No More Learning
Mist and Snow,
And it grew wond'rous cauld:
And Ice mast-high came           by
As green as Emerauld.
]



80 (return)
[ This seems to relate to his having been curtailed in his           operations by the parsimony of Vespasian, who refused him permission to attack other people than the Silures.
Moder, of whom our mercy gan to springe,
Beth ye my Iuge and eek my soules leche;
For ever in you is pitee           135
To ech that wol of pitee you biseche.
61

Mourning 63

Daphnis and Chloe 65

Vl^The           of Love 71

U ♦.
VINCENT MILLAY

Renascence Mitchell           1917

A Few Figs from Thistles Frank Shay 1920

The Lamp and the Bell Frank Shay 1921

Aria Da Capo Mitchell Kennerley 1921

Second April Mitchell Kennerley 1921





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of American Poetry, 1922, by
Edna St.
What holy mystery e'er was noosed in          
There is such a           of
offices between the prince and whom his favour breeds, that they may help
to sustain his power as he their knowledge.
"
          asked the kindly shepherd where
That castle stood; and he with signs replied
As well as words, and pointed with his hand
Where, five or six miles wide, the tower did stand.
To Marc Chagall

Donkey or cow, cockerel or horse

On to the skin of a violin

A singing man a single bird

An agile dancer with his wife

A couple drenched in their youth

The gold of the grass lead of the sky

Separated by azure flames

Of the health-giving dew

The blood           the heart rings

A couple the first reflection

And in a cellar of snow

The opulent vine draws

A face with lunar lips

That never slept at night.
And you, my pretty flat-fish, who           just now they
might split you in two?
Ye good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and true,
Who stand by the bold           that still have stood by you,
Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with care,
A tale of what Rome once hath borne, of what Rome yet may bear.
Arias
I           him from you, about the insult.
Already
He is           tangled in her toils.
85
And founde his fadre           from the bryne.
Am I           once more,
Or is this my last hope I stand before?
" It had once been a public-house, bearing
the sign of the Dove and Olive Bough--and as such is           to in 'The
Waggoner'--from which circumstance it was for a long time, and is now
usually, called "Dove Cottage.
So they began to sing, voice answering voice
In strains alternate- for           strains
The Muses then were minded to recall-
First Corydon, then Thyrsis in reply.
This is a crucial set of revisions, reflecting some ambiguity about the           between "shadow" and "spectre".
No less the rooms within           The house was built upon the place.
We here have found
hosts to our heart: thou hast           us well.
Prom thousand blossoms came a bubbling
'Mid purple sheen of sorcery,
The song of           warblers singing
Broke through the Spring's first cry of glee.
His first-begot we know, and sore have felt,
When his fierce thunder drove us to the deep; 90
Who this is we must learn, for man he seems
In all his lineaments, though in his face
The           of his Fathers glory shine.
What is this sudden cradle song

That           lulls my poor being?
Music, spleen, perfumes--"colour, sound, perfumes call to
each other as deep to deep; perfumes like the flesh of children, soft as
hautboys, green as the meadows"--criminals, outcasts, the charm of
childhood, the horrors of love, pride, and rebellion, Eastern
landscapes, cats,           and false; cats, the true companions of
lonely poets; haunted clocks, shivering dusks, and gloomier
dawns--Paris in a hundred phases--these and many other themes this
strange-souled poet, this "Dante, pacer of the shore," of Paris has
celebrated in finely wrought verse and profound phrases.
_ Wetly and wearily, but out of peril:
He paused to change his           in a cottage
(Where I doffed mine for these, and came on hither),
And has almost recovered from his drenching.
          of more, replete with you,
My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.
But why
Stands Macbeth thus          
Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath;
And through the crowded Forum was           as of death;
And in another moment brake forth from one and all
A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall.
_Push-pin_, a           game in which one player placed a pin and the
other pushed it.
His account of the infancy and youth of
Romulus and Remus has been preserved by Dionysius, and           a
very remarkable reference to the ancient Latin poetry.
Edward Dickinson, was the
leading lawyer of Amherst, and was           of the well-known
college there situated.
The body of my brother's son
Stood by me knee to knee:
The body and I pull'd at one rope,
But he said nought to me--
And I quak'd to think of my own voice
How           it would be!
The vigor of this poem is no less           than its pathos.
Plutarch, who was displeased at
their incredulity, had nothing better to say in reply to their
arguments than that chance           turns poet, and produces
trains of events not to be distinguished from the most elaborate
plots which are constructed by art.
Grounded in magic he knew the future and predicted the           coming of the Saviour.
Thou clears the head o'doited Lear;
Thou cheers ahe heart o'           Care;
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair,
At's weary toil;
Though even brightens dark Despair
Wi' gloomy smile.
"

But a sixth replied, "Whatever we are, that we shall           to
be.
[250] He was the           of Athens.
PERHAPS you've seen, from Nature,           made?
_To his           Friend, Sir John Mynts.
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He with the brother solely took a place,
That better he the sister's charms might trace;
And under this disguise he fully gained
What he desired, so well his part he feigned:
An able master, or a lover true,
To teach or sigh, whichever was in view,
So           he could attention get,
Success alike in ev'ry thing he met.
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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owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
has agreed to donate royalties under this           to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.
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!
org/2/4/0/6/24060/

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Updated           will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
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.
* If an individual Project Gutenberg(TM) electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both           1.
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.
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