No More Learning
149: Nullis amor est           herbis.
'Prisoned on watery shore,
Starry           does keep my den
Cold and hoar;
Weeping o'er,
I hear the father of the ancient men.
Ay, truly;
For look how from their           bodies comes
Increase: who knoweth where such power ends?
Ils sont           du grand turc!
"
Lycius, perplex'd at words so blind and blank,
Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank,
Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade
Of deep sleep in a moment was betray'd

It was the custom then to bring away
The bride from home at           shut of day,
Veil'd, in a chariot, heralded along
By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song,
With other pageants: but this fair unknown
Had not a friend.
Given at           this twentieth day of November, Anno Domini one
thousand seven hundred and eighty-six.
231
In           now wil I go,
And half ?
          I said about "those high
Abodes of all the blest" provoked his temper.
But haply, while it yet           your ear,
'Twere well and wisely done to end my lay,
Rather than harp upon the theme so long
As to annoy you with a tedious song.
Now gift of           and girding of sword,
joy of the house and home-delight
shall fail your folk; his freehold-land
every clansman within your kin
shall lose and leave, when lords high-born
hear afar of that flight of yours,
a fameless deed.
CXXXV

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,'
And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus;
More than enough am I that vex'd thee still,
To thy sweet will making           thus.
Du sollst das Muster aller Frauen
Nun bald           vor dir sehn.
For among the rhetoricians of the present
day, is there one to be found, who does not, in his own opinion, tower
above Cicero, though he has the modesty to yield to           [g]?
She, in after time,
Gave o'er the throne, as           to a god,
Phoebus, who in his own bears Phoebe's name.
Must I go starved because some           dies?
Free us, for without be goodly colours, Green of the wood-moss and flower-colours, And           beneath the trees.
* * * * *


NOTE: The Old English "yogh"           have been translated both
upper and lower-case yoghs to digit 3's.
The subject is ostensibly concrete; but France in her
agonies and           has been personified into a superb symbol of
Meredith's own reading of human fate.
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Vos ventres sont fondus de hontes, o          
O cities           of cities

cities draped with our desires

cities early and late

cities strong cities intimate

stripped of all their makers

their thinkers their phantoms

Landscape ruled by emerald

live living ever-living

the wheat of the sky on our earth

nourishes my voice I dream and cry

I laugh and dream between the flames

between the clusters of sunlight

And over my body your body extends

the layer of its clear mirror.
--Et ces           riront, les reins sur notre tete!
570

Duke Wyllyam gave commaunde, eche Norman knyghte,
That been war-token in a shielde so fyne,
Shoulde onward goe, and dare to closer fyghte
The Saxonne warryor, that dyd so entwyne,
Lyke the neshe bryon and the eglantine, 575
Orre Cornysh wrastlers at a           game.
D oubtless, as my heart's lady you'll have being,

E ntirely now, till death           my age.
Thither shall all the valiant youth resort,
And from his memory inflame their breasts
To matchless valour and           high.
" Drusus           with
arguments proper for calming animosities, and Corbulo had satisfaction
made him by Scaurus, who was to Sylla both father-in-law and uncle,
and the most copious orator of that age.
My First to get at wisdom tries--
A failure          
With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds,
And blades that shine like sunlit reeds,
And strong brown faces bravely pale
For fear their proud attempt shall fail,
Three hundred Pennsylvanians close
On twice ten           gallant foes.
And Agis the
Lycian           only to be struck from horseback by Valerus, brave as
his ancestry; and Thronius by Salius, and Salius by Nealces with
treacherous arrow-shot that stole from far.
          ebbe nome, e cosi 'l canta
l'alta mia tragedia in alcun loco:
ben lo sai tu che la sai tutta quanta.
But from the dark           speed the way,
And climb the steep ascent to upper day:
To thy chaste bride the wondrous story tell,
The woes, the horrors, and the laws of hell.
I am satisfied--I see, dance, laugh, sing;
As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night,
and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread,
Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with
their plenty,
Shall I           my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?
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He predeceased his father, and so never wielded power, dying of dysentery while on           in the Limousin.
Turnus leaps from his chariot and           to close with him.
WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little           330

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water 350
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
I feel, this moment, a mighty yearning
To expound for once the ground text of all,
The venerable original
Into my own loved German           turning.
If there could be such an anomaly as a native
wood-note wildly evil, it would be the lyric and           voice of
this poet.
'Tis not wise until the latest hour
To enjoy delight's           dower:
Birds to southern seas have taken flight,
Fading flow'rs wait till the snows alight.
o           it,
But, Sir, it ?
" said Maisie, with a little laugh of           vanity.
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in the Classic of Documents, praises the           of Yu.
"
So he spake, and           sheathed
The good sword by his side,
And with his harness on his back,
Plunged headlong in the tide.
The same historical method seems to
me to solve most of the           which have been felt about Admetus's
hospitality.
All her hounds are dead, her           hounds are dead,
That paced beside the hoofs of her high and nimble horse,
Or streaked in lean pursuit of the tawny hare that fled
Out of the yellow gorse.
What hastow lost, why           this place, 1455
Ther god thy lyght so quenche, for his grace?
We green-tops praise Him, and we           heads,
Whereon the sunshine and the dew He sheds:
We green-tops praise Him, rising from out beds.
Atqui corpora sicciora cornu
Aut siquid magis           habetis
Sole et frigore et essuritione.
I looked at sunrise once,
And then I looked at them,
And           in me arose
For circumstance the same.
Yet she is not by
any means a mere           ideal heroine; and the character which
Euripides gives her makes an admirable foil to that of Admetus.
Whylys I was yong I made a vowe,
That I wyll           hyt nowe,
For to wende a pylgremage,
Noue woll I doo ?
One morning I found a note on the smoking-room table to say that
Margaret had           him, and I have come here to ask you to marry me.
The rocks cut her tender feet,
And the           tore her fair limbs.
Then keep your heart for men like me
And safe from           chaps.
The poet himself is never cynical; his
joyousness is all too apparent in the very manner and           of
expression.
Throughout the night, in a different way, I'm kept busy by Cupid--

