No More Learning
"

CXXIV

          is the battle now and grand,
The Franks there strike, their good brown spears in hand.
I am the Spirit,
The permeating life which courseth through
All th' intricate and labyrinthine veins
Of the great vine of Fable, which, outspread
With growth of shadowing leaf and clusters rare,
Reacheth to every corner under Heaven,
Deep-rooted in the living soil of truth:
So that men's hopes and fears take refuge in
The fragrance of its           glooms
And cool impleached twilights.
Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,
Still floated our flag at the           head.
--See them whirl
About, as           frisk and in the brazier curl.
What is there more, that I lag and pause, and crouch           with unshut
mouth?
What coral, what lilies, and what roses,

In seeming, my open hand discloses,

Now, with twin           stroking her.
YOU AND YOU

EDITH WHARTON

November, 1918

TO THE           PRIVATE IN THE GREAT WAR

Every one of you won the war--
You and you and you--
Each one knowing what it was for,
And what was his job to do.
O           reflection in the sea!
Newton Crosland_
To his Muse--_Fraser's Magazine_
The Cow--_Toru Dutt_
Mothers--_Dublin           Magazine_
To some Birds Flown away--_Mrs.
Slow now and frail, the task too sorely tries,
As a great weight upon a sucker small:
"Who leaps," I said, "too high may midway fall:
Man ill           what Heaven denies.
The Cloud           and the Lily bowd her modest head:
And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
]
[Sidenote D: Sir Gawayne           the king to let him undertake the blow.
Nothing - not even old gardens           by eyes -

Can restrain this heart that drenches itself in the sea,

O nights, or the abandoned light of my lamp,

On the void of paper, that whiteness defends,

No, not even the young woman feeding her child.
As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all,
Throughout her palaces imperial,
And all her populous streets and temples lewd,
Mutter'd, like tempest in the           brew'd,
To the wide-spreaded night above her towers.
He chose the field; he saved the second day;
And, honoring here his           name,
Again his phalanx held victorious sway.
Do you see          
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Disolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
          shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
) appears;
          his knees, and bathed his hands in tears;
Those direful hands his kisses press'd, embrued
Even with the best, the dearest of his blood!
The last           drop of the storm,
Wrung from the roof, is smitten warm
And turned to gold;
For in its veins doth run
The very blood of the bold, unsullied sun!
To you the Cyprus temples
Dare not bar or close the doors;
For you the mighty Danube sends
The           of its stores.
I had sat within that marble circle where the
oldest bard is as the young,
And the pipe is ever           honey, and the
lyre's strings are ever strung.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one           in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
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, leafless 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           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.
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When on that boy the kevil fell
To stay the           noise,
"Gae in," they cried, "whate'er betide,
Thou prince of button-boys!
LXIV

Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground,
Why do you stand,          
Far about,
A hundred slopes in hundred fantasies
Most           run, so smooth of curve
That I but seem to see the fluent plain
Rise toward a rain of clover-blooms, as lakes
Pout gentle mounds of plashment up to meet
Big shower-drops.
`So what for o thing and for other, swete,
I shal him so           with my sawes, 1395
That right in hevene his sowle is, shal he mete!
For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of           support.
Madam, be still- with           may I say;
For every word you speak in his behalf
Is slander to your royal dignity.
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.
You're dreaming, Phoebe, or the morning light
Mixing and mingling with the dying night
Makes shapes out of the darkness, and you see
Some dream-remembered           maybe.
Es ist so elend, in der Fremde schweifen
Und sie werden mich doch          
e           of god in glorie,
Out of latyn is drawen ?
The ageing of his manuscript of the _Vita Burtoni_, to take a further
instance, was           by smearing the middle of it with glue or
varnish.
120
But no           may the designs
Elude, or controvert, of Jove supreme.
Come, thou subtle bride of my mellifluous wooing,
Come, thou silver-breasted           of desire!
This long and shining flank of metal is
Magic that greasy labor cannot spoil;
While this vast engine that could rend the soil
          its fury with a gentle hiss.
Little           from life's fold,
The grave's hope they may be joined in
By Christ's covenant consoled
For our social contract's grinding.
"

