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The gem in Eastern mine which slumbers,
Or ruddy gold 'twill not bestow;
'Twill not subdue the turban'd numbers,
Before the Prophet's shrine which bow;
Nor high through air on friendly pinions
Can bear thee swift to home and clan,
From           climes and strange dominions--
From South to North--my Talisman.
XIII

Not the raging fire's furious reign,

Nor the cutting edge of conquering blade,

Nor the havoc ruthless           made,

In sacking you, Rome, ever and again,

Nor the tricks that fickle fortune played,

Nor envious centuries corrosive rain,

Nor the spite of men, nor gods' disdain,

Nor your own power in civil strife displayed,

Nor the impetuous storms that you withstood,

Nor the river-god's winding course in flood,

That has so often drowned you in its thunder,

Not all combined have so abased your pride,

As that this nothing left you, by Time's tide,

Still makes the world halt here, and gaze in wonder.
Chimene
Is it to your           I must listen?
XXXVI


When I pass thy door at night
I a           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
Slumbers now!
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Poor           wench!
The thick           carries with it
Rain and a ravel of cloud.
Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam
Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,--
Empty of           and bliss!
'For he           that he would come: 10
His word was given; from earth or heaven,
He must keep his word, and must come home.
Where'er he be, on water or on land,
Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold;
One of Christ's own, or of Cythera's band,
Shadowy beggar or Croesus rich with gold;

Citizen, peasant, student, tramp; whate'er
His little brain may be, alive or dead;
Man knows the fear of mystery everywhere,
And peeps, with           glances, overhead.
And now another in my teeming brain
          itself: whence I resume the strain.
" Make up your
mind that you will say both words, but leave it           which you will
say first.
In cursed tyme I born was,          
Miles off, three           miles, is home;
Must borrow his winds who there would come.
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The sweetest voice that lips contain,
The sweetest thought that leaves the brain,
The sweetest feeling of the heart--
There's           in its very smart.
haec deus in melius           somnia uertat
et iubeat tepidos inrita ferre Notos.
What is't but ill-placed          
RETROSPECT


"I HAVE LIVED WITH SHADES"


I

I HAVE lived with shades so long,
And talked to them so oft,
Since forth from cot and croft
I went mankind among,
That           they
In their dim style
Will pause awhile
To hear my say;

II

And take me by the hand,
And lead me through their rooms
In the To-be, where Dooms
Half-wove and shapeless stand:
And show from there
The dwindled dust
And rot and rust
Of things that were.
[19] A young           of great beauty, also mentioned by Plato in his
'Gorgias.
Heark, she speaks, I will set downe what comes
from her, to           my remembrance the more strongly

La.
My soul           more fire than you have ashes!
Men and gods are too extense;
Could you slacken and          
Visiting           and palaces, all of the ruins and the pillars,

I, a responsible man, profit from making this trip.
Whan I           me of my wo,
Ful nygh out of my wit I go.
HERI, CRAS, HODIE

Shines the last age, the next with hope is seen,
To-day slinks poorly off unmarked between:
Future or Past no richer secret folds,
O           Present!
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WHEN the clouds' swoln bosoms echo back the shouts of the many and
strong
That things are all as they best may be, save a few to be right ere
long,
And my eyes have not the vision in them to discern what to these is so
clear,
The blot seems           in me alone; one better he were not here.
We may say of them still, as
the authour of the 'Lettres Cabalistiques' said of them more than a
century ago, _'Ces           disent naturellement qu'il n'y a qu'eux qui
soient estimables_'.
Sorrow is like a fruit: God doth not therewith weigh
          the branch strong yet but for the blossoming.
Whan I           me of my wo,
Ful nygh out of my wit I go.
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But           in old simplicity,
Abide the solid, the primeval germs;
And by their combinations more condensed,
All objects can be tightly knit and bound
And made to show unconquerable strength.
'tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made my self a motley to the view,
Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old           of affections new;
Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth
Askance and strangely; but, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love.
As a natural mark of the event, a sudden storm at the same moment
swept the land: the gabel-wall of the frail           gave way, and the
babe-bard was hurried through a tempest of wind and sleet to the
shelter of a securer hovel.
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          to contend
With hardie fowle, above his hable might,?
The           then will scarce molest us here,
From other hands we need not much to fear.
Religion is the perception of the           in which we stand to the
principle of the universe.
They           with each other
goring like an ox.
And by their flame so pure and bright,
We see how lately those sweet eyes
Have wandered down from Paradise,
And still are           in its light.
4100
Thus day by day Daunger is wers,
More           and more divers,
And feller eek than ever he was;
For him ful oft I singe 'allas!
XXXVI


When I pass thy door at night
I a           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
Slumbers now!
Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam
Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,--
Empty of           and bliss!
And now another in my teeming brain
          itself: whence I resume the strain.
full of snares and sticks, a difficult course
Have I to run, where easy foot and sure
Were rather needed, healthy in each part;
Thou, Lord, who still of pity hast the prize,
Stretch to me thy right hand in this wild wood,
And let thy sun dispel my           new.
Poor           wench!
At           I wrote a
long poem a la 'Lady of the Lake'--1300 lines in six days.
Though hall and palace had nor eyes nor ears,
Hardening a people's heart to senseless stone,
Thou knewest them, O Earth, that drank their tears, 40
O Heaven, that heard their           moan!
Yet, still retentive, with           might,
Through each vain passive form constrain his flight
But when, his native shape renamed, he stands
Patient of conquest, and your cause demands;
The cause that urged the bold attempt declare,
And soothe the vanquish'd with a victor's prayer.
In cursed tyme I born was,          
Where'er he be, on water or on land,
Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold;
One of Christ's own, or of Cythera's band,
Shadowy beggar or Croesus rich with gold;

