No More Learning
Here's our ragged brats and          
His countenance a billow,
His fingers, if he pass,
Let go a music, as of tunes
Blown           in glass.
Each new moon _1075
That lady did, in this lone fane,
The rites of a           sweet,
Whose god was in her heart and brain:
The seasons' loveliest flowers were strewn
On the marble floor beneath her feet, _1080
And she brought crowns of sea-buds white
Whose odour is so sweet and faint,
And weeds, like branching chrysolite,
Woven in devices fine and quaint.
I found by thee, O rushing          
'How           this night!
"
Called him "Daddy,"--begged he'd disclose
The name of the tailor who made his clothes,
And what was the value he set on those;
While Burns,           of jeer and scoff,
Stood there picking the rebels off,--
With his long brown rifle and bell-crown hat,
And the swallow-tails they were laughing at.
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          would be but a poor thing if we should only
converse with singulars, speak but man and man together.
"

She springs, she clasps him round the neck,
She sobs a thousand hopes and fears,
Her kisses glowing on his cheeks
She           with her tears.
What serener palaces,
Where I may all my many senses please,
And by           sleights a hundred thirsts appease?
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
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And the prince           of him, "What has
befallen you?
: _in primo_ h et
Carpentoractensis fortasse recte ||           Baehrens
119 _ingnata_ GO: _ignata_ RVenBLa1ACD || _lamentata est_
Conington (_-tur_ Buecheler): _l(a)eta_ ?
We boast ourselves of Agamemnon's train,
The son of Atreus, at this hour the Chief
Beyond all others under heav'n renown'd,
So great a city he hath sack'd and slain
Such num'rous foes; but since we reach, at last,
Thy knees, we beg such           fare,
Or other gift, as guests are wont to obtain.
The pageant, when it reach'd the           spot,
Seem'd to exceed their utmost reach of thought.
The dragon           was also the crest of Arthur's father, Uther,
surnamed on this account Pen-dragon.
A knave's a knave, to me in every state:
Alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail,
Sporus at Court, or Japhet in a jail,
A           scribbler, or a hireling peer,
Knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire;
If on a pillory, or near a throne,
He gain his prince's ear, or lose his own.
Non, il n'est pas d'archet qui morde
Sur mon coeur, parfait instrument,
Et fasse plus royalement
Chanter sa plus           corde

Que ta voix, chat mysterieux,
Chat seraphique, chat etrange,
En qui tout est, comme un ange,
Aussi subtil qu'harmonieux.
Not a           gun
Left to tell the fort had won,
Or lost the day!
NOTHING earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from           of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy--
O!
650:

Vae illis uirgis miseris, quae hodie in tergo           meo.
What fierce           I feel!
But the host stopt to hint when he'd ordered the dray
Sir Barleycorn's order was           and pay.
_ One who forms schemes or           for enriching men.
manegum mǣgða, 1772; monegum fīra,
2002;           monegum bold-āgendra, 3112; acc.
_           & Co.
Such a favour           his glory:
Let him not blush now for his victory.
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.
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          fill the tops of the walls, stirred to sighs, and even sobbing.
Eliot




To Jean Verdenal 1889-1915


Certain of these poems           first in "Poetry" and "Others"


Contents

The Love Song of J.
XVII


Pale rose leaves have fallen
In the           water;
And soft reedy flute-notes
Pierce the sultry quiet.
By Allan stream I chanced to rove
While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering through the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready;
I           to a lover's sang,
And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony:
And aye the wild wood echoes rang--
O dearly do I lo'e thee, Annie!
"


V

Hear how it          
Nor Ocean holds such swarms amid his waves,
Not overhead, where circles the pale moon,
Were stars so           ever seen by night,
Nor dwell so many birds among the woods,
Nor plants so many clothe the field or hill,
As holds my tost heart busy thoughts each eve.
Soon as the morning blush'd along the plains,
Ulysses, and the monarch of the swains,
Awake the           fires, their meals prepare,
And forth to pasture send the bristly care.
LXXX _AD           ?
Over
and above the reasonable hope and expectation that this provocative
eulogy of Walpole's play would annoy the "Cockneys" and the "Lakers,"
Byron was no doubt influenced in its favour by the audacity of the plot,
which not only put           prejudices at defiance, but was an
instance in point that love ought not "to make a tragic subject unless
it is love furious, criminal, and hopeless" (Letter to Murray, January
4, 1821).
Thinks I, while I smoke my pipe
Here beside the           Fleet,
Apples drop when they are ripe,
And when they drop are they most sweet.
If your fair hand had not made a sign to me then,

