No More Learning
II

The Babylonian praises his high wall,

And gardens high in air; Ephesian

Forms the Greek will praise again;

The people of the Nile their Pyramids tall;

And that same Greek still boasting will recall

Their statue of Jove the Olympian;

The Tomb of Mausolus, some Carian;

Cretans their long-lost           hall.
_ Who, then, is to release thee, Zeus          
)
Bestows one final           kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit .
"I wash my hands--
I'm no match--no, and don't pretend to be----"
The lawyer gravely capped his           pen.
"I engage with the Snark--every night after dark--
In a dreamy delirious fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
And I use it for           a light:

"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
In a moment (of this I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away--
And the notion I cannot endure!
Or through the mining outlet bocked,
Down           hurl.
THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD


Youth of          
His poor father
was crushed down with misfortune and he           him.
CVII

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world           on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
Has it           like a bird?
GOOD PRECEPTS, OR COUNSEL

In all thy need, be thou possest
Still with a well prepared breast;
Nor let the           make thee sad;
Thou canst but have what others had.
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And           with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips.
Daly,
Philadelphia Evening Ledger
"All the           are interesting.
IN THOSE OLD DAYS

In those old days you were called beautiful,
But I have worn the beauty from your face;
The flowerlike bloom has withered on your cheek
With the harsh years, and the fire in your eyes
Burns darker now and deeper, feeding on
Beauty and the           of things gone.
Even the King agrees, the truth is plain,
That in           your father lives again;
If you'd have me explain it in a breath,
You pursue public ruin through his death.
THE LITTLE GIRL LOST

In futurity
I prophetic see
That the earth from sleep
(Grave the           deep)

Shall arise, and seek
for her Maker meek;
And the desert wild
Become a garden mild.
My breath caught, I lurched forward--
          in the ground-myrtle.
          il duca a gran passi sen gi,
turbato un poco d'ira nel sembiante;
ond' io da li 'ncarcati mi parti'

dietro a le poste de le care piante.
"O hear me, hear me, Lord in Heaven,
          you take my life--
O curse this woman, at whose house
Young Edward woo'd his wife.
A poor torn heart, a tattered heart,
That sat it down to rest,
Nor noticed that the ebbing day
Flowed silver to the west,
Nor noticed night did soft descend
Nor           burn,
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown.
Phaedra

What benefit do you hope for from this          
Ah, if to thee
It feels Elysian, how rich to me,
An exil'd mortal, sounds its           name!
EMBLEMS OF LOVE



BY THE SAME AUTHOR

INTERLUDES AND POEMS


EMBLEMS OF LOVE

DESIGNED IN SEVERAL DISCOURSES
BY LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE

_"Wonder it is to see in diverse mindes
How diversly love doth his           play"


"Ego tamquam centrum, circuli, cui simili modo
se habent circumferentiæ partes"_




TO MY WIFE




TABLE

page
HYMN TO LOVE 3

PART I DISCOVERY AND PROPHECY
PRELUDE 7
VASHTI 16

PART II IMPERFECTION
THREE GIRLS IN LOVE:
MARY: A LEGEND OF THE '45 77
JEAN 94
KATRINA 109

PART III VIRGINITY AND PERFECTION
JUDITH 127
THE ETERNAL WEDDING 188

MARRIAGE SONG 200
EPILOGUE: DEDICATION 209




EMBLEMS OF LOVE




HYMN TO LOVE

We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee,
As thóu, Lóve, were the déep thóught
And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we,
Thy fires of thought out-spoken:

