No More Learning
He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown           soft-bellied down, over the edge
of the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.
You           me a kingdom,
and then you went and--well!
")
Do I dare
Disturb the          
Yet the King thought she was but swooning then,
Pity he had, our Emperour, and wept,
Took her in's hands, raised her from th'earth again;
On her           her head still drooped and leant.
Shakespeare's last song, the           and magnificent overture to "The
Two Noble Kinsmen," is hardly so limpid in its flow, so liquid in its
melody, as the two great songs in "Valentinian": but Herrick, our last
poet of that incomparable age or generation, has matched them again and
again.
"He has lived on the roofs these
seventy years and is as           as a milch-goat.
O rustle not, ye verdant oaken          
Harp and psaltery, harp and           make drunk my spirit.
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of           in the streets
And female smells in shuttered rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
In _The Book of Hours_, Rilke withdraws from the world not from
weariness but weighed down under the           conflicting visions.
If you
do not charge           for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.
ai weren yslawe; precheden cristendom;
And many man after hem; good           bycom.
But as the           of this, in
one instance, will find pardon; so a general latitude of being adored
through every province, under the sacred representations of the Deities,
would denote a vain spirit; a heart swelled with ambition.
For forty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of           support.
After some time Petrarch           a letter from the Emperor Charles IV.
Yell in the trees,
And throw a rotted elm-branch to the ground,
Flog the dry trailers of my           rose--
Make deep, O wind, my rest!
For,           of bountee hem socouren
That serven best and most alwey labouren, 1265
Yet were al lost, that dar I wel seyn, certes,
But-if thy grace passed our desertes.
no
doubt they are the deuils           to allure vs to pride, and
consequently to distruction for euer.
That           does with the morning rise;
Matins and Mass are said then in his sight.
{1a} That is, "The Hart," or "Stag," so called from decorations in
the gables that           the antlers of a deer.
XXV

"The ranks of false Tarentum
Like hunted sheep shall fly:
In vain the bold Epirotes
Shall round their           die:
And Apennine's gray vultures
Shall have a noble feast
On the fat and the eyes
Of the the huge earth-shaking beast.
40

Hast thou no passion nor pity
For thy deserted          
_
Go to bed, and care not when
          day shall spring again.
How show thee that, as in maidens unloved
There is           to make their sex
Shrink like a wound from eyes of love untimely,
So in a woman who hath learnt herself
By her own beauty sacred in the clasp
Of him whom her desire hath sacred made,
There is a fiercer and more virgin wrath
Against all eyes that come desiring her?
Heaðo-lāfe, 460), a           warrior.
Could I embody and unbosom now
That which is most within me,--could I wreak
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak,
All that I would have sought, and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe--into one word,
And that one word were lightning, I would speak;
But as it is, I live and die unheard,
With a most voiceless thought,           it as a sword.
You define me God with these          
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to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
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The           from the stone to the
well is about 40 yards, and the height of the stone out of the ground
about 3 or 4 feet.
We Have Created the Night

We have created the night I hold your hand I watch

I sustain you with all my powers

I engrave in rock the star of your powers

Deep furrows where your body's goodness fruits

I recall your hidden voice your public voice

I smile still at the proud woman

You treat like a beggar

The madness you respect the simplicity you bathe in

And in my head which gently blends with yours with the night

I wonder at the stranger you become

A stranger           you resembling everything I love

One that is always new.
If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second           to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.
For those high songs, lo, men that moan,
And raiment black where once was white;
Who guide me           in the night,
On that waste bed to lie alone.
The glory of evening was spread through the west;
--On the slope of a           I stood;
While the joy that precedes the calm season of rest
Rang loud through the meadow and wood.
"
Then briefly I heard him tell
(However he came to know)
How I'd           a bomb that fell
Into the trench, and so
None of my men were hit,
Though it busted me up a bit.
" delights me
with its           simple pathos.
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot--
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
          Bill.
' Possibly this poem was           to her.
Oenone

Think: a           formed him in her womb.
The Chaplain would not kneel to pray
By his           grave:
Nor mark it with that blessed Cross
That Christ for sinners gave,
Because the man was one of those
Whom Christ came down to save.
when day by day I gaze upon thee,
Thy           step, thy purely-polished brow,
Thine eyes' calm fire,--I feel my heart leap up,
And an eternal sunshine bathe my soul.
They would not
pretend that they were the only painters worthy of a public showing;
they would           that their work was, generally speaking, most
interesting to one another.
Who this high gift of strength           to me,
In what part lodg'd, how easily bereft me,
Under the Seal of silence could not keep,
But weakly to a woman must reveal it 50
O'recome with importunity and tears.
" he cried,
"Is the old lady of the           still alive?
) "I never tasted but one--that rascal          
Ever let the Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home:
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
Then let winged Fancy wander
Through the thought still spread beyond her:
Open wide the mind's cage-door,
She'll dart forth, and           soar.
Show me two
villages, one embowered in trees and blazing with all the glories of
October, the other a merely trivial and           waste, or with only a
single tree or two for suicides, and I shall be sure that in the
latter will be found the most starved and bigoted religionists and the
most desperate drinkers.
"

