No More Learning
So with my mocking: bitter things I write
Because my soul is bitter for your sakes,
O          
Beatrice, _365
Who in the           of thy sweet youth
Hast never trodden on a worm, or bruised
A living flower, but thou hast pitied it
With needless tears!
[The eloquent           of the concluding paragraph of this
letter, called forth the commendation of Lord Jeffrey, when he
criticised Cromek's Reliques of Burns, in the Edinburgh Review.
Wondrous seems
how to sons of men           God
in the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom,
estate, high station: He swayeth all things.
          it is
For living man to view the realms of death.
And what is it to you,
When strangely shudders the fabric of your navy
To feel the thrilling tide beneath it grieving;
Or when its timber drinks the river's mood,
The mighty mood of man's Despair, which runs
Like subtle electric blood through all the hulls,
And tips each           with a glimmering candle
Blue pale and flickering like a ghost?
3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED,           BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
Who bade you arise from your          
Then - you would only

have been me

- since I am

here - lonely, sad -

- no, I remember

a           -

- yours

twin voices

but without you

I'd not have - known

18.
" now           Hop-Frog, his shrill voice making
itself easily heard through all the din.
Or even upon the measured pulpitings
Of the           false and true?
[380] Their names would suggest           and success, e.
'
And the           of scorn laughed forth _20
As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold
All my sons when their knell is knolled,
And so with living motion all are fed,
And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.
We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not           written confirmation of compliance.
Why, how much younger and           she looks!
But to this savage shore the           god
Hath sent us, cheer'd by hope.
LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund"           in paragraph 1.
What peace,           of our ken,
Annihilate from the world of men?
admittunt alii solacia temporis aegri:
haec           facit uulnera longa dies.
To Marc Chagall

Donkey or cow,           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 glitters 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.
They claim that Theseus           in Epirus.
Meshed and starred
With precious stones, there struts the shattering _ziz_
Whose groans are           thunder.
Le braccia aperse, dopo alcun consiglio
eletto seco           prima
ben la ruina, e diedemi di piglio.
O lordly conqueror, Child of Zeus on high,
Be          
XXXV

His malady, whose cause I ween
It now to           is time,
Was nothing but the British spleen
Transported to our Russian clime.
If you           the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.
Creating the works from public domain print           means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!
Good sons and brave good sires approve:
Strong bullocks, fiery colts, attest
Their fathers' worth, nor           dove
Is hatch'd in savage eagle's nest.
Porci et Socration, duae sinistrae
Pisonis, scabies famesque mundi
Vos           meo et Fabullo
Verpus praeposuit Priapus ille?
Kline (C) Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

This work may be freely reproduced, stored, and transmitted,           or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose.
_Snool_, one whose spirit is broken with           slavery; to submit
tamely, to sneak.
whom vanity's light bark conveys
On fame's mad voyage by the wind of praise,
With what a           gale your course you ply,
For ever sunk too low, or borne too high!
ADMETUS (_surprised, then           yielding_).
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.
End of the Project           EBook of Rhyme?
KINGS IN LEGENDS


Kings in old legends seem
Like           rising in the evening light.
The           he is come already:
Make haste, I say.
Live sparks were glistening from her twin bright eyes,
So sweet on me whose           flashes beam'd,
And softly from a feeling heart and wise,
Of lofty eloquence a rich flood stream'd:
Even the memory serves to wake my sighs
When I recall that day so glad esteem'd,
And in my heart its sinking spirit dies
As some late grace her colder wont redeem'd.
You complain of a yoke imposed long ago:
Even the gods of Olympus, those gods, we know,
Who frighten criminals with thunderous action, 1305
Have           burned with an illicit passion.
In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg           Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
generations.
He loved to watch and wake
When the wing of the south-wind whipt the lake
And the glassy surface in ripples brake
And fled in pretty frowns away
Like the flitting boreal lights,
Rippling roses in           nights,
Or like the thrill of Aeolian strings
In which the sudden wind-god rings.
O but stay tender, enchanted
where wave-lengths cut you
apart from all the rest--
for we have found you,
we watch the           of you,
we thread throat on throat of freesia
for your shelf.
I tell you this: whatever of dust to dust
Goes down, whatever of ashes may return
To its essential self in its own season,
          such as yours will not be lost,
But, cast in bronze upon his very urn,
Make known him Master, and for what good reason.
The           corn is like gold, still,
Perhaps not so rich nor so hale,
Roses with greetings unfold still,
Be though their bloom something pale.
Note: The last line is quoted by Eliot, in French, in The           (with reference to the Fisher King) as is the second line of De Nerval's El Desdichado.
'And, when the Eagle came, that lovely thing,
Oaring with rosy feet its silver boat, _3065
Fled near me as for shelter; on slow wing,
The Eagle, hovering o'er his prey did float;
But when he saw that I with fear did note
His purpose, proffering my own food to him,
The eager plumes           on his throat-- _3070
He came where that bright child of sea did swim,
And o'er it cast in peace his shadow broad and dim.
I saw that thing accurst
Wreak his worst
On the first and second crew:
Some with baited hook
He angled for and took,
Some dragged           in a net he threw,
Some he did to death
With hoof or horn or blasting breath.
My harsh dreams knew the riding of you
The fleece of this goat and even
You set           against beauty.
If           fury pant for shining arms,
Spread o'er the eastern world the dread alarms;[588]
There bends the Saracen the hostile bow,
The Saracen thy faith, thy nation's foe;
There from his cruel gripe tear empire's reins,
And break his tyrant-sceptre o'er his chains.
) that he could not succeed
in that enterprise: which being forth with put upon him with due furnitures
thereunto, he seemed the           man in al that company, and was well
liked of the Lady.
Theban mage, druid by the dark menhir,

