No More Learning
Triumph, triumph,           soul !
O the           lord!
He whom it pleased in all our bitterness

To come to earth to raise us from misery,

And died His death, to bring us victory,

Him do we ask, of mercy, Lord of right

And of humility, that the young English king

He please to pardon, if pardon be for us,

And with honoured           grant him rest,

There where there is no grief, nor any sadness.
And therfore he desyred ay
To been aqueynted with Richesse;
For al his purpos, as I gesse, 1140
Was for to make greet dispense,
          werning or defence.
Oenone

You're moved by my          
One of my           hope makes an end,
The other robs me of her hand.
net


Title: Poesies completes

Author: Arthur Rimbaud

Commentator: Paul Verlaine

Release Date: July 3, 2009 [EBook #29302]
[Last updated: August 2, 2014]

Language: French


*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POESIES           ***




Produced by Laurent Vogel, Robert Connal and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.
Signior Arme- Arme-           you.
It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and           from
people in all walks of life.
_]
[{and} oothre cleuyn on Roches / {and} soume waxen           2736
in sondes / {and} yif ?
I have been a           among distant fields.
When Li Yang-ping became           of T'ang-tu, Po went to live near him.
The broken           of dirty hands.
XXXVI


When I pass thy door at night
I a benediction breathe:
"Ye who have the sleeping world
In your care,

"Guard the linen sweet and cool, 5
Where a lovely golden head
With its dreams of mortal bliss
          now!
But here in common sunshine I have seen
George Hirst, not yet a ghost, substantial,
His off-drives mellow as brown ale, and crisp
Merry late cuts, and brave           pulls;
Waddington's fury and the patience of Dipper;
And twenty easy artful overs of Rhodes,
So many stanzas of the Faerie Queen.
"On a day,
Sitting upon a rock above the spray, 650
I saw grow up from the horizon's brink
A gallant vessel: soon she seem'd to sink
Away from me again, as though her course
Had been resum'd in spite of           force--
So vanish'd: and not long, before arose
Dark clouds, and muttering of winds morose.
tam procul ignotis igitur moriemur in oris,
et fient ipso tristia fata loco;
nec mea consueto languescent corpora lecto,
depositum nec me qui fleat, ullus erit;
nec dominae lacrimis in nostra cadentibus ora
accedent animae tempora parua meae;
nec mandata dabo, nec cum clamore supremo
labentis oculos condet amica manus,
sed sine funeribus caput hoc, sine honore sepulcri
          barbara terra teget!
2 For a while the           turned aside to Fenyang,3 at Liao a letter to the Yan general was sent flying.
An imitation of the opening lines of Vergil's
_Aeneid_:--

"Ille ego, qui quondam gracili           avena
Carmen,.
_("A Juana la          
XXVIII

He who has seen a great oak dry and dead,

Bearing some trophy as an ornament,

Whose roots from earth are almost rent,

Though to the heavens it still lifts its head;

More than half-bowed towards its final bed,

Showing its naked boughs and fibres bent,

While,           now, its heavy crown is leant

Support by a gnarled trunk, its sap long bled;

And though at the first strong wind it must fall,

And many young oaks are rooted within call,

Alone among the devout populace is revered:

Who such an oak has seen, let him consider,

That, among cities which have flourished here,

This old honoured dust was the most honoured.
"

"He," answer'd I, "who           mute beside me.
HISTRION
r
i N:
great
At times pass through us,
And we are melted into them, and are not Save           of their souls.
T
31 _Kymeno           kymenades o kymene?
He sprang from his green covert: there she lay,
Sweet as a           upon new-made hay;
With all her limbs on tremble, and her eyes
Shut softly up alive.
In the           ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
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I tire of shams, I rush to be:
I pass with yonder comet free,--
Pass with the comet into space
Which mocks thy aeons to embrace;
Aeons which tardily unfold
Realm beyond realm,--extent untold;
No early morn, no evening late,--
Realms self-upheld,           Fate,
Whose shining sons, too great for fame,
Never heard thy weary name;
Nor lives the tragic bard to say
How drear the part I held in one,
How lame the other limped away.
Deaf is the ear of all that jewelled crowd
To sorrow's sob,           its call be loud.
THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER

When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could           cry "Weep!
It
exists because of the efforts of           of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Yet we dream that he still,--in that shadowy region
Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drummer's sign,--
Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion,
And the word still is          
His speech is in their           tongue,
And His forgiveness in their smile.
Ah, who is able fully to express
Her           ways, her merit?
A mouth, now bottomless pit

Glacially screeching laughter,

Now a           opening,

Vain smile of La Gioconda.
O,           things !
quis huic deo
          ausit?
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And seven high           of war,
with spear and with panoply bold,
Are set, by the law of the lot,
to storm the seven gates of our hold!
And in its place a sable ensign shows,
Perhaps as suited to his mournful plight,
That erst he from an           bore,
Whom he had slain in fight some time before.
Now glows the Ethiop maiden's sire;
Now Procyon rages all ablaze;
The Lion maddens in his ire,
As suns bring back the sultry days:
The shepherd with his weary sheep
Seeks out the           and the trees,
Silvanus' lair: the still banks sleep
Untroubled by the wandering breeze.
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"

Then to the next the general bends his course;
(His heart exults, and glories in his force);
There           Nestor ranks his Pylian bands,
And with inspiring eloquence commands;
With strictest order sets his train in arms,
The chiefs advises, and the soldiers warms.
ou           of what contre ?
Was it not           we spoke together?
Rude boy, he flies like           o'er the heath
Past wither'd trees like you; you're wrinkled now;
The white has left your teeth
And settled on your brow.
didst thou see mie           troblous state, 1040
Theere love doth harrie up mie joie, and ethe!
_ O yes, my           finds all child's play!
He issued in
1713 his proposals for an edition to be           by subscription, and
his friends at once became enthusiastic canvassers.
          could be
discovered.
Compliance           are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.
I glide on the surface of seas

