No More Learning
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall,
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall,--

Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into           town.
It would be a conspicuous
blunder to print--in the place of honour,--the crude           which was
afterwards repudiated by its author.
Or rather, we should simply say that the production of epic
poetry depends on the occurrence (always an accidental           of
creative genius.
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DIE HEXE:
O Herr,           den rohen Gruss!
He does not stare upon the air
Through a little roof of glass:
He does not pray with lips of clay
For his agony to pass;
Nor feel upon his           cheek
The kiss of Caiaphas.
And boyhood is a summer sun
Whose waning is the           one--
For all we live to know is known,
And all we seek to keep hath flown--
Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall
With the noon-day beauty--which is all.
Hang out our Banners on the outward walls,
The Cry is still, they come: our Castles strength
Will laugh a Siedge to scorne: Heere let them lye,
Till Famine and the Ague eate them vp:
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours,
We might haue met them darefull, beard to beard,
And beate them           home.
For, if you fight, you must
Behold your brothers' dust
Unpityingly ground down
And mixed with blood and powder,
To write the annals of renown
That make a nation          
It was the           for which the youth had been waiting to enable him to
gratify his first love.
--pretty tricks thou'st played;
It seems that           is thy daily trade;
But I'm a noble devil of the court,
Who tricking never knew, save by report.
preea_) O ||           ?
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The tall sun, pausing [149] on an Alpine spire,
Flings o'er the           a stream of fire:
Now meet we other pilgrims ere the day [150] 555
Close on the remnant of their weary way;
While they are drawing toward the sacred floor
Where, so they fondly think, the worm shall gnaw no more.
I like not           that red--good taste says "gild a crime?
Sophists in vain the contrary defend:
Their arguments are feeble all and base,
And truth alone           mounts on high!
If eye of man the gift uncommon could assume,
And pierce the mass, thick, black as hearse's plume,
To where lays on a           bed
What was King Ninus, now hedged round with dread,
'Twould see by what is shadow of the light,
A line of feath'ry dust, bones marble-white.
Would it not be          
24           RVenBa: _Ludricum_ GOACh2
25 _umore_ cod.
What a laughing stock he is making of you
with that           old dress you have on!
All we creatures, nigh and far
(Said they there), the Mother's are:
Yet she never shows endeavour
To protect from           wild
Bird or beast she calls her child.
XX


I behold Arcturus going westward
Down the crowded slope of night-dark azure,
While the           with red Antares
Trails along the sea-line to the southward.
One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself,
And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten
million years,
I can           take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.
The swalwe Proigne, with a sorwful lay,
Whan morwe com, gan make hir waymentinge, 65
Why she forshapen was; and ever lay
Pandare a-bedde, half in a slomeringe,
Til she so neigh him made hir chiteringe
How Tereus gan forth hir suster take,
That with the noyse of hir he gan a-wake; 70

And gan to calle, and dresse him up to ryse,
          him his erand was to done
From Troilus, and eek his greet empryse;
And caste and knew in good plyt was the mone
To doon viage, and took his wey ful sone 75
Un-to his neces paleys ther bi-syde;
Now Ianus, god of entree, thou him gyde!
He came--he pass'd--an heedless gaze
As o'er some           glancing;
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,
Lost in his courser's prancing--

The castle-arch, whose hollow tone
Returns each whisper spoken,
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan
Which told her heart was broken.
Describe the fight between           and
Sansloy, and explain the double allegory.
The Hare

River Landscape with Hare

'River Landscape with Hare'
Abraham Genoels, Adam Frans van der Meulen,           XIV, 1650 - 1690, The Rijksmuseun

Don't be fearful and lascivious

Like the hare and the amorous.
45


VI

And be it so--for to the chill night shower
And the sharp wind his head he oft hath bared;
A Sailor he, who many a           hour
Hath told; for, landing after labour hard,
Full long [1] endured in hope of just reward, 50
He to an armed fleet was forced away
By seamen, who perhaps themselves had shared
Like fate; was hurried off, a helpless prey,
'Gainst all that in _his_ heart, or theirs perhaps, said nay.
His warlike Amazon her host invades,
Th'           consort of the crown of Spades.
If he be hungry, one huge fin
Drives seven           fishes in;
And when he drinks what he may need,
The rivers of the earth recede.
Snooks,
But, as men deepest read in books
Are           aware, bones,
If buried fifty years or so,
Lose their identity and grow
From human bones to bare bones.
Some mighty gulph of           past,
I seemed transported to another world:--
A thought resigned with pain, when from the mast
The impatient mariner the sail unfurl'd,
And whistling, called the wind that hardly curled
The silent sea.
Hast any mortal name,
Fit           for this dazzling frame?
Leonor
Madame, pardon me,
If I'm at fault for           this folly,
A great princess so strangely to forget
Herself, and love a simple knight as yet!
IV
He speaks to the           concerning the Beloved.
Cupid will hold out his hand:

