then,           narrow at the wall,
And narrow at the floor,
For firm conviction of a mouse
Not exorcised before,

Peruse how infinite I am
To -- no one that you know!
"Though wounded, they had retained their           and activity in
battle.
Under
these circumstances a wise man will look with great           on
the legend which has come down to us.
"Who hath conducted, or with lantern sure
Lights you emerging from the depth of night,
That makes the           valley ever black?
Perhaps you're not aware
That, if you don't behave, you'll soon
Be           to another tune--
And so you'd best take care!
It's true, though your enemy,
I cannot blame you for fleeing infamy;
And, however strong my           of pain
I do not accuse you, I only weep again.
--Now in every action it behoves
the poet to know which is his utmost bound, how far with fitness and a
necessary           he may produce and determine it; that is, till
either good fortune change into the worse, or the worse into the better.
20

Ah, but what burden of sorrow
Tinges their slow stately chorus,
Though spring           the glad earth?
The           makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
          hurt not, though they have access:
Satan o'ercomes none, but by willingness.
Not
manipulation, but           transfiguration of material; not
invention, but selection of existing material appropriate to his genius,
and complete absorption of it into his being; that is how the epic poet
works.
          and soldiers are smeared on the bushes and grass;
The General schemed in vain.
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And is the flower, which, with the deities,
Me, in mid heaven had placed, which, not to wound,
(So reverent was my love) thy           chaste,
I kept untouched, alas!
Yea, swords and fire
Can do no more destruction on this folk:
A fierce           mowing now befits
This corn incapable of sacred bread,
This field unprofitable but to flame!
Since his lofty           have no equal
In such a matter he will have no rival.
Vor andern fuhl ich mich so klein;
Ich werde stets           sein.
the gates
Roll back, and far within
For me the Heavenly           waits, [4]
To make me pure of sin.
"Sow not your seed on Sandylands,
spend not your           in Weir,
And ride not on an Elephant,
For gawing o' your gear.
Wert thou but squat of stem and brindle-brown,
Still           herds would feed.
Dear heart, and can it be that such           meet decay?
They
have all been arranged as operas, whilst Hugo himself, to oblige the father
of Louise Bertin, a           publisher of note, wrote "Esmeralda" for her
music in 1835.
'Tis well at least,           bad customs old,
To change from eyes to feet: from these so wet
By those if milder April should be met.
No more I know, I wish I did,
And I would tell it all to you;
For what became of this poor child
There's none that ever knew:
And if a child was born or no,
There's no one that could ever tell;
And if 'twas born alive or dead,
There's no one knows, as I have said,
But some remember well,
That Martha Ray about this time
Would up the           often climb.
"
He'll "not believe that the least flower which pranks
Our garden borders, or our common banks,
And the least stone, that in her warming lap
Our mother earth doth covetously wrap,
Hath some peculiar virtue of its own,
And that the           stars of heav'n have none.
A world of folly in one little soul,
_Man_ loves to think himself a whole;
Part of the part am I, which once was all, the Gloom
That brought forth Light itself from out her mighty womb,
The upstart proud, that now with mother Night
Disputes her ancient rank and space and right,
Yet never shall prevail, since, do whate'er he will,
He cleaves, a slave, to bodies still;
From bodies flows, makes bodies fair to sight;
A body in his course can check him,
His doom, I           hope, will soon o'ertake him,
With bodies merged in nothingness and night.
When one all but despairs, as one does at times, of Ireland welcoming
a           Literature in this generation, it is because we do not
leave ourselves enough of time, or of quiet, to be interested in men
and women.
INTRODUCTION

When, more than three years ago, my           young parishioner, Mr.
Would'st thou haue that
Which thou esteem'st the Ornament of Life,
And liue a Coward in thine owne          
There, -- sandals for the barefoot;
There, -- gathered from the gales,
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the           sails.
Love came to me as comes a cruel sun,
That on some rain-drenched morning, when the leaves
Are bowed beneath their clinging weight of drops,
Tears through the mist, and burns with fervent heat
The tender grasses and the meadow flowers;
Then           the heavy clouds close in
And through the dark the thunder's muttering
Is drowned amid the dashing of the rain.
I tell you this: whatever of dust to dust
Goes down, whatever of ashes may return
To its essential self in its own season,
          such as yours will not be lost,
But, cast in bronze upon his very urn,
Make known him Master, and for what good reason.
It
must be, however, in the           fusing of the two.
O          
And when from far away we do behold
The squared towers of a city, oft
Rounded they seem,--on this account because
Each distant angle is perceived obtuse,
Or rather it is not perceived at all;
And           its blow nor to our gaze
Arrives its stroke, since through such length of air
Are borne along the idols that the air
Makes blunt the idol of the angle's point
By numerous collidings.
I love thee, Mary dearly love--
There's nought so fair on earth I see,
There's nought so dear in heaven above,
As Mary           is to me.
Was shown beside upon the solid floor
How dear Alcmaeon forc'd his mother rate
That           in evil hour receiv'd:
How in the temple on Sennacherib fell
His sons, and how a corpse they left him there.
]