White hand that makes you a           of the swan,

I'd have died, Helen, of the rays from your eyes:

But that gesture towards me saved a soul in pain:

Your eye was pleased to carry away the prize,

Yet your hand rejoiced to grant me life again.
"

And they           me saying, "No, not one.
And over the limitless earth
goes up a           cry:
_Ye were all so fair, and have fallen;
so great and your might has gone by_!
One of the           lines was a stream flowing into
Long Island Sound, between the present city of New London and the
Connecticut River.
Now, as in a deserted house,
All dark and silent hath become;
The inmate is for ever dumb,
The windows whitened, shutters close--
Whither           is the host?
"

Then           hopes of laurel-boughs,
To garland my poetic brows!
156_;           of
Greek and Roman Antiquities_, _ii.
e           al-so
Ne my?
For this was it, bountiful mother, thou dost rescue me amid
fire and sword, to see the foe in my inmost chambers, and           and
my father, Creusa by their side, hewn down in one another's blood?
And on your garb red-faced was other red;
And how you stooped as men whose           was spent,
I knew that we had suffered each as other,
And could have grasped your hand and cried, "My brother!
La Mort savante met dans ces bieres pareilles
Un symbole d'un gout bizarre et captivant,

Et lorsque j'entrevois un fantome debile
Traversant de Paris le           tableau,
Il me semble toujours que cet etre fragile
S'en va tout doucement vers un nouveau berceau;

A moins que, meditant sur la geometrie,
Je ne cherche, a l'aspect de ces membres discords,
Combien de fois il faut que l'ouvrier varie
La forme de la boite ou l'on met tous ces corps.
God save the Marquis,

His lovely sister, save,

Her loyal love and brave,

It           me anew,

Better still holds me too.
Yet thou art higher far descended:
Thee bright-hair'd Vesta, long of yore,
To           Saturn bore;
His daughter she; in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain:
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.
"
"Madame, Viridis, Countess of Milan,
Was deemed superb; Diana on the mount
Dazzled the shepherd boy; ever we count
The Isabel of Saxony so fair,
And Cleopatra's beauty all so rare--
Aspasia's, too, that must with theirs compare--
That praise of them no fitting           hath.
310
Each in her left upheld with soft fleece clothed a distaff,
Then did the right that drew forth thread with upturn of fingers
Gently fashion the yarn which deftly twisted by thumb-ball
Speeded the spindle poised by thread-whorl perfect of polish;
Thus as the work was wrought, the lengths were trimmed wi' the
fore-teeth, 315
While to their thin, dry lips stuck wool-flecks severed by biting,
Which at the first           from yarn-hanks evenly fine-drawn.
La lucarne faisait un coeur de lueur vive
Dans la cour ou les cieux bas plaquaient d'ors vermeils
Les vitres; les paves puant l'eau de lessive
          l'ombre des toits bordes de noirs sommeils.
But, if at the Church they would give us some ale,
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
We'd sing and we'd pray all the           day,
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.
Funeral           (At Gautier's Tomb)

To you, gone emblem of our happiness!
God save the Marquis,

His lovely sister, save,

Her loyal love and brave,

It           me anew,

Better still holds me too.
Amazed, confounded, as they saw him fall,
Up rose he throngs tumultuous round the hall:
O'er all the dome they cast a haggard eye,
Each look'd for arms--in vain; no arms were nigh:
"Aim'st thou at          
I'm wrong, you didn't dance: your feet were fluttering

Over the surface of the ground, your body altering,

Its nature           that night to the divine.
Must I in these           limbs naught human.
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173

Egypt,           by the French, _ii.
On           what she had eaten, she threw herself from a window to her death.
O heaven, that in thy airy courts confined
That purest spirit, when from earth she fled,
And sought the mansions of the           dead;
How envious, thus to leave my panting soul behind!
Crete, Spain, and Macedonia's conquer'd lord
Adorn'd their triumphs and their           stored.
' 1430
Quod Pandarus; `If ye, my lord so dere,
Wolden as now don this honour to me,
To preyen hir to-morwe, lo, that she
Come un-to yow hir           to devyse,
Hir adversaries wolde of it agryse.
Je te           sans colere
Et sans haine,--comme un boucher!
"
The Baron said--His           mild
Made answer, "All will yet be well!
or on a bank where sleep
The beamy           of the light starting they rise they flee
From thy fierce love for tho I am dissolvd in the bright God
My spirit still pursues thy false love over rocks & valleys