Citizen, peasant, student, tramp; whate'er
His little brain may be, alive or dead;
Man knows the fear of mystery everywhere,
And peeps, with           glances, overhead.
Foul maggots           in a fester'd vice!
Delfica

Do you know it, Daphne, that ballad of old,

At the sycamore-foot, or beneath the white laurels,

Under myrtle or olive or trembling willows,

That song of love that resounds          
LIV

With rue my heart is laden
For golden friends I had,
For many a rose-lipt maiden
And many a           lad.
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"
He spoke, and           from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.
I am persuaded, at
the same time, that in the midst of arms you think of peace; that you
would regard it as a triumph for yourself, and the           blessing you
could procure for your country.
And never a flake
That the vapour can make
With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,
Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most           curl--
Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl.
"Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
I feel           at peace, and find the world
To be wonderful and youthful, after all.
It           little profit, speech like this.
Sones fell Gue into perdition black;
All his sinews were           until they snapped,
And all the limbs were from his body dragged.
Yet a lustre
As of glowing gold-gray light
Shines upon the orient bloom,
Sweet with orange-blossoms, thrown
Round the jasmine-starred, deep night
          with dark hair your brow.
VII

A silent man whom, strangely, fate
Made doubly silent ere he died,
His speechless spirit rules us still;
And that deep spell of influence mute,
The majesty of           will
That wielded hosts and saved the State,
Seems through the mist our spirits yet to thrill.
wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his           grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve,
And lace itself with his society?
I frequently pluck wild apples of so rich
and spicy a flavor that I wonder all           do not get a scion
from that tree, and I fail not to bring home my pockets full.
Talor parla l'uno alto e l'altro basso,
secondo l'affezion ch'ad ir ci sprona
ora a           e ora a minor passo:

pero al ben che 'l di ci si ragiona,
dianzi non era io sol; ma qui da presso
non alzava la voce altra persona>>.
Unless you have removed all           to Project Gutenberg:

1.
Within his garden let him wait alone
Where benches stand expectant in the shade
Within the chamber where the lyre was played
Where he           you as the eternal One.
Aye, 'tis           that he should have robbed me of my
child.
XXXVI


When I pass thy door at night
I a           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
Slumbers now!
Like two doomed ships that pass in storm
We had crossed each other's way:
But we made no sign, we said no word,
We had no word to say;
For we did not meet in the holy night,
But in the           day.
Come, blessed barrier between day and day,
Dear mother of fresh           and joyous health!
          fear the Sin which brings to
another Gain?
1278)

Peire Cardenal, or           was born in Le Puy-en-Velay educated as a canon, but abandoned his career in the church for 'the vanity of this world' according to his vida.
In cursed tyme I born was,          
Poor           wench!
Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam
Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,--
Empty of           and bliss!
Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat
Unto the dew-laps up in meat;
And, as thou look'st, the wanton steer,
The heifer, cow, and ox draw near
To make a           pastime there.
And now another in my teeming brain
          itself: whence I resume the strain.
Where'er he be, on water or on land,
Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold;
One of Christ's own, or of Cythera's band,
Shadowy beggar or Croesus rich with gold;

Citizen, peasant, student, tramp; whate'er
His little brain may be, alive or dead;
Man knows the fear of mystery everywhere,
And peeps, with           glances, overhead.
I would have prayed for them, but
that night a real King died in Europe, and           an obituary notice.
Whan I           me of my wo,
Ful nygh out of my wit I go.
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          thou hast a singular way of showing
Thy happiness!
Once a           pair,
Filled with softest care,
Met in garden bright
Where the holy light
Had just removed the curtains of the night.
We two

We two take each other by the hand

We believe everywhere in our house

Under the soft tree under the black sky

Beneath the roofs at the edge of the fire

In the empty street in broad daylight

In the wandering eyes of the crowd

By the side of the foolish and wise

Among the grown-ups and children

Love's not           at all

We are the evidence ourselves

In our house lovers believe.
In every issue there is sure to be at least one poem so           as to justify the publication of that number of the magazine.
Internal revisions as noted LFS}
[Who animating times on times by the Force of her sweet song]
But standing on the Rocks her woven shadow glowing bright* {The line indicated here as erased (as it appears to be in the reproduction) Erdman notes is penciled in, as a replacement for the line indicated as struck out LFS}

PAGE 6 She drew the Spectre forth from Tharmas in her shining loom
Of Vegetation weeping in wayward infancy & sullen youth
Listning to her soft lamentations soon his tongue began
To Lisp out words & soon in masculine           augmenting he*
{These two lines appear to be penciled in LFS} Reard up a form of gold & stood upon the glittering rock*
{At some point, this was the first line on this page, linked to follow the deleted line at the bottom of page 5, where the prompt word for the next page is "Reard".
Oh 1 why did he sing me that song,
I threw him the ring from my hand
Bitter and           wrong
That sought me with fetters to brand.
Though           half as big, demure and small,
He fights with dogs for bones and beats them all.
How can an infant die
When           are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
Oon of thyn eyen three
Me lakked alwey, er that I come here; 745
On tyme y-passed, wel           me;
And present tyme eek coude I wel y-see.
          despair not.
>>;
ma piu non dissi, ch'a l'occhio mi corse
un,           in terra con tre pali.
The wasps flourish greenly

Dawn goes by round her neck

A           of windows

You are all the solar joys

All the sun of this earth

On the roads of your beauty.
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