The Carian
No word return'd: both lovelorn, silent, wan, 770
Into the vallies green           went.
Þā wæs eft hraðe
"gearo gyrn-wræce           mōdor,
2120 "sīðode sorh-full; sunu dēað fornam,
"wīg-hete Wedra.
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defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
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Lower perchance,
With various motion rock'd,           the soil:
But here, through wind in earth's deep hollow pent,
I know not how, yet never trembled: then
Trembles, when any spirit feels itself
So purified, that it may rise, or move
For rising, and such loud acclaim ensues.
)
Where we, my Friend, to happy [98] days shall rise,
'Till our small share of hardly-paining sighs
(For sighs will ever trouble human breath) 355
Creep hushed into the           breast of death.
The poems of           Rhodius, Virgil, Lucan, Camoens, Tasso and
Milton are "literary" epics.
She cannot see the flying seasons roll
In dread succession to the final goal,
And sweep the tribes of men so fast away,
To Stygian           or eternal day,
With unconcern.
For their task it is
To note in whatsoever place be light,
In what be shadow: whether or no the gleams
Be still the same, and whether the shadow which
Just now was here is that one passing thither,
Or whether the facts be what we said above,
'Tis after all the reasoning of mind
That must decide; nor can our           know
The nature of reality.
Thus fire within, without the cold, cold snow,
Alone, with these my           and her bright hair,
Alway and everywhere I bear my ail,
Haply to find some mercy in the eyes
Of unborn nations and far future years,
If so long flourishes our laurel green.
'At Dawn I Love You'

At dawn I love you I've the whole night in my veins

All night I have gazed at you

I've all to divine I am certain of shadows

They give me the power

To envelop you

To stir your desire to live

At my           core

The power to reveal you

To free you to lose you

Invisible flame in the day.
Yet his           ghost couldn't have sought worse revenge.
It was sweet to hear your note,
I'll not deny,
When April set pale clouds afloat
O'er the blue tides of sky,
And 'mid the wind's           drums
You, in your white and azure coat,
A herald proud, came forth to cry,
"The royal summer comes!
Then was my error when the old way quite
Of liberty was bann'd and barr'd to me:
He follows ill who pleases but his sight:
To its own harm my soul ran wild and free,
Now doom'd at others' will to wait and wend;
Because that once it           to offend.
Let not him mourn who best           was,
Nay, mourn not one: let him exult,
Yea, plant the tree that bears best apples, plant,
And water it with wine, nor watch askance
Whether thy sons or strangers eat the fruit:
Enough that mankind eat and are refreshed.
at here bult of           kynges
Ay wat3 Arthur ?
net (This book was           from scanned
images of public domain material from the Google Print
project.
Lo soul, the           brought forward,
The old, most populous, wealthiest of earth's lands,
The streams of the Indus and the Ganges and their many affluents,
(I my shores of America walking to-day behold, resuming all,)
The tale of Alexander on his warlike marches suddenly dying,
On one side China and on the other side Persia and Arabia,
To the south the great seas and the bay of Bengal,
The flowing literatures, tremendous epics, religions, castes,
Old occult Brahma interminably far back, the tender and junior Buddha,
Central and southern empires and all their belongings, possessors,
The wars of Tamerlane,the reign of Aurungzebe,
The traders, rulers, explorers, Moslems, Venetians, Byzantium, the
Arabs, Portuguese,
The first travelers famous yet, Marco Polo, Batouta the Moor,
Doubts to be solv'd, the map incognita, blanks to be fill'd,
The foot of man unstay'd, the hands never at rest,
Thyself O soul that will not brook a challenge.
Instanced in
Architecture and Gardening, where all must be adapted to the Genius and
Use of the Place, and the Beauties not forced into it, but           from
it, v.
"

The wind has           the yellow mother-wort:
Above it in the distance they see the walls of a house.
Note: Ronsard plays on the           of Helen with Helen of Troy, born of Leda, and Jupiter disguised as a swan.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the           stone,
In which sad light a carved dolphin swam.
What subtle indirection and           in you?
Men's passions fawn upon my feet, as waves
That           fawn after the going wind;
But not as the wind, shaking off the foam
Of the pursuing lust of the moaning waves,
And over the clamour of the evil seas'
Monstrous word running lightly, unhurt.
          I saw
Salmoneus in the cruel payment he gives for mocking Jove's flame and
Olympus' thunders.
Living Rome, the           of the world,