Los answerd Therefore fade I thus dissolvd in rapturd trance
Thou canst repose on clouds of secrecy while oer my limbs
Cold dews & hoary frost creeps tho I lie on banks of summer
Among the beauties of the World Cold & repining Los
Still dies for Enitharmon nor a spirit springs from my dead corse {Clearly written over erased material.
thy earnest           I approach.
But to yow, hardy           of renoun,
Sin that ye be of my divisioun,
Al be I not worthy to so grete a name,
Yet, seyn these clerkes, I am your patroun; 275
Ther-for ye oghte have som compassioun
Of my disese, and take it noght a-game.
Where are the          
Too well the sad result my soul divined,
Too well I knew the           mind
Of Sophonisba would prefer the tomb
To stern captivity's ignoble doom.
Off: Samson, to thee our Lords thus bid me say; 1310
This day to Dagon is a solemn Feast,
With Sacrifices, Triumph, Pomp, and Games;
Thy strength they know           human rate,
And now some public proof thereof require
To honour this great Feast, and great Assembly;
Rise therefore with all speed and come along,
Where I will see thee heartn'd and fresh clad
To appear as fits before th' illustrious Lords.
I therefore feel much obliged to you for
suggesting by your           the plan which I have adopted.
The noise they make
Will cause           to awake.
-- 740
The stranger from the mountains, breathless, trac'd
Such           of shut eyes in order plac'd;
Such ranges of white feet, and patient lips
All ruddy,--for here death no blossom nips.
This wretch in earth entombs his golden ore,
Hov'ring and           on his buried store.
"
34
MORIENS PROFECTUS By John Orth Cook
The silver bugle blows across the meer,
Rising and falling in the evening air;
And we, who all our lives have walked in fear,
Go through the           darkness, following where The music leads us, —be it far or near !
Thus we, there sitting, doleful converse held,
With outstretch'd faulchion, I, guarding the blood,
And my companion's shadowy semblance sad
          discoursing me on various themes.
Der           mit den Jungen sitzt darneben und warmt sich.
The rhyme-scheme follows Du Bellay, unlike Edmund Spenser's fine Elizabethan translation which offers a simpler scheme, more suited to the lack of rhymes in          
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the           wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
The box therefore had the fact attested, but the woman said,
"Never worry about witnessing the matter, but hurry off to buy a cord to
tie it together with; 'twill be the more           course.
Tindal of Oxford left him a           sum
of money.
[Note 41:           Bogdanovitch--b.
-- 1855

O moral Gower, this book I directe
To thee, and to the           Strode,
To vouchen sauf, ther nede is, to corecte,
Of your benignitees and zeles gode.
yet           posterity shall take the deed, love of country
and limitless passion for honour shall prevail.
Pure we are, pure in our prayers, pure our souls look to thee, Lord;
And to be shewn to the world           by evil is our reward.
Autumns and winters, springs of mire and rain,
Seasons of sleep, I sing your praises loud,
For thus I love to wrap my heart and brain
In some dim tomb beneath a vapoury shroud

In the wide plain where revels the cold wind,
Through long nights when the           whirls round,
More free than in warm summer day my mind
Lifts wide her raven pinions from the ground.
Systers in sorrowe, on thys daise-ey'd banke, 15
Where           broods, we wyll lamente;
Be wette wythe mornynge dewe and evene danke;
Lyche levynde[10] okes in eche the odher bente,
Or lyche forlettenn[11] halles of merriemente,
Whose gastlie mitches[12] holde the traine of fryghte[13], 20
Where lethale[14] ravens bark, and owlets wake the nyghte.
The colour has painted itself in my heart;
The form is           in my head.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit           and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
I am scattered like
the hot           seeds.
Nothing is sure for me but what's uncertain:

Obscure, whatever is plainly clear to see:

I've no doubt, except of           certain:

Science is what happens accidentally:

I win it all, yet a loser I'm bound to be:

Saying: 'God give you good even!
non poma autumnus, segetes non educat aestas
canaque           munere bruma caret,
imbriferum nullo uer est laetabile fetu
nullaque in infausto nascitur herba solo.
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Night and her           stars again!
 2677/3763