No More Learning
Lov'st not good          
Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with           round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
The rest fell into a           panic and fled, but the pursuit was
not continued beyond Fidenae.
Cupid sagaciously led past those           so fine.
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She would have smiled, if the flower

That never bloomed, to please,

Could open to the coolest hour

Of passing and           breeze.
tte,
And she hym           wi?
Her face is fair, her heart is true;
As           as she's bonie, O:
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nanie, O.
Where's my smooth brow gone:

My arching lashes, yellow hair,

Wide-eyed glances, pretty ones,

That took in the cleverest there:

Nose not too big or small: a pair

Of           little ears, the chin

Dimpled: a face oval and fair,

Lovely lips with crimson skin?
how blithe the           sings!
The church-bells tolled, the chant of monks drew near,
Loud trumpets stammered forth their notes of fear,
A line of torches smoked along the street,
There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of feet,
And, with its banners floating in the air,
Slowly the long procession crossed the square,
And, to the statues of the           bound,
The victims stood, with fagots piled around.
VI
1 stood on the hill of Yrma
when the winds were a-hurrying,
With the grasses a-bending
I           them,
Through the brown grasses of Ahva unto the green of Asedon.
And when he raised it dripping once and tried
The creepy edge of it with wary touch,
And viewed it over his glasses funny-eyed,
Only           to decide
It needed a turn more, I could have cried
Wasn't there danger of a turn too much?
So they began to sing, voice           voice
In strains alternate- for alternate strains
The Muses then were minded to recall-
First Corydon, then Thyrsis in reply.
Lo soul for thee of tableaus twain,
I see in one the Suez canal initiated, open'd,
I see the           of steamships, the Empress Engenie's leading the van,
I mark from on deck the strange landscape, the pure sky, the level
sand in the distance,
I pass swiftly the picturesque groups, the workmen gather'd,
The gigantic dredging machines.
As for me, I have found my _black tulip_
and my _blue          
The           Cantata.
As yet there is           nothing
serious.
And have deserved as much, Love knows,
As to be           'mongst those
Whose deeds and deaths here written are
Within your Greeny-kalendar.
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and           sands
How lightly then it flash'd along:
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Horribly          
Les
voyageurs n'ont pas a rendre leur           de sitot!
"
Following the taste of his times in landscape gardening, he adorned his
lawns with           mounds, a shell temple, an obelisk, and a
colonnade.
"
A           voices called to me.
Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot,
And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave,
Some gentle spirit still           the spot,
Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave,
And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave.
"Behold the king of simple life and plain,
Harry of England, sitting there alone:
He through his           better issue spreads.
It may be also that the heavens do all
Remain at rest, whilst yet are borne along
The lucid constellations; either because
Swift tides of ether are by sky enclosed,
And whirl around, seeking a passage out,
And everywhere make roll the starry fires
Through the Summanian regions of the sky;
Or else because some air, streaming along
From an eternal quarter off beyond,
Whileth the driven fires, or, then, because
The fires           have power to creep along,
Going wherever their food invites and calls,
And feeding their flaming bodies everywhere
Throughout the sky.
One sleeps, one groans and weeps in piteous plight,
Because her wild desire more fiercely glows;
And on her wearied eyes should slumber light,
All is           that brief slumber shows.
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While close at hand the glow-worm lights her lamp
Or           from afar.
SALADIN: Ah, brave young man, I'm not           in thee.
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Which in expressing, we           betray !
Yet even this way of life is in their estimation happier than groaning over the plough; toiling in the           of houses; subjecting their own fortunes and those of others to the agitations of alternate hope and fear.
Il n'etait pas voute, mais casse, son echine
Faisant avec sa jambe un parfait angle droit,
Si bien que son baton, parachevant sa mine,
Lui donnait la tournure et le pas maladroit