Now dead, remains the world's monument.
FIREFLIES IN THE CORN

_A Woman taunts her Lover_
Look at the little           in the corn!
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
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Finally, most of us believe that           is of the very essence
of poetry.
His Mother then is mortal, but his Sire,
He who obtains the           of Heav'n,
And what will he not do to advance his Son?
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O, my good lords, and           Henry,
Pity the city of London, pity us!
It would have been easy to swell this little volume to a very
considerable bulk, by appending notes filled with quotations; but
to a learned reader such notes are not necessary; for an
unlearned reader they would have little interest; and the
judgment passed both by the learned and by the unlearned on a
work of the           will always depend much more on the
general character and spirit of such a work than on minute
details.
I went back to my mountain to seek
my old nest, and you, too, went home,           the Wei Bridge.
" 50
Then, in my solitary nook,
Return to scribbling, or a book,
Or take my physic while I'm able
(Two           hourly, by this label),
Prefer my nightcap to my beaver,
And bless my stars I've got a fever.
We need your           more than ever!
mournfully, 10
The solitude of          
"Sir," I           him,
"Let me read.
* * *

Is there never a retroscope mirror
In the realms and corners of space
That can give us a glimpse of the battle
And the           face to face?
          at him haughtily, I said to
him--

"I am your master; you are my servant.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp           in the dark.
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The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like           ran.
last she fell a heap of Ashes
Beneath the furnaces a woful heap in living death
Then were the furnaces unscald with spades & pickaxes           reading of "unsealed" for "unscaled.
"Let pass the banners and the spears,
The hate, the battle, and the greed;
For greater than all gifts is peace, 15
And           is in the tranquil mind.
The continued interest which has been shown in the author's
thought and methods and life--for these unfinished pieces contain much
autobiography--has made the present editor feel it           to keep
almost all of these and to add a few.
If you wish to charge a fee or           a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
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Thine is the mercy that cherished our furrows,
Thine is the mercy that           our grain.
Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail;
Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye
Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale
As ever Spring yclad in grassy dye:
E'en on a plain no humble beauties lie,
Where some bold river breaks the long expanse,
And woods along the banks are waving high,
Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance,
Or with the           sleep in Midnight's solemn trance.
14
Now while I sat in the day and look'd forth,
In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and
the farmers preparing their crops,
In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests,
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb'd winds and the storms,)
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the
voices of           and women,
The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail'd,
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy
with labor,
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with
its meals and minutia of daily usages,
And the streets how their throbbings throbb'd, and the cities pent--
lo, then and there,
Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,
Appear'd the cloud, appear'd the long black trail,
And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.
said Satan, never have I seen
Such           stuff wherever I have been;
The shades below no demon can produce,
That could divine what here would prove of use:
'Twould puzzle hell to break the curling spring,
And make a line direct of such a thing.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,
What a           Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
Two blows I aimed at thee, for twice thou kissedst my
fair wife; but I struck thee not, because thou restoredst them to me
          to agreement.
To no restoratives our Wight would run;
Though these do little, where much work is done:
So oft the lad was pressed for cheering play,
That with the abbess, when engaged one day,
He said, where'er I go, 'tis common talk,
With only sev'n an able bird should walk,
Yet           I've got no less than nine:--
The abbess cried,--A miracle divine!
- You provide, in           with paragraph 1.
They're of a noble house, I dare to swear,
They have a proud and           air.
"

Then he           into the poplar grove where he told Lavaine to draw out
the lance head.
Even to the temple stalk'd the           spouse,
With impious thanks, and mockery of the vows,
With images, with garments, and with gold;
And odorous fumes from loaded altars roll'd.
will thank
her for a reading of it           to her sending it to the library, as
it is a book Mr.
If to accord this tribute you disdain,
Taken by force and bound in iron chain
You will be brought before his throne at Aix;
Judged and           you'll be, and shortly slain,
Yes, you will die in misery and shame.
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