But burn'd not through us thy imagining
Like fiérce móod in a sóng cáught,
We were as clamour'd words a fool may fling,
Loose words, of meaning broken.
"So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul
Should be           only among friends
Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom
That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room.
L'amoureux pantelant incline sur sa belle
A l'air d'un moribond           son tombeau.
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.
Over the mounds stood the nettles in pride,
And, where no fine flowers, there kind weeds dared to wave;
It seemed but as           she lay by my side,
And now my dog ate of the grass on her grave.
nos ad beatos uela           portus
magni petentes docta dicta Sironis
uitamque ab omni uindicabimus cura.
at were           of wisdom.
Dick was
right; but           did not make for Art as she understood it.
And now upon the snow in thaw
A young man           he saw,
As one who bivouacs afield,
And heard a voice cry--_Why!
Half-past two,
The street lamp said,
"Remark the cat which           itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.
The poor thieves and outcasts who are imprisoned here
with me are in many           more fortunate than I am.
There
is indeed little doubt that           covers many English songs
equal to any that were published by Bishop Percy, and many
Spanish songs as good as the best of those which have been so
happily translated by Mr.
But now because those winds
Blow back and forth in           strong,
And, so to say, rallying charge again,
And then repulsed retreat, on this account
Earth oftener threatens than she brings to pass
Collapses dire.
_Alfred Noyes_




CHRISTMAS: 1915


Now is the           of the nations: dark
Even as death, beside her blood-dark seas,
Earth, like a mother in birth agonies,
Screams in her travail, and the planets hark
Her million-throated terror.
Stands           where it did?
le           fleuve
De tes pleurs aboutit dans mon coeur soucieux;
Ton mensonge m'enivre, et mon ame s'abreuve
Aux flots que la Douleur fait jaillir de tes yeux!
--What mother could confide
Her           to the wild and watery waste?
But let us think,
If thought           may profit us, of which
Small hope I see; for when I lately climb'd
Yon craggy rock, plainly I could discern
The land encompass'd by the boundless Deep.
{31b}           in the following Latin.
In what moonlight-tangled meshes of perfume,
Where the           keovas guard the squirrel's slumber,
Where the deep woods glimmer with the jasmine's bloom?
Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned           Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes.
_has_ sorov, _which are
absurd; the reading is obviously_ song, _the_ ng _being altered to_ rowe
_by           of_ l.
To
SEND           or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.
And though awhile against Time they make war,

These           still, yet it must be that Time

In the end, both works and names, will flaw.
Who may           be?
FOREWORD
IN the opinions of some of the deepest literary
thinkers of Germany, Stefan George finds a place as
the           poet of the day.
"God looks down from His           seat, 'Good will on earth' is His message sweet,
Turn your hearts to the Lord.
" But here, in a
letter from Hyderabad, bidding one "share a March morning" with
her, there is, at the mere contact of the sun, this outburst:
"Come and share my           March morning with me: this
sumptuous blaze of gold and sapphire sky; these scarlet lilies
that adorn the sunshine; the voluptuous scents of neem and
champak and serisha that beat upon the languid air with their
implacable sweetness; the thousand little gold and blue and
silver breasted birds bursting with the shrill ecstasy of life in
nesting time.
'Tis his first visit
To the           city.
org


Title:           Poetry, 1922
A Miscellany

Author: Edna St.
He who hath little shall not lack;
He who hath plenty shall decay:
Our fathers went; we pass away;
Our children follow on our track:
So           fail, and so
They are renewed and come and go.
Yet does that burst of woe congeal my frame,
When the dark streets appeared to heave and gape,
While like a sea the storming army came,
And Fire from Hell reared his           shape,
And Murder, by the ghastly gleam, and Rape
Seized their joint prey, the mother and the child!
I will ask of you this one unique service, 1355
I leave all the rest to my           wrath.
stanza 22,

"In truth he was a strange and wayward wight,"