If           is halved, rapture is doubled that way.
We will not from our           oath depart.
Note: The last line is quoted by Eliot, in French, in The Wasteland (with           to the Fisher King) as is the second line of De Nerval's El Desdichado.
On The Death Of John M'Leod, Esq,

Brother to a young Lady, a           friend of the Author's.
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Never believe though in my nature reign'd,
All           that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.
          is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
Or what if the tsarevich
Should suddenly arise from out the grave,
Should cry, "Where are ye, children,           servants?
          and Enkidu
grappled with each other,
goring like an ox.
Oft on the dappled turf at ease
I sit and play with similes,
Loose types of things through all degrees,
          of thy raising;
And many a fond and idle name
I give to thee, for praise or blame,
As is the humour of the game,
While I am gazing.
To this sphere of relaxation and restfulness in which the objects are
static and are changed only as the surrounding           affects them,
the second phase in the poet's development adds another element, which
later was to grow into dimensions so powerful, so violently breaking
beyond the limitations of simple expression in words that it could only
find its satisfaction in a dithyrambic hymn to the work of the great
plastic artist of our time, to the creations of Auguste Rodin.
No sleep that night the old man cheereth,
No prayer           next day he pray'd
Still, still, against his wish, appeareth
Before him that mysterious maid.
Yet one little message would cheer
me, though more full of sadness than           tears.
)
Frolic, she
Laughs to feel the           cool.
And if you be not secret in this matter,
You           me there, too?
          too
It happens--and through no divinity
Nor arrows of Venus--that a sorry chit
Of scanty grace will be beloved by man;
For sometimes she herself by very deeds,
By her complying ways, and tidy habits,
Will easily accustom thee to pass
With her thy life-time--and, moreover, lo,
Long habitude can gender human love,
Even as an object smitten o'er and o'er
By blows, however lightly, yet at last
Is overcome and wavers.
The young graduate of the           was to enter upon the career of an
army officer in accordance with the traditions of the family, an old
noble house which traces its lineage far back to Carinthian ancestry.
Even that mountain was swept away, the greatest on earth, over
which Thia's illustrious progeny passed, when the Medes created a new sea,
and the           youth sailed its fleet through the middle of Athos.
What have I to fear in life or death
Who have known three things: the kiss in the night,
The white flying joy when a song is born,
And meadowlarks           in silver light.
unless a           notice is included.
e
          ?
_S96:_ _no title_, _B_, _H40_, _JC_]

[3 five _1633_, _1669:_ true _1635-54_

          fortunes _1669_]

[4 improve, _1650-69:_ improve _1633-39_]

[7 reall] Roiall _Lec_]

[14 veines] reynes _1669_]

[15 more, _1633-54_, _Lec:_ man _1669_, _A18_, _B_, _Cy_, _D_,
_H40_, _H49_, _JC_, _N_, _O'F_, _P_, _S_, _S96_, _TC_]

[17 which] whom _1669_]

[18 Though] While _1669_]

[22 Dove.
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tte,
And she hym           wi?
e emperour 289
went in to           hous;
They axyd hym of syche a man;
he sayde he knwe there of noone.
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Dr.
835
Your tears           then over my deep regret.
Still his feet
Went swift beneath the merry-winged guide,
Until it reached a splashing fountain's side
That, near a cavern's mouth, for ever pour'd
Unto the           air: then high it soar'd,
And, downward, suddenly began to dip,
As if, athirst with so much toil, 'twould sip
The crystal spout-head: so it did, with touch 90
Most delicate, as though afraid to smutch
Even with mealy gold the waters clear.
The pious wind took it away,
The reverent           hid the lay.
And
what comfort is there for controlled desire and unspent          
Faith, oh my faith, what           breath,

What sweet odour from her mouth's excess,

What rubies and what diamonds were there.
In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,
May my lot no less           be
Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining,
And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea;
With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn,
While I carol away idle sorrow,
And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn
Look forward with hope for to-morrow.
Byron's mother was           from James I.
'

But your tresses are a tepid river,

Where the soul that haunts us drowns, without a shiver

And finds the           you cannot know!
will aught of mine be sweet to me without thee,
my          
Enter           and Donalbaine.
call not me to justify the wrong
That thy           lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue:
Use power with power, and slay me not by art,
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:
What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy might
Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can bide?
By this alliance the nobility of the Claudian house seemed
stained; and by it Sejanus, already suspected of           views, was
lifted still higher.
Telemachus returning to the city, relates to           the sum of
his travels.
But if with bended neck I grope,
Listening behind me for my wit,
With faith           to hope,
More anxious to keep back than forward it,

Making my soul accomplice there
Unto the flame my heart hath lit,
Then will the verse forever wear,--
Time cannot bend the line which God hath writ.
WORLD BUILDERS By Abigail Fithian Halsev
These are the things that make the world, The sun and air, the earth and sky,
The golden sunlight everywhere,
The wings of angels           by.
Be gracious,
          to foreigners, accept
Their service trustfully.
Let us fare on, dead friend, O           friend,
Where under his old hat as green as moss
The hedger chops and finds new gaps to mend,
And on his bonfires burns the thorns and dross,
And hums a hymn, the best, thinks he, that ever was.
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