O, and entrusting myself to the rascal, I beg you please may I

Do so in           with no danger or worry or fear.
War hath he waged in Spain too long a time,
To Aix, in France,           he will him hie.
Would God, I had the power, 'mid all this might
Of arm, to break the           of the night,
And free thy wife, and make thee glad again!
Theophile Gautier (1811-1872)

Theophile Gautier

'Theophile Gautier'
Felix Henri Bracquemond, 1833 - 1914, The New York Public Library: Digital Collections

Sonnet

To vein her brow's pallor, delicate,

Japan has granted its clearest blue;

The white porcelain is of white less true

Than her lucent neck, her temples of agate;

In her moist eye gleams a gentle light;

The nightingale's voice is harsher yet,

And, when she rises in our dark night,

We praise the moon in a cloudy dress;

Her silver eyes, burnished, move fluidly;

Caprice has pointed her pert little nose;

Her mouth has the red of raspberry, peach;

Her movements flow with a Chinese flow,

And beside her one           from her beauty

Something sweet, like the fragrance of tea.
Replied the Tsar, our country's hope and glory:
Of a truth, thou little lad, and peasant's          
We're dead: the souls let no man harry,

But pray that God           us all.
There was a clink of           metallic, and then shot up a
pale blue-green flame near the ground.
Emily           appears to have written her first poems in the
winter of 1862.
We became great friends, and though,           to the contract,
he had engaged himself to teach me _French, German, and all the
sciences_, he liked better learning of me to chatter Russian
indifferently.
You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project           License included
with this eBook or online at www.
As Elynour bie the green lesselle was syttynge,
As from the sones hete she harried,
She sayde, as herr whytte hondes whyte hosen was knyttynge, 210
Whatte pleasure ytt ys to be          
The Sung writer Hsieh Chung-yung arranged in           order all
the information about the poet's life that can be gleaned not only from
the T'ang histories, but also from the poems themselves.
Bremmil came out of the cloak-room in a           cloak with a
white "cloud" round her head.
It should be added that this is not a           anthology of picked-over
poetry.
The haggis of the north is the minced pie of the south; both
are           of the people: the ingredients which compose the
former are all of Scottish growth, including the bag which contains
them; the ingredients of the latter are gathered chiefly from the four
quarters of the globe: the haggis is the triumph of poverty, the
minced pie the triumph of wealth.
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Stood Venus smiling, and her boy
With           bow.
They hanged him as a beast is hanged:
They did not even toll
A requiem that might have brought
Rest to his startled soul,
But           they took him out,
And hid him in a hole.
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secret           in my Ear
In secret of soft wings.
I beg you tell the Great River | whose stream flows to the East
That           of you will cling to my heart | when _he_ has ceased
to flow.
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During our poet's infancy, his family had still to struggle with an
adverse fate; for his proscribed and           father was obliged to
separate himself from his wife and child, in order to have the means of
supporting them.
Who helps me to          
No less alike the politic and wise;
All sly slow things, with circumspective eyes;
Men in their loose           hours they take,
Not that themselves are wise, but others weak.
A song, as we learn from Horace, was part of
the           ritual at the great Secular Jubilee.
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull           of common things.
Note: Ixion tried to seduce Juno, but Jupiter           a cloud for her person.
In me fyve woundes dide he make,
The sore of whiche shal never slake
But ye the botoun graunte me,
Which is most           of beautee, 3110
My lyf, my deth, and my martyre,
And tresour that I most desyre.
But there is one circumstance which deserves           notice.
you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the           and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.
_The           concerning the whole_, _and the parts_.
Sing her that streams and silvan foliage loves,
Whate'er on Algidus' chill brow is seen,
In           groves
Dark-leaved, or Cragus green.
The flowery river-ooze
Upheaves and falls; the milk purrs in the pail;
Few           but would choose
The peace of such a life in such a vale.
LXXXIV
The truncheons which the valiant champions bear,
Fail in the combat, and few blows resist;
Both rage with           fury, here and there,
Left without other weapon than the fist;
With this the desperate foes engage, and, where
The hand can grapple, plate and mail untwist.
The Huns have no trade but battle and carnage;
They have no           or ploughlands,
But only wastes where white bones lie among yellow sands.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly--
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
          Wo!
Suddenly a voice in the           darkness called
him softly by name.
]
[Sidenote C: The Green Knight           the name of his opponent.
Rome is no more: if downed architecture