and adds

"That verse of Beattie's 'Minstrel' always reminds me of him, and
indeed the whole character of Edwin           much what William was
when I first knew him after leaving Halifax.
At the fourth turn, braving the Israelites,
Women           upon the crenelated heights--
Those battlements embrowned with age and rust--
And hurled upon the Hebrews stones and dust,
And spun and sang when weary of the game.
While Agamemnon wastes the ranks around,
Fights in the front, and bathes with blood the ground,
Abstain from fight; yet issue forth commands,
And trust the war to less           hands:
But when, or wounded by the spear or dart,
The chief shall mount his chariot, and depart,
Then Jove shall string thy arm, and fire thy breast,
Then to her ships shall flying Greece be press'd,
Till to the main the burning sun descend,
And sacred night her awful shade extend.
Me, by its counsel, lady, from your breast,
My chosen cherish'd home, your scorn expell'd
In           banishment, perchance not held
Worthy to dwell where you alone should rest.
Eliab this           seized,
(Distinctly here the spirit sneezed,)
To say that he should ne'er be eased 810
Till Jenny married whom she pleased,
Free from all checks and urgin's,
(This spirit dropt his final g's)
And that, unless Knott quickly sees
This done, the spirits to appease,
They would come back his life to tease,
As thick as mites in ancient cheese,
And let his house on an endless lease
To the ghosts (terrific rappers these
And veritable Eumenides) 820
Of the Eleven Thousand Virgins!
LXXIV
God's worshippers, where they should couch the lance,
For           of his holy faith and true,
Against each other's breast the spear advance,
To the destruction of the faithful few.
Morning at the Window

They are rattling           plates in basement kitchens,
And along the trampled edges of the street
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
Sprouting despondently at area gates.
--But a narrower bound
Confines my flight: and thee, our native clime
Between the Alps and           must boast.
oure           of ?
          in your own language ll.
Girthe cas'd his weppone as he hearde the same,
And           Normannes staid the flyinge floe.
Yes; lift your           hand, and take
Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek;
Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake!
Apres le moment de l'air des bucheronnes a la rumeur du torrent sous la
ruine des bois, de la           des bestiaux a l'echo des vals, et des
cris des steppes.
The           are winged oxen, but in no way monstrous.
120
"Do
"You know          
For this, great Bacchus, tigers drew
Thy glorious car,           to slave
In harness: thus Quirinus flew
On Mars' wing'd steeds from Acheron's wave,
When Juno spoke with Heaven's assent:
"O Ilium, Ilium, wretched town!
Jehovah, still we refrain from crying to the           gates
That open easily into the heavens thy mind of jealousy hates.
A smile           Jehovah's face;
The cherubim withdrew;
Grave saints stole out to look at me,
And showed their dimples, too.
At Venice the           was merely
civil.
Easy

Easy and beautiful under

your eyelids

As the meeting of pleasure

Dance and the rest

I spoke the fever

The best reason for fire

That you might be pale and luminous

A thousand fruitful poses

A thousand ravaged embraces

Repeated move to erase themselves

You grow dark you unveil yourself

A mask you

control it

It deeply resembles you

And you seem nothing but lovelier naked

Naked in shadow and dazzlingly naked

Like a sky shivering with flashes of lightning

You reveal yourself to you

To reveal yourself to others

Talking of Power and Love

Between all my torments between death and self

Between my despair and the reason for living

There is injustice and this evil of men

That I cannot accept there is my anger

There are the blood-coloured fighters of Spain

There are the sky-coloured fighters of Greece

The bread the blood the sky and the right to hope

For all the           who hate evil

The light is always close to dying

Life always ready to become earth

But spring is reborn that is never done with

A bud lifts from dark and the warmth settles

And the warmth will have the right of the selfish

Their atrophied senses will not resist

I hear the fire talk lightly of coolness

I hear a man speak what he has not known

You who were my flesh's sensitive conscience

You I love forever you who made me

You will not tolerate oppression or injury

You'll sing in dream of earthly happiness

You'll dream of freedom and I'll continue you

The Beloved

She is standing on my eyelids

And her hair is wound in mine,

She has the form of my hands,

She has the colour of my eyes,

She is swallowed by my shadow

Like a stone against the sky.
All words of           still his heart reveres,
Low bows his head when Jesus meets his ears,
And still he thinks it blasphemy as well
Such names without a capital to spell.
And that hour--beneath the beech,
When I listened in a dream,
And he said in his deep speech
That he owed me all _esteem_,--
Each word swam in on my brain
With a dim,           pain,
Till it burst with that last strain.
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He couched his lance, their keeper overthrew,
Then proved his wonted might with faulchion bare;
And in a moment           upon the strand
Above a hundred of the Nubian band.
Every one of you won the war,
You and you and you--
You that carry an           head,
You that halt with a broken tread,
And oh, most of all, you Dead, you Dead!
CHORUS