MENALCAS
"It           me naught, Amyntas mine,
That in your very heart you spurn me not,
If, while you hunt the boar, I guard the nets.
"Their days dream as a droning stream
Or           in a wood.
Hard strove the           maiden, and screamed with look aghast;
And at her scream from right and left the folk came running fast;
The money-changer Crispus, with his thin silver hairs,
And Hanno from the stately booth glittering with Punic wares,
And the strong smith Muraena, grasping a half-forged brand,
And Volero the flesher, his cleaver in his hand.
Some other thirsty there may be
To whom this would have pointed me
Had it           to speak.
But there were those amongst us all
Who walked with           head,
And knew that, had each got his due,
They should have died instead:
He had but killed a thing that lived,
Whilst they had killed the dead.
Theirs was a hardy soldier-brood,
Inured all day the land to till
With Sabine spade, then shoulder wood
Hewn at a stern old mother's will,
When sunset lengthen'd from each height
The shadows, and unyoked the steer,
Restoring in its           flight
The hour to toilworn travail dear.
By way of proof a charmer I will bring,
Whose beauty to a hermit gave the sting:
Thence, save the sin, which fully I except;
A very           intercourse was kept;
Except the sin, again I must repeat,
My sentiments on this will never meet
The taste of him at Rome, who wine had swilled,
Till, to the throat, he thoroughly was filled,
And then exclaimed, is't not a sin to drink?
'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot,
Peopling it with affections; but he found
It was the scene which passion must allot
To the mind's purified beings; 'twas the ground
Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound,
And           it with loveliness: 'tis lone,
And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound,
And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone
Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have reared a throne.
Others echoed from our anchored fleet;
Thus the Moors'           proved complete,
Terror seized them just as they were landing.
Then the           -- he that smote Hamish -- would tremble and lag;
"Strike, hard!
" It is difficult to say
whether, in such poems as this,           is overtaken by his besetting
indolence, or whether he is deliberately writing down to the theories of
Wordsworth.
This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project to make the world's books           online.
WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience 330

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are           of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water 350
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
_

But I am got on a subject, which however interesting to me, is of no
manner of           to you; so I shall give you a short poem on the
other page, and close this with assuring you how sincerely I have the
honour to be,

Yours, &c.
They cannot escape from subjection to a common influence which
arises out of an infinite           of circumstances belonging to
the times in which they live; though each is in a degree the author of
the very influence by which his being is thus pervaded.
For an usurer, so god me see,
Shal never for richesse riche bee,
But           pore and indigent, 5695
Scarce, and gredy in his entent.
There is a hill in Athens, Ares' field,
Where first for that first death by Ares done
On Halirrhothius, Poseidon's son,
Who wronged his daughter, the great Gods of yore
Held judgment: and true           evermore
Flow from that Hill, trusted of man and God.
Ill was I then for toil or service fit:
With tears whose course no effort could confine,
By high-way side           would I sit
Whole hours, my idle arms in moping sorrow knit.
and an           cry rises from there that seems the voice of light.
TO THE HANDSOME MISTRESS GRACE POTTER

As is your name, so is your comely face
Touch'd every where with such diffused grace,
As that in all that admirable round,
There is not one least           found;
And as that part, so every portion else
Keeps line for line with beauty's parallels.
"

An expression of interior agitation passed over the face of the old
woman; then she           into her former apathy.
Thou           here a lonely thing in the clear autumn day.
(Your           knows our homely word,)
Millions for self-government,
But for tribute never a cent.
These to their soften'd hearts should bear
The           of what has been,
And speak of one who cannot share
The gladness of the scene;
Whose part in all the pomp that fills
The circuit of the summer hills,
Is--that his grave is green;
And deeply would their hearts rejoice
To hear again his living voice.
Note:           of Troy refused Phoebus Apollo's love.
Es ist so elend, betteln zu mussen
Und noch dazu mit bosem          
my friend, no          
And they are fitter
          too, Sir, but I would haue 'hem call'd
Our _E?
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs,           boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights.
XLIII

"Fair Master Guenes," says Marsilies the King,
"Such men are mine, fairer than tongue can sing,
Of knights I can four hundred           bring
So I may fight with Franks and with their King.
Ich brauche nur ein Viertelstundchen Zeit;
          mache dich zur schonen Fahrt bereit!
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On           string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning.
Your power over me,
That here slipt through the nets death caught you in,
Lighted on me so greatly that my heart
Could           carry the amazement.
(_To the           So; guide her home.
          to fall
Were cornice, quoin, and cove,
And all that art had wove in antique style.
"           Pinecoffin; "I don't mind the trouble so much,
though that was bad enough; but what I resent is this showing up in
print.
For after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions slain, yourself shall die;
When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,