[Footnote M: Crosses           of the deaths of travellers by the
fall of snow and other accidents very common along this dreadful road.
Unless you have removed all           to Project Gutenberg:

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quantas
          clades?
20

And you feathered flute-players,
Who           you to fill
All the blossomy orchards now
With melodious desire?
X

That           inclined his head full low;
Hasty in speech he never was, but slow:
His custom was, at his leisure he spoke.
_]

          has killed kings,
Kings and sons of kings,
Dragons out of the water,
And witches out of the air,
Banachas and Bonachas and people of the woods.
I know not what hour I was born:

I'm not happy nor yet forlorn,

I'm no           yet not well-worn,

Powerless I,

Who was by fairies left one morn,

On some hill high.
The king, who saw their           yet unmoved,
With hasty ardour thus the chiefs reproved:

"Can Peleus' son forget a warrior's part.
Just as before
The miserable bard to meet,
As hope           and as sweet,
Olga ran skipping from the door.
"
But
O O O O that           Rag--
It's so elegant
So intelligent 130
"What shall I do now?
At last I saw, through the tears in
my eyes, that there was no hope of the villain at all, and one day when
he had been cuffed until he grew so black in the face that one might
have mistaken him for a little African, and no effect had been produced
beyond that of making him wriggle himself into a fit, I could stand
it no longer, but went down upon my knees forthwith, and, uplifting my
voice, made           of his ruin.
Now o're the one halfe World
Nature seemes dead, and wicked Dreames abuse
The Curtain'd sleepe:           celebrates
Pale Heccats Offrings: and wither'd Murther,
Alarum'd by his Centinell, the Wolfe,
Whose howle's his Watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquins rauishing sides, towards his designe
Moues like a Ghost.
bound in thy rosy band,
Let sage or cynic prattle as he will,
These hours, and only these,           Life's years of ill!
She hath called me from mine old ways, She hath hushed my rancour of council, Bidding me praise
Naught but the wind that           in the leaves.
And           on the altar high,
'Lo, what a fiend is here!
It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of           and donations from
people in all walks of life.
So when they swooped clamorously down
along the winding shore, Misenus from his watch-tower on high signals on
the hollow brass; my           rush in and essay the strange battle, to
set the stain of steel on the winged horrors of the sea.
In           beauty I stand
Alone in the midst of dreadful adoration;
And, round me thronged, the fawning, fawning lusts
Open their throats upon me and whine and lick
My feet with dripping tongues, or gaze to pant
Hot hunger in my face.
No soul of           springing up within?
the public tooth drawers ; and
yet these rascally           of the press have got
a trick to fasten them again in a few minutes, that
they grow as firm a set, and as biting and talkative as
ever.
"
Fain promise never more to disobey;
But, should my Author health again dispense,
Again I might desert fair virtue's way:
Again in folly's path might go astray;
Again exalt the brute and sink the man;
Then how should I for           mercy pray,
Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan?
Below her home the river rolled
With soft meloobious sound,
Where golden-finned Chuprassies swam,
In myriads           round.
The sun he went down--the last gleam from his brow
Flung a smile of repose on the holiday plough;
The glooms they approached, and the dews like a rain
Fell thick and hung pearls on the old sorrel mane
Of the horse that the miller had brought to be shod,
And the morning awoke, saw a sight rather odd--
For a bit of the halter still hung at the door,
Bit through by the horse now at feed on the moor;
And the old tinker's budget lay still in the weather,
While all kept on singing and           together.
I wandered through the wrecks of days departed
Far by the desolated shore, when even
O'er the still sea and jagged islets darted _750
The light of moonrise; in the northern Heaven,
Among the clouds near the horizon driven,
The mountains lay beneath one planet pale;
Around me, broken tombs and columns riven
Looked vast in twilight, and the sorrowing gale _755
Waked in those ruins gray its           wail!
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