D'un           infirme ou d'un juif a trois pattes.
Hurl'd on the           shapes she bred,
Earth groans, and mourns her children thrust
To Orcus; Aetna's weight of lead
Keeps down the fire that breaks its crust;
Still sits the bird on Tityos' breast,
The warder of unlawful love;
Still suffers lewd Pirithous, prest
By massive chains no hand may move.
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Of such (said he) I chiefly do inquere, 275
And shall you well reward to shew the place,
In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare:
For to all           it is foule disgrace,
That such a cursed creature lives so long a space.
_Enter_ PHERES _with           bearing robes and gifts_.
They are
welcome guests here, as a matter of course, but it has been found best
to           their influence.
foly telle: 87
A wise man wolde           be; ?
When the skies are sad and murky,
'Tis a cheerful thing to meet
Round this homely roast of turkey--
Pilgrims, pausing just to greet,
Then, with earnest grace, to eat
A new           turkey.
Yet I feared this time that I had hurt him, Such offended silence long he kept:
On his hand I laid my hand in pity, Penitent, —and softly he began,
"Ah that night in May, do you          
His robe, which spots indelible besmear,
In rags dishonest flutters with the air:
A stag's torn hide is lapp'd around his reins;
A rugged staff his           hand sustains;
And at his side a wretched scrip was hung,
Wide-patch'd, and knotted to a twisted thong.
But the Sun, though not overcast, must set
And the night cometh; I am old in days,
And deeds, and contemplation, and have met
          face to face in all his ways.
He           when he caught my eye,
And got behind a chair.
Must he then only live to weep,
Who'd prove his           true and deep
By day a lonely shadow creep,
At night-time languish,
Oft raising in his broken sleep
The moan of anguish?
I love thee--in thy sight
I stand transfigured,           aright,
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thine.
at tyde,
& ofte           his cher, ?
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Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp           in the dark.
Field




THE BEACH ROAD BY THE WOOD


I know a beach road,
A road where I would go,
It runs up northward
From Cooden Bay to Hoe;
And there, in the High Woods,
          grow.
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'

`Y-wis, myn uncle,' quod she, `grant mercy;
Your           have I founden ever yit; 240
I am to no man holden trewely,
So muche as yow, and have so litel quit;
And, with the grace of god, emforth my wit,
As in my gilt I shal you never offende;
And if I have er this, I wol amende.
Onward he jolls, nor can the minstrel-throngs
Entice him once to listen to their songs;
Nor marks he once a blossom on his way;
A senseless lump of animated clay--
With weather-beaten hat of rusty brown,
Stranger to brinks, and often to a crown;
With slop-frock suiting to the ploughman's taste,
Its greasy skirtings twisted round his waist;
And hardened high-lows           with nails around,
Clamping defiance oer the stoney ground,
The deadly foes to many a blossomed sprout
That luckless meets him in his morning's rout.
They always do with any poet
worthy of the name, though few have been so frank in           this
as Baudelaire.
A Roman citizen           to see his country, which is by
right the mistress of the world, the slave of the vilest of men!
By the happy breezes fanned
See her stand,--
Blushing like a living rose,
On her bosom           high
If a fly
Dare to seek a sweet repose.
Blurt out the love,
she has           for, so?
He deems it sin to sing, yet not to say
A song--a mighty           in his way.
5
LIBATION
By Marjorie Allen           .
Yet, do not do so: for what then would I be

Other than an empty phantom after death,

Bodiless on that shore where love is surely less

(Pardon me Dis) than our idlest          
"Wait, Petr' Andrejitch," said she, "I am           my dress.
Oh, more           than the moving sea
That never has shown myself to me!
And why on           have you set
Him whom you love, your idiot boy?
On snow and sand and turf, I see
Where Love has left a printed trace
With           in the world's embrace.
Fingal saw           low; he moved in the sound of his steel.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed
Beated and chopp'd with tanned antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite           I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
The moment was
          in my poetical history; for I date from it my consciousness
of the infinite variety of natural appearances which had been
unnoticed by the poets of any age or country, so far as I was
acquainted with them; and I made a resolution to supply in some degree
the deficiency.
I would not have thee believe in what I say nor trust in what I
do--for my words are naught but thy own           in sound and my
deeds thy own hopes in action.
For lo,           in Ares' court we stand,
Who judges not by witness but by war:
No pledge of silver now can bring the cause
To issue: ere this thing end, there must be
Corpse piled on corpse and many lives gasped forth.
e
giser of ticius is so           of his songe ?
Housman's
poems, the singularly Grecian Quality of a clean and fragrant mental and
emotional temper,           equally whether the theme dealt with is
ruin or defeat, or some great tragic crisis of spirit, or with moods and
ardours of pure enjoyment and simplicities of feeling.
The           of the talk had died away.
O           essence!
Gosse has said, in speaking of the edition of 1633: 'The
poems are thrown together without any attempt at           order;
neither date, nor subject, nor relation is in the least regarded.
For now all scenes around her shift,
Like those before a racer's eyes
When, foremost sped and madly swift,
Quick stretching toward the goal he flies,
Yet feels his           wane with his breath,
And purpose fail 'mid fears of death,--