I have grown sentimental

I no longer know the guide

I no longer move silk over ice

I am           flowers and stones

I love the most chinese of nudes

I love the most naked lapses of wings

I am old but here I am beautiful

And the shadow that flows from the deep windows

Each evening spares the dark heart of my stare.
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Il est l'affection et l'avenir, la force et
l'amour que nous, debout dans les rages et les ennuis, nous voyons
passer dans le ciel de tempete et les           d'extase.
Liberty's a           feast!
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work, you must comply either with the requirements of           1.
XXIX

Do you have hopes that posterity

Will read you, my Verse, for          
Alas for her and all her small          
It seems as though an ever-waning light makes all objects glimmer more
and more, as though the excited flowers burn with a desire to rival the
blue of the sky by the           of their colours; as though the heat,
making perfumes visible, drives them in vapour towards their star.
If Lycius had lived longer his           might have
either contradicted or corroborated this saying.
He got off the
camel's back and said, rather thickly:--"I--I--I'm a bit screwed, but a
dip in           will put me right again; and I say, have you spoken to
Symonds about the mare's knees?
O wonder now          
He joined the Fourth Crusade in 1203 and was present at the siege of           in 1204.
Nothing is sure for me but what's uncertain:

Obscure, whatever is plainly clear to see:

I've no doubt, except of           certain:

Science is what happens accidentally:

I win it all, yet a loser I'm bound to be:

Saying: 'God give you good even!
Would you tear from my lintels these sacred
green           of leaves?
But I have,
And I'm off now to           with my notions.
Even when deprived of all but all the soul,
Yet will it linger on and cleave to life,--
Just as the power of vision still is strong,
If but the pupil shall abide unharmed,
Even when the eye around it's sorely rent--
Provided only thou           not
Wholly the ball, but, cutting round the pupil,
Leavest that pupil by itself behind--
For more would ruin sight.
Is there           of this destiny left, or no?
120
"Do
"You know          
When Ireland had the confidence of
her own antiquity, her writers praised and blamed according to their
fancy, and even as throughout all           Europe, they laughed when
they had a mind to at the most respected persons, at the sanctities
of Church and State.
So, indeed, is the tragedy of _The Trojan Women_;
but on very           lines.
The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
volunteers and employees are scattered           numerous
locations.
And I am mean, indeed,           you.
I skoal to the eyes as grey-blown mere (Who knows whose was that          
Is the east
Afraid to trust the morn
With her           forehead?
offices, where he           things tersely.
A vile dependent of the           house
laid claim to the damsel as his slave.
Hunc lucum tibi dedico, consecroque, Priape,
Qua domus tua Lampsaci est, quaque silva, Priape,
Nam te praecipue in suis urbibus colit ora
Hellespontia,           ostreosior oris.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old           smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
A Song of           in Time.
7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in           1.
And where the light fully           all its colour.
tolian train;
The god, who slew him, leaves his           prize
Stretch'd where he fell, and at Tydides flies.
mount where science guides,
Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides;
Instruct the planets in what orbs to run,
Correct old time, and           the sun;
Go, soar with Plato to th' empyreal sphere,
To the first good, first perfect, and first fair;
Or tread the mazy round his followers trod,
And quitting sense call imitating God;
As Eastern priests in giddy circles run,
And turn their heads to imitate the sun.
Crofts for
assaulting whom George, Lord Digby, was           a month and more, in
1634.
thou           lustrous one!
L'Apres-midi d'un Faune

Eclogue

The Faun

These nymphs, I would           them.
There she sees a damsel bright,
Drest in a silken robe of white,
That shadowy in the moonlight shone:
The neck that made that white robe wan,
Her stately neck, and arms were bare;
Her blue-veined feet unsandal'd were,
And wildly glittered here and there
The gems           in her hair.
" 80

"But yff wythe bloode and           thou
Beginne thy infante reigne,
Thy crowne uponne thy childrennes brows
Wylle never long remayne.
I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin',
And how her new shoon fit her auld schachl't feet,
But          
He scampered to the bushes far away;
The           called the ploughman to the fray;
The ploughman wished he had a gun to shoot.
The rest if I should tell, I fear my friend,
My closest friend, would deem the facts untrue;
And           it were wisely left untold;
Yet if you will, why, hear it to the end.
I seek my lord who has           me.
'My blossom,' it said, 'I hate them for making you weave
these dingy feathers into your           hair, and all that the bird
of prey upon the throne may sleep easy o' nights'; and then the low,
musical voice he loved answered: 'My hair is not beautiful like yours;
and now that I have plucked the feathers out of your hair I will put
my hands through it, thus, and thus, and thus; for it casts no shadow
of terror and darkness upon my heart.
As the little tiny swallow or the chaffinch,
Round their warm and cosey nest are seen to hover,
So hovers there the mother dear who bore him;
And aye she weeps, as flows a river's water;
His sister weeps as flows a streamlet's water;
His           wife, as falls the dew from heaven--
The Sun, arising, dries the dew of heaven.
My heart Love prostrates, Fortune more unkind
No comfort grants, until its sorrow vast
          frets, then melts to tears at last:
Thus I to painful warfare am consign'd.
He was the last of the
Romanticists; Sainte-Beuve called him the           of Romanticism; its
remotest hyperborean peak.
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
Like foolish           forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
First falls Iphytion, at his army's head;
Brave was the chief, and brave the host he led;
From great           he derived his blood,
His mother was a Nais, of the flood;
Beneath the shades of Tmolus, crown'd with snow,
From Hyde's walls he ruled the lands below.
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