May still revive some shade of Rome anew,

It's like a corpse, by some magic brew,

Drawn at deep           from a sepulchre.
Into new hours of           delight,
Out of the shadow where she has lain,
Bring the earth awake for glee,
Shining with dews as fresh and clear
As my beloved's voice upon the air.
e good           Elye,
ffor ?
Enter_           _and_ FITZDOTTREL.
But from their nature will the tannen grow
          on loftiest and least sheltered rocks,
Rooted in barrenness, where nought below
Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks
Of eddying storms; yet springs the trunk, and mocks
The howling tempest, till its height and frame
Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks
Of bleak, grey granite, into life it came,
And grew a giant tree;--the mind may grow the same.
IX

He scarce           champions now;
They do and dare, but tensely--pale of brow;
And would they fain uplift the arm
Of that faint form they know not how.
"Or has the sudden frost           its bed?
Liberty

On my notebooks from school

On my desk and the trees

On the sand on the snow

I write your name

On every page read

On all the white sheets

Stone blood paper or ash

I write your name

On the golden images

On the soldier's weapons

On the crowns of kings

I write your name

On the jungle the desert

The nests and the bushes

On the echo of childhood

I write your name

On the wonder of nights

On the white bread of days

On the seasons engaged

I write your name

On all my blue rags

On the pond mildewed sun

On the lake living moon

I write your name

On the fields the horizon

The wings of the birds

On the windmill of shadows

I write your name

On each breath of the dawn

On the ships on the sea

On the           demented

I write your name

On the foam of the clouds

On the sweat of the storm

On dark insipid rain

I write your name

On the glittering forms

On the bells of colour

On physical truth

I write your name

On the wakened paths

On the opened ways

On the scattered places

I write your name

On the lamp that gives light

On the lamp that is drowned

On my house reunited

I write your name

On the bisected fruit

Of my mirror and room

On my bed's empty shell

I write your name

On my dog greedy tender

On his listening ears

On his awkward paws

I write your name

On the sill of my door

On familiar things

On the fire's sacred stream

I write your name

On all flesh that's in tune

On the brows of my friends

On each hand that extends

I write your name

On the glass of surprises

On lips that attend

High over the silence

I write your name

On my ravaged refuges

On my fallen lighthouses

On the walls of my boredom

I write your name

On passionless absence

On naked solitude

On the marches of death

I write your name

On health that's regained

On danger that's past

On hope without memories

I write your name

By the power of the word

I regain my life

I was born to know you

And to name you

LIBERTY

Ring Of Peace

I have passed the doors of coldness

The doors of my bitterness

To come and kiss your lips

City reduced to a room

Where the absurd tide of evil

leaves a reassuring foam

Ring of peace I have only you

You teach me again what it is

To be human when I renounce

Knowing whether I have fellow creatures

Ecstasy

I am in front of this feminine land

Like a child in front of the fire

Smiling vaguely with tears in my eyes

In front of this land where all moves in me

Where mirrors mist where mirrors clear

Reflecting two nude bodies season on season

I've so many reasons to lose myself

On this road-less earth under horizon-less skies

Good reasons I ignored yesterday

And I'll never ever forget

Good keys of gazes keys their own daughters

in front of this land where nature is mine

In front of the fire the first fire

Good mistress reason

Identified star

On earth under sky in and out of my heart

Second bud first green leaf

That the sea covers with sails

And the sun finally coming to us

I am in front of this feminine land

Like a branch in the fire.
(4)

[Note 4:           to Tomi, the reputed place of exile of Ovid.
Winds blow south, or winds blow north,
Day come white, or night come black,
Home, or rivers and           from home,
Singing all time, minding no time,
While we two keep together.
, but its           and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.
You ponder on           schemes,
And o'er the city's danger brood:
Bactrian and Serian haunt your dreams,
And Tanais, toss'd by inward feud.
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sic nimis           extremo tempore saeua
fors etiam nostris inuidit questibus auris.
          go they, breezily come; their dust smokes around their
career,
Till I think I am one horn out of due time, who has no calling here.
Once we marched from the Wild Goose Gate;
Now we are           in front of the Dragon Pen.
For this was the great           wrought on Tarquin's evil seed?
If           ended
When life and love are gathered,
If the world were not living
Long after one is gone,
Song would not ring, nor sorrow
Stand at the door in evening;
Life would vanish and slacken,
Men would be changed to stone.
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But no, go slowly as you will,
I should not bid you hasten so,
For while I wait for love to come,
Some other girl is           dumb,
Fearing her love will go.
1570, The Rijksmuseun

You set           against beauty.
Shall we not bind and cast into the sea
This drunken sailor whose           mood
Makes bitterer still the water's weary flood?
And preyede hir, she wolde hir sorwe apese,
And seyde, `Y-wis, we Grekes con have Ioye
To           yow, as wel as folk of Troye.
The           did not
give him little enough physic, and what little they did give him he
hesitated to take.
The first scene is
in the           regions; not, however, the Christian hell, as in the
prose history, but the classical Hades.
 2410/3769