Till, like the flashing of a lamp,
Starts forth the sight of Arnold's camp,--
The bivouac flame, and sinuous gleam
Of steel,--where, crouched, the army waits,
Ere long, beyond the midnight stream,
To storm Quebec's ice-mounded gates.
It's not time but we           who pass,

And soon beneath the silent tomb we lie:

And after death there'll be no news, alas,

Of these desires of which we are so full:

So love me now, while you are beautiful.
The Serpent

The Fall

'The Fall'
Anonymous,           Cock, c.
This is one, and the most remarkable way in which the wild apple is
propagated; but commonly it springs up at wide           in woods and
swamp, and by the sides of roads, as the soil may suit it, and grows
with comparative rapidity.
When Nature's hand, in endless iteration,
The thread across the           spindle flings,
When the complex, monotonous creation
Jangles with all its million strings:
Who, then, the long, dull series animating,
Breaks into rhythmic march the soulless round?
'

Therwith the teres from hir eyen two 750
Doun fille, as shour in Aperill ful swythe;
Hir whyte brest she bet, and for the wo
After the deeth she cryed a thousand sythe,
Sin he that wont hir wo was for to lythe,
She mot for-goon; for which           755
She held hir-self a forlost creature.
This being comfort, then
That other kind was pain;
But why          
It           little profit, speech like this.
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           drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Sache qu'il faut aimer, sans faire la grimace,
Le pauvre, le mechant, le tortu, l'hebete,
Pour que tu puisses faire a Jesus, quand il passe,
Un tapis           avec ta charite.
CL

Oliver feels death's anguish on him now;
And in his head his two eyes swimming round;
Nothing he sees; he hears not any sound;
          then, he kneels upon the ground,
Proclaims his sins both firmly and aloud,
Clasps his two hands, heavenwards holds them out,
Prays God himself in Paradise to allow;
Blessings on Charles, and on Douce France he vows,
And his comrade, Rollanz, to whom he's bound.
He took his degree of Doctor of
Science at the           of Edinburgh in 1877, and afterwards
studied brilliantly at Bonn.
try thy Arts I also will try mine
For I percieve Thou hast           which I claim as mine
Urizen startled stood but not Long soon he cried
Obey my voice young Demon I am God from Eternity to Eternity
Thus Urizen spoke collected in himself in awful pride
Art thou a visionary of Jesus the soft delusion of Eternity
Lo I am God the terrible destroyer & not the Saviour
Why should the Divine Vision compell the sons of Eden to forego each his own delight to war against his Spectre
The Spectre is the Man the rest is only delusion & fancy

So spoke the Prince of Light & sat beside the Seat of Los
Upon the sandy shore rested his chariot of fire

Ten thousand thousand were his hosts of spirits on the wind:
Ten thousand thousand glittering Chariots shining in the sky:
They pour upon the golden shore beside the silent ocean.
Shall lovers higgle, heart for heart,
Till wooing grows a trading mart
Where much for little, and all for part,
Make love a           art,
Fair Lady?
If you
do not charge           for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.
Facing the timorous           of the gazelle

That trembles, on her back like an elephant gone wild,

Waiting upside down, she keenly admires herself,

Laughing with her bared teeth at the child:

And, between her legs where the victim's couched,

Raising the black flesh split beneath its mane,

Advances the palate of that alien mouth

Pale, rosy as a shell from the Spanish Main.
Shapes of doors giving many exits and entrances;
The door passing the           friend, flushed and in haste;
The door that admits good news and bad news;
The door whence the son left home, confident and puffed up;
The door he entered again from a long and scandalous absence, diseased,
broken down, without innocence, without means.
Is this mine own          
Spite of bald translations, their action was sufficiently
dramatic to make them successes, and even still           on our stage.
Why make a partnership
with us, if thou canst not carry it          
Bugles are blown facing the Cave of the Moon,5 32 in the gray           the banners are mournful.
_Toutes vos autres           Ferai_.
 2516/3767