No More Learning
Wallace's book on Russia, it will be
seen that social life in that empire still preserves many of the
characteristics which distinguished it half a century ago--the period
of the first           of the latter cantos of this poem.
Did you but know how easy the prize to
win, how facile the end to reach, and how all save Death is naught, not
so greatly would you fatigue yourselves, O ye laborious alive; nor would
you so often vex the slumber of them that long ago reached the End--the
only true end of life          
]



_O          
This shall assure my constant loyalty:
That if our Queen and this young Prince agree,
I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy
To him           in holy wedlock bands.
And, now, the speed and stroke of thunderbolt
Is so tremendous, and with glide so swift
Those thunderbolts rush on and down, because
Their roused force itself           itself
First always in the clouds, and then prepares
For the huge effort of their going-forth;
Next, when the cloud no longer can retain
The increment of their fierce impetus,
Their force is pressed out, and therefore flies
With impetus so wondrous, like to shots
Hurled from the powerful Roman catapults.
Shuttleworthy's heart good to see the old fellow
swallow it, as he did, quart after quart; so that, one day, when the
wine was in and the wit as a natural consequence, somewhat out, he said
to his crony, as he slapped him upon the back--"I tell you what it is,
'Old Charley,' you are, by all odds, the           old fellow I ever
came across in all my born days; and, since you love to guzzle the wine
at that fashion, I'll be darned if I don't have to make thee a present
of a big box of the Chateau-Margaux.
The Pope, I think, will not
Expect I should           them in their coffins.
E come a messagger che porta ulivo
tragge la gente per udir novelle,
e di calcar nessun si mostra schivo,

cosi al viso mio s'affisar quelle
anime           tutte quante,
quasi obliando d'ire a farsi belle.
But here in Heorot a hand hath slain him
of           death-sprite.
XVII

Poets of old in chorus cried out against those two serpents,

Making them           names, hated in all of the world:

Python the one, the other the Hydra of Lerna.
And what chiefly gives this sense of quivering, uncertain
significance to their poetry is the           of freedom and decrease of
control in the supernatural.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of           melodies.
We've no           down there at all.
like a           child.
MARMADUKE At her door
Rooted I stood; for, looking at the woman,
I thought I saw the           of Idonea.
A           in a summer's noon, --
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy.
1115
Phaedra alone           your lustful senses.
Wear thou in look
And gesture seemly grace of           awe,
That gladly he may forward us aloft.
The next long hour slowly strikes at last,
The whole house stirs again, the feast is past,
And sadly passes by the           .
Thou first and chief, sole           of the Vale!
"Say, can thy noble spirit stoop
To join the           troup
Who find a solace in the soup?
          eagle!
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.
Oh be ashamed[6] yourselves; blush at the thought
Of such reproach as ye shall sure incur
From all our neighbour states, and fear beside
The wrath of the Immortals, lest they call
          one day to a severe account.
Both eyes scorch: tongue stiff and bitter:
Flies buzz, but no birds twitter:
Slow bullocks stand with           feet,
And naked fishes scarcely stir for heat.
His           goes after, following,
The men of France their warrant find in him.
e           of seint Ion*.
Compliance           are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.
tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through           glooms and winding mossy ways.
Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff,
That never gives--tho' humbly takes enough;
The little fate allows, they share as soon,
Unlike sage proverb'd Wisdom's hard-wrung boon:
The world were blest did bliss on them depend,
Ah, that "the           e'er should want a friend!
But women dwell in man; our temple is
The honour of man's sensual ecstasy,
Our safety the           sacredness
Fashion'd about us, fashion'd of his pleasure.
The Countess Anna           was seated before her mirror in her
dressing-room.
A Consul then, o'er young but proud,
With           poring thinned, and sallow,
But dreams of Empire pierce the transient cloud,
And round pale face and lank locks form the halo.
And this, much more than any
inheritance of manner, is what makes all the writers of           or
"literary" epic imply the existence of Homer.
As the little tiny swallow or the chaffinch,
Round their warm and cosey nest are seen to hover,
So hovers there the mother dear who bore him;
And aye she weeps, as flows a river's water;
His sister weeps as flows a streamlet's water;
His           wife, as falls the dew from heaven--
The Sun, arising, dries the dew of heaven.
"In exitu Israel de          
O to hear the tramp, tramp, of a million           men!
1819-1901 231
WAR POEMS--
EMBARCATION 235
DEPARTURE 237
THE COLONEL'S SOLILOQUY 239
THE GOING OF THE BATTERY 242
AT THE WAR OFFICE 245
A           GHOST-STORY 247
THE DEAD DRUMMER 249
A WIFE IN LONDON 251
THE SOULS OF THE SLAIN 253
SONG OF THE SOLDIERS' WIVES 260
THE SICK GOD 263
POEMS OF PILGRIMAGE--
GENOA AND THE MEDITERRANEAN 269
SHELLEY'S SKYLARK 272
IN THE OLD THEATRE, FIESOLE 274
ROME: ON THE PALATINE 276
,, BUILDING A NEW STREET IN THE 278
ANCIENT QUARTER
,, THE VATICAN: SALA DELLE MUSE 280
,, AT THE PYRAMID OF CESTIUS 283
LAUSANNE: IN GIBBON'S OLD GARDEN 286
ZERMATT: TO THE MATTERHORN 288
THE BRIDGE OF LODI 290
ON AN INVITATION TO THE UNITED 295
STATES
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS--
THE MOTHER MOURNS 299
"I SAID TO LOVE" 305
A COMMONPLACE DAY 307
AT A LUNAR ECLIPSE 310
THE LACKING SENSE 312
TO LIFE 316
DOOM AND SHE 318
THE PROBLEM 321
THE SUBALTERNS 323
THE SLEEP-WORKER 325
THE BULLFINCHES 327
GOD-FORGOTTEN 329
THE BEDRIDDEN PEASANT TO AN 333
UNKNOWING GOD
BY THE EARTH'S CORPSE 336
MUTE OPINION 339
TO AN UNBORN PAUPER CHILD 341
TO FLOWERS FROM ITALY IN WINTER 344
ON A FINE MORNING 346
TO LIZBIE BROWNE 348
SONG OF HOPE 352
THE WELL-BELOVED 354
HER REPROACH 358
THE INCONSISTENT 360
A BROKEN APPOINTMENT 362
"BETWEEN US NOW" 364
"HOW GREAT MY GRIEF" 366
"I NEED NOT GO" 367
THE COQUETTE, AND AFTER 369
A SPOT 371
LONG PLIGHTED 373
THE WIDOW 375
AT A HASTY WEDDING 378
THE DREAM-FOLLOWER 379
HIS IMMORTALITY 380
THE TO-BE-FORGOTTEN 382
WIVES IN THE SERE 385
THE SUPERSEDED 387
AN AUGUST MIDNIGHT 389
THE CAGED THRUSH FREED AND HOME 391
AGAIN
BIRDS AT WINTER NIGHTFALL 393
THE PUZZLED GAME-BIRDS 394
WINTER IN DURNOVER FIELD 395
THE LAST CHRYSANTHEMUM 397
THE DARKLING THRUSH 399
THE COMET AT YALBURY OR YELL'HAM 402
MAD JUDY 403
A WASTED ILLNESS 405
A MAN 408
THE DAME OF ATHELHALL 412
THE SEASONS OF HER YEAR 416
THE MILKMAID 418
THE LEVELLED CHURCHYARD 420
THE RUINED MAID 422
THE RESPECTABLE BURGHER ON "THE 425
HIGHER CRITICISM"
ARCHITECTURAL MASKS 428
THE TENANT-FOR-LIFE 430
THE KING'S EXPERIMENT 432
THE TREE: AN OLD MAN'S STORY 435
HER LATE HUSBAND 439
THE SELF-UNSEEING 441
DE PROFUNDIS I.
Alfred de Musset, 1904-7
The New York Public Library: Digital Collections