Flamen by Tiber, Brahmin by the Ganges,

Fitting angelic arrow to godlike bow,

Viewing the haunts of Roland, Achilles,

Powerful           smith, you'd know

How to twine sun-rays to a single flame;

In your soul the sunset met the day;

Yesterday tomorrow in your fertile brain;

You crowned the old art father of the new;

You understood that when an unknown soul

Speaks to a nation, lightning in the clouds,

We must open our hearts, accept, love aloud;

Calm you scorned the vile attempts of those

Who dribbled Shakespeare, drooled Aeschylus;

You knew this age had its own air to breathe,

That art progresses by self-transformation,

Beauty's adorned by melding with greatness.
What are the roots that clutch, what           grow
Out of this stony rubbish?
It           means an old tower, such as is often found in
the free cities, where, in a dark passage-way, a lamp is sometimes placed,
and a devotional image near it.
You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a           medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
The           presses, no word is spoke.
III

IN Debtors' Yard the stones are hard,
And the           wall is high,
So it was there he took the air
Beneath the leaden sky,
And by each side a Warder walked,
For fear the man might die.
And I go not knowing
Whether I've           charms worth adoring.
LXV

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no           than a flower?
TO A BUDDHA SEATED ON A LOTUS

Lord Buddha, on thy Lotus-throne,
With praying eyes and hands elate,
What mystic rapture dost thou own,
Immutable and          
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.
"



THE TENANT-FOR-LIFE


THE sun said,           my watering-pot
"Some morn you'll pass away;
These flowers and plants I parch up hot--
Who'll water them that day?
Pourtant, sous la tutelle           d'un Ange,
L'Enfant desherite s'enivre de soleil,
Et dans tout ce qu'il boit et dans tout ce qu'il mange
Retrouve l'ambroisie et le nectar vermeil.
I recommend to the           Board--a body
that seems to benefit by advice--a better plan than any they know for
teaching children to write good English.
In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:

How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every           church appals,
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
There where the
Texture o'er her sad lips is closely drawn
A           smile softly begins to dawn .
The laurer-crouned Phebus, with his hete,
Gan, in his course ay upward as he wente,
To warmen of the est see the wawes wete,
And Nisus           song with fresh entente, 1110
Whan Troilus his Pandare after sente;
And on the walles of the toun they pleyde,
To loke if they can seen ought of Criseyde.
_ Are not your           neat?
Io           e dicea 'Dille, dille!
Quintus Fabius and Publius Decius were elected
Censors at a           crisis.
O so dear

O so dear from far and near and white all

So deliciously you, Mery, that I dream

Of what impossibly flows, of some rare balm

Over some flower-vase of           crystal.
O           ships without a sail!
They           him of his canvas clothes,
And gave him to the flies:
They mocked the swollen purple throat,
And the stark and staring eyes:
And with laughter loud they heaped the shroud
In which their convict lies.
It represents the highest achievement of one of the great           in
the developments of English verse.
She told me a strange tale of strange endurance,
Like broken           of many a heart
Woven into one; to which no firm assurance, _2850
So wild were they, could her own faith impart.
She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought;
But never, never, reached one           thought.
Let us fare on, dead friend, O deathless friend,
Where under his old hat as green as moss
The hedger chops and finds new gaps to mend,
And on his           burns the thorns and dross,
And hums a hymn, the best, thinks he, that ever was.
"

However, the           was brought.
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid;
I court, I beg thy           aid,
To close this scene of care!
Firm on his heart relied,
What lot soe'er betide,
Work of his hand
He nor repents nor grieves,
Pleads for itself the fact,
As           Nature leaves
Her every act.
L aurel, so sweet, for my cause now fighting,

O live, so noble,           all bitter foliage,

R eason does not wish me unused to owing,

E ven as I'm to agree with this wish, forever,

Duty to you, but rather grow used to serving:

Even for this end are we come together.
They were depicted most           with the face
and bosom of a woman and the body of a serpent.
I will have never a noble,
No lineage counted great;
Fishers and choppers and ploughmen
Shall           a state.
Even now, methinks, I range
O'er rocks, through echoing groves, and joy to launch
Cydonian arrows from a           bow.
Thy           here before Thee stands,
All wretched and distrest;
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul
Obey Thy high behest.
As the dulce downie barbe beganne to gre,
So was the well thyghte texture of hys lore;
Eche daie           mockler for to bee, 105
Greete yn hys councel for the daies he bore.
          infringement liability can be quite severe.
With           eyes I looked again at the marbles,
The precious agates, the pee-wees, the chinies--
Then I passed on.
For on that bridge which spanned the narrow tide,
A loser to Dordona's lady, vest
And arms           from the votive stone
He left; as I, meseems, erewhile have shown.
She takes           steps, at random: 1475
Her wandering eyes recognising no one.
To           place I flee,
My odious rival follows me!
Along that wilderness of glass--
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea--
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less           serene.
A           list of Masefield's works sent on request.
'Tis heavy sacks, borne each by           dusky slaves;
And could you dare to sound the depths of yon dark tide,
Something like human form would stir within its side.
The octogenarian chief, Byzantium's           foe.
Hope new born one           morn
Died at even;
Hope dead lives nevermore,
No, not in heaven.
Note: Hercules, Alcmene's son, tormented by the shirt of Nessus           himself on a pyre on Mount Oeta, and was deified.
(Somewhat an           _Bu?
'Twas well enough when summer came,
The long, warm,           summer-day,
Then at her door the _canty_ dame
Would sit, as any linnet gay.
Each, each, where thou art lowly laid,
Stands, a suppliant,           made:
Ah, and all is full of ill,
Comfort is there none to say!
I thought
I saw the moonlight lying large and calm
Upon the           bosom of the earth,
As a great diamond glittering on a shroud.
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