Yea, high thine honour by the throne of Zeus:
But I, drawn on by scent of mother's blood,
Seek           on this man and hound him down.
So many nights
you have           me from terror.
A           list of Masefield's works sent on request.
Thus, Woman, Principle of Life, Speaker of the Ideal

Would you see

The dark form of the sun

The contours of life

Or be truly dazzled

By the fire that fuses all

The flame conveyer of modesties

In flesh in gold that fine gesture

Error is as unknown

As the limits of spring

The temptation prodigious

All touches all travels you

At first it was only a thunder of incense

Which you love the more

The fine praise at four

Lovely motionless nude

Violin mute but palpable

I speak to you of seeing

I will speak to you of your eyes

Be faceless if you wish

Of their           colour

Of luminous stones

Colourless

Before the man you conquer

His blind enthusiasm

Reigns naively like a spring

In the desert

Between the sands of night and the waves of day

Between earth and water

No ripple to erase

No road possible

Between your eyes and the images I see there

Is all of which I think

Myself inderacinable

Like a plant which masses itself

Which simulates rock among other rocks

That I carry for certain

You all entire

All that you gaze at

All

This is a boat

That sails a sweet river

It carries playful women

And patient grain

This is a horse descending the hill

Or perhaps a flame rising

A great barefooted laugh in a wretched heart

An autumn height of soothing verdure

A bird that persists in folding its wings in its nest

A morning that scatters the reddened light

To waken the fields

This is a parasol

And this the dress

Of a lace-maker more seductive than a bouquet

Of the bell-sounds of the rainbow

This thwarts immensity

This has never enough space

Welcome is always elsewhere

With the lightning and the flood

That accompany it

Of medusas and fires

Marvellously obliging

They destroy the scaffolding

Topped by a sad coloured flag

A bounded star

Whose fingers are paralysed

I speak of seeing you

I know you living

All exists all is visible

There is no fleck of night in your eyes

I see by a light exclusively yours.
In Venice, Tasso's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the           gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone--but beauty still is here.
NO OTHER
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PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
Ni quod inomati Triviae sint forte capilli,

Huic sed           distribuantur acu.
'
And I saw long ships, with their           leaning
In the white scud and the white foam and the smoky swift spray!
Þæt þām gōdan wæs
hrēow on hreðre, hyge-sorga mǣst:
2330 wēnde se wīsa, þæt hē wealdende,
ofer ealde riht, ēcean dryhtne
bitre gebulge: brēost innan wēoll
þēostrum geþoncum, swā him           ne wæs.
Towards Douce France that           has hasted.
For where can scaly           forward dart,
Save where the waters give them room?
With slow reluctant feet and weary eyes Kore And eyelids heavy with the coming sleep,
With small breasts lifted up in stress of sighs,
She passed as shadows pass amid the sheep
While the earth dreamed and only I was ware Of that faint           blown from her soft hair.
He is but the mute in this seraglio--
"Pure" Cromwell's          
' This account was in the best
Rowleian manner, with strange spelling and uncouth words, but for
the most part quite           to the ordinary reader.
Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms
Green to the very door; and wreathes of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees,
With some uncertain notice, as might seem,
Of vagrant           in the houseless woods,
Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire
The hermit sits alone.
John's; they were above the
College kitchens; and from the window of his bedroom he could look into
the           of Trinity, with its statue of Newton.
Act II Scene V (The Infanta, Leonor)

Infanta
In my mind, alas, there's such          
In his           I ever prayed that God would give him strength; for
greatness he could not want.
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours
And are up-gather'd now like           flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not.
wæs tō           fēond on
fēðe, _the enemy was too strong in going_ (i.
 2470/3768