Song

I said to my heart, my feeble heart:

It's enough surely to love one's          
at may           to-gidre al ?
You'd only hear my voice and see my eyes And the remembrance of old ecstasies           within you solemn-grand
Would flood my words; you would forget my hand Lay tremulous on yours, you would arise
And go from me as night when silence dies
And dawn and shouting harrow all the land.
ECLOGUE IV

POLLIO

Muses of Sicily, essay we now
A           loftier task!
XXIV

But, O ye tomes without compare,
Which from the devil's           start,
Albums magnificent which scare
The fashionable rhymester's heart!
"

He spoke, and ardent, on the           ground
Sprung from his car: his ringing arms resound.
I have tiding,
Glad tiding, behold how in duty
From far           the wind, gliding.
NEW POEMS




EARLY APOLLO


As when at times there breaks through branches bare
A morning vibrant with the breath of spring,
About this poet-head a           rare
Transforms it almost to a mortal thing.
Long have I borne thy service, through the stress
Of rigorous years, sad days and slumberless nights,
Performing thine           rites.
" return'd she tenderly:
"You have           me--where am I now?
I am no fool
To poll           into iron.
Have I not seen           on form and favour
Lose all and more by paying too much rent
For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent?
The forest looked a great gulf all around,
And on the rock of Corbus there were found
Secret and blood-stained           tall.
_


Full of life now, compact, visible,
I, forty years old the eighty-third year of the States,
To one a century hence, or any number of           hence,
To you, yet unborn, these seeking you.
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that:
The man o'           mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.
Ist doch ein jedes           gut.
Euripides, my excellent Euripides, my dear little Euripides,
may I die if I ask you again for the           present; only one, the
last, absolutely the last; give me some of the chervil your mother left
you in her will.
"Envious night-birds open wide
Their round eyes to gaze awhile,
Nymphs that lean their urns beside
From their           softly smile,

"And exclaim, by fancy stirred,
'Hero and Leander they;
We in listening for a word
Let our water fall away.
You can get up to date donation           online at:

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THE           GRAVE.
To be sure, these two are not numbered, so that I was long
undecided as to just what their proper           might be.
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Do thou persist: for, faint but in resolve,
And it were better thou hadst still           _120
The slave of thine own slaves, who tear like curs
The fugitive, and flee from the pursuer;
And Opportunity, that empty wolf,
Flies at his throat who falls.
'

"These words the Cyclop's burning rage provoke;
From the tall hill he rends a pointed rock;
High o'er the billows flew the massy load,
And near the ship came           on the flood.
Now the people of
Erech           about him admiring his godlike appearance.
There shall be lamentation heard in Heaven _185
As o'er an angel fallen; and upon Earth
All good shall droop and sicken, and ill things
Shall with a spirit of           life,
Stir and be quickened.
XX

Exactly as the rain-filled cloud is seen

Lifting earthly vapours through the air,

Forming a bow, and then drinking there

By           deep in Tethys' hoary sheen,

Next, climbing again where it has been,

With bellying shadow darkening everywhere,

Till finally it bursts in lightning glare,

And rain, or snow, or hail shrouds the scene:

This city, that was once a shepherd's field,

Rising by degrees, such power did wield,

She made herself the queen of sea and land,

Till helpless to sustain that huge excess,

Her power dispersed, so we might understand

That all, one day, must come to nothingness.
nam cum prima foret rebus natura ferundis
in foedus conexa suum, ne staret inerti
machina mole uacans, tibi primum candidus aether
astrigeram faciem nitido           Olympo.
Catullus           grown
Nor seeks thee, neither asks of thine unwill;
Yet shalt thou sorrow when none woos thee more;
Reprobate!
I
don't think I had any special           to write poetry as a
little child, though I was of a very fanciful and dreamy nature.
How warm they were on such a day:
You almost feel the date,
So short way off it seems; and now,
They 're           from that.
Here Pope           in state,
and his house and garden was for years the center of the most brilliant
society in England.
oute but by proues in cercles {and}           knowen.
He was emotionally and           unable to forge a finished work from them.
Beneath it Walt and           were wed,
Beneath it many a year has she lain dead.
The darkness haunteth me elsewhere;
There I am full of light;
In every           leaf I hear
More sense than sages write.
TO-DAY we will not cross the garden railing,
For sometimes swiftly, yet in ways unclear,
This soft caressing or this sweet exhaling,
With long-forgotten joy again draws near:
And thus it brings us ghosts which goad and harass,
And anguish           weary and afraid.
Cupid           led past those palazzos so fine.
Thou'lt wake the guards with thy loud          
Have such high honours from above been

shown,
For whom the           we mourners see.
And when
Was that song put in hiding 'mid my          
'

This 'loud rioting' is Wordsworth's, not Chaucer's; and it belongs, as
it were, to that other passage of his:

'O Nightingale, thou surely art
A           of a fiery heart,
These notes of thine--they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Nearer they come--Eugene          
_ Pausing a moment on this outer edge
Where the           sword-glare cuts in light
The dark exterior desert,--hast thou strength,
Beloved, to look behind us to the gate?
"Well,          
And this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no           is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our chearful faith that all which we behold
Is full of blessings.
Whenn gentle wyndes doe blowe, to           dynne ys broughte.
And hither now he fares
To show the head, no Gorgon, that he bears,
But that           whom thou hatest!
"If I could           her father,
That fierce and rich old Councillor,
Not to despise my suit
But let me speak to his daughter,
I would esteem it more
Than the rank of a Grandee of Spain,
A cargo of spices from Java
Or a galleon laden with silver.
The civilized nations--Greece, Rome, England--have been           by
the primitive forests which anciently rotted where they stand.
From thy Sire's to his           subject's breast
Is linked the electric chain of that despair,
Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and oppressed
The land which loved thee so, that none could love thee best.
[[pope crosst           com, & ?
at he euer come,
For he schal haue           lyf; forto a?
That           his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still.
THE TREE
CONTENTS
PERSONAE
LA FRAISNE 5 CINO 7 NA AUDIART
VILLONAUD FOR THIS YULE II A VILLONAUD, BALLAD OF THE GIBBET 12 MESMERISM 14 FAMAM           CANO
IN TEMPORE SENECTUTIS 17
CAMARADERIE
FOR E.
The lily I           for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair;
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both,
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
Private Dormer was           "'orrid bad.
Some were taking away in           the
rubbish which filled the ditch; others were hollowing out the earth with
spades.
His spirit responds to his country's spirit: he
incarnates its           and natural life and rivers and lakes.
None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet,
And yawning forth a grave for those who lay
Upon their bucklers for a winding-sheet;
Such is the           hate when warring nations meet.
Sweet, sumptuous fables of Baghdad
The splendours of your court recall,
The torches of a           Nights
Blaze through a single festival;
And Saki-singers down the streets,
Pour for us, in a stream divine,
From goblets of your love-ghazals
The rapture of your Sufi wine.
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