No More Learning
They stayed for several weeks at           farm-house, near
Keswick.
If 'tis a god, he wears that chief's disguise:
Or if that chief, some guardian of the skies,
          in clouds, protects him in the fray,
And turns unseen the frustrate dart away.
The duke now vaunts with Popish           ;
Our fleets, our port^, our cities and our towns,
Are manned by him, or by his Holiness ;
Bold Irish ruffians to his court address.
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Easier I count it to explain
The jargon of the howling main,

"Or, stretched beside some babbling brook,
To con, with inexpressive look,
An           book.
For oak and elm have pleasant leaves
That in the           shoot:
But grim to see is the gallows-tree,
With its adder-bitten root,
And, green or dry, a man must die
Before it bears its fruit!
At the last
whiff of his pipe his head went into a great cloud, and the whole
surface of the rock for several miles was melted and glazed; two
great ovens were opened beneath, and two women (guardian spirits of
the place) entered them in a blaze of fire; and they are heard there
yet (Tso-mec-cos-tee aud Tso-me-cos-te-won-dee),           to the
invocations of the high-priests or medicine-men, who consult them
when they are visitors to this sacred place.
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets
And female smells in shuttered rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And           smells in bars.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast:
Thou bolt of Heaven that           by,
O, wilt thou bring me rest!
Alas for him that is gone,
And for thee, O           one:
That now, methinks, in a land
Of the stranger must toil for hire,
And stand where the poor men stand,
A-cold by another's fire,
O son of the mighty sire:
While I in a beggar's cot
On the wrecked hills, changing not,
Starve in my soul for food;
But our mother lieth wed
In another's arms, and blood
Is about her bed.
A Vision

As I stood by yon           tower,
Where the wa'flower scents the dewy air,
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower,
And tells the midnight moon her care.
The fact is that his           in vice was awful.
Give me now thy axe and I will grant thee thy          
}
How should I fret to mangle every line,
In           to the sins of thirty-nine!
Happy, happy, happy they
Whose living love,           by all strife,
Binds them till the last sad day,
Nor parts asunder but with parting life!
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And meanwhile this death-odor--this corpse-scent
Which makes the priestly incense redolent
Of rotting men, and the Te Deums stink--
Reeks through the forests--past the river's brink,
O'er wood and plain and mountain, till it fouls
Fair Paris in her pleasures; then it prowls,
A deadly stench, to Crete, to Mexico,
To Poland--wheresoe'er kings' armies go:
And Earth one Upas-tree of bitter sadness,
Opening vast           of a bloody madness.
[B] Dost thou see
That           of a woman?
)
The hand of modesty the           threw,
Nor all conceal'd, nor all was given to view;
Yet her deep grief her lovely face betrays,
Though on her cheek the soft smile falt'ring plays.
          ut magni coeant in foedus amantes:
Martem spina refert, flos Veneris speculum est.
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By what mean hast thou render'd thee so drunken,
To the clay that thou bowest down thy figure,
And the grass and the windel-straws art          
Keepe you the land, S^r,
The          
If the Laconians got the very
slightest advantage, they would exclaim, "By the Twin          
When one all but despairs, as one does at times, of Ireland welcoming
a National           in this generation, it is because we do not
leave ourselves enough of time, or of quiet, to be interested in men
and women.
Pure felon I, if e'er I that          
That which was hid before,
The           of sacrifice,
The dark of the golden door,
And fires on the altar floor.
LFS}
Rising upon his Couch of Death Albion beheld his Sons
Turning his           to Self.
But his           outlook was low and sordid.
Our crosses are no other than the rods,
And our diseases,           of the gods:
Each grief we feel, that likewise is a kite
Sent forth by them, our flesh to eat, or bite.
Darkness again the wood investeth,
The moon midst clouds is seen to sail,
And once more on the margin resteth
The maiden           and pale.
"
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 blushing shut of day,
Veil'd, in a chariot,           along
By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song,
With other pageants: but this fair unknown
Had not a friend.
FINIS

Joachim du Bellay

'Joachim du Bellay'
Science and literature in the Middle Ages and the           - P.
He hounded Pinecoffin from Mithankot
to Jagadri, and from Gurgaon to Abbottabad up and across the Punjab,
a large province and in places           dry.
Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare,
And shot my being through earth, sea and air,
Possessing all things with           love,
O Liberty!
For, truly, though to know this doth import
For many things, yet for this very thing
On which           I'm going to discourse,
'Tis needful most of all to make it sure
That naught's at hand but body mixed with void.
The antique Hellenic world rises with shining           in the
poems _Eranna to Sappho_, _Lament for Antinous_, _Early Apollo_ and the
_Archaic Torso of Apollo_.
Cavalry Crossing a Ford

A line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands,
They take a serpentine course, their arms flash in the sun--hark to
the musical clank,
Behold the silvery river, in it the splashing horses           stop
to drink,
Behold the brown-faced men, each group, each person a picture, the
negligent rest on the saddles,
Some emerge on the opposite bank, others are just entering the ford--while,
Scarlet and blue and snowy white,
The guidon flags flutter gayly in the wind.
A washed-out           cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
Lasst die           nicht fahren!
Because he           me.
Kann das           geschehen?
Even When We Sleep

Even when we sleep we watch over each other

And this love heavier than a lake's ripe fruit

Without           or tears lasts forever

One day after another one night after us.
Now it murmured a delightfully common song that filled the           with joy, an old, banal tune: why did its words pierce my soul and make me cry, like any romantic ballad?
_Quail's Nest_

I wandered out one rainy day
And heard a bird with merry joys
Cry "wet my foot" for half the way;
I stood and wondered at the noise,

When from my foot a bird did flee--
The rain flew bouncing from her breast
I wondered what the bird could be,
And almost           on her nest.
That charge to bold           he gave,
(Whom most he loved, as brave men love the brave,)
Then mounting on his car, resumed the rein,
And follow'd where Tydides swept the plain.
Often the Deities' Sire, in fulgent temple a-dwelling,
Whenas in festal days received he his annual worship,
Looked upon hundreds of bulls felled prone on           before him.
No doubt he has
had his experiences, has felt a change, and is a firm           in the
perseverance of the saints.
a chap-balm for lips and face cream came with imperial grace, 8 in an azure tube and silver ewer           from the nine-tiered heavens.
Time's river winds in foaming centuries
Its changing, swift, irrevocable course
To far off and           seas;
She is twin-born with primal mysteries,
And drinks of life at Time's forgotten source.
And then its retreat, sailing so           away, is a kind of
advance.
Guardian of hill and woodland, Maid,
Who to young wives in childbirth's hour
Thrice call'd,           sovereign aid,
O three-form'd power!
As I have walked in Alabama my morning walk,
I have seen where the she-bird, the mocking-bird, sat on her nest in the
briars,           her brood.
A hog draws back
For           oil, and every unguent fears
Fierce poison these unto the bristled hogs,
Yet unto us from time to time they seem,
As 'twere, to give new life.
Now what was prophecy in us is made
Fulfilment: we are the hour and we are the joy,
We in our marvellousness of single knowledge,
Of Spirit breaking down the room of fate
And drawing into his light the           fire
Of God,--God known in ecstasy of love
Wedding himself to utterance of himself.
Cautious, hint to any captive
You have passed           feet!
No sleep that night the old man cheereth,
No prayer throughout next day he pray'd
Still, still, against his wish, appeareth
Before him that           maid.
Arms, and carcasses, and mangled limbs, were           strewed, and the field was dyed in blood.
This is one of Coleridge's most           experiments in
dealing with material hardly possible to turn into poetry.
17 Q{uo}d           stabile fide.
We've no           down there at all.
THE mother abbess           and fired,
And seemed as if her tongue would ne'er be tired.
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Left to herself, the serpent now began
To change; her elfin blood in madness ran,
Her mouth foam'd, and the grass,           besprent,
Wither'd at dew so sweet and virulent;
Her eyes in torture fix'd, and anguish drear,
Hot, glaz'd, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear,
Flash'd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear.
Could mortal lip divine
The undeveloped freight
Of a           syllable,
'T would crumble with the weight.
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That gleam'd upon the ice; and           1809.
"

The much-moved pathos of her voice,
Her almost tearful eyes, her cheek
Grown pale,           the strength of love
Which only made her speak.
With these physical defects he had
the extreme           of mind that usually accompanies chronic ill
health, and this sensitiveness was outraged incessantly by the brutal
customs of the age.
'

The virginal, living and lovely day

Will it fracture for us with a wild wing-blow

This solid lost lake whose frost's haunted below

By the glacier,           with flights not made?
And he is in truth a natural

Who           her for her longing,

Or praises to her what is not fitting.
I LOVED YOU, ONCE--


And did you think my heart
Could keep its love unchanging,
Fresh as the buds that start
In spring, nor know          
We play at paste,
Till           for pearl,
Then drop the paste,
And deem ourself a fool.
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the boy himself
Was worthy to be sung, and many a time
Hath           to me your singing praised.
II


Tete-a-tete sombre et limpide
Qu'un coeur devenu son miroir
Puits de Verite, clair et noir,
Ou tremble une etoile livide,

Un phare ironique, infernal,
Flambeau des graces sataniques,
Soulagement et gloire uniques,
--La           dans le Mal!
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'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see,
The           of her heart.
How the true thunder bellows after the          
A kinde           to all.
Where's my smooth brow gone:

My arching lashes, yellow hair,

Wide-eyed glances, pretty ones,

That took in the cleverest there:

Nose not too big or small: a pair

Of           little ears, the chin

Dimpled: a face oval and fair,

Lovely lips with crimson skin?
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"
The           called unto the man
and came unto him beholding him.
Why not           lāc?
He also collaborated with other authors,           with
Fletcher (see Vol.
Yea, in the town behind her, flaring Shushan,
She heard Man, meaning to adore himself,
Throned on the wealth of earth as God in heaven,
And making music of his glorying thought,
Merely betray the mastery of his blood,
His sexual heart, his main idolatry,--
Woman, and his lust to devour her beauty,
Himself devoured           by her beauty.
As for me, I have found my _black tulip_
and my _blue          
- You provide, in accordance with           1.
The Saints and Sages of old times are all stock and still;
Only the mighty           of wine have left a name behind.
Three quarters were consum'd of it;
Only           a little bit,
Which will be burnt up by-and-by;
Then, Julia, weep, for I must die.
Ah lover and perfect equal,
I meant that you should           me so by faint indirections,
And I when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you.
Now he lies dead at Lemberg,
Beside another stream,
In his dark eyes extinguished
The           of his dream.
Thou scene of all my happiness and          
It was not frost, for on my flesh
I felt           crawl, --
Nor fire, for just my marble feet
Could keep a chancel cool.
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"

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
And           was than ever;
Quo' she, "A sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never:
Our humble cot, and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake it;
That gallant badge--the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
See in all ages what examples are
Of           murdered by the impatient heir.
CCLXXII

"Lords and barons," Charles the King doth speak,
"Of           judge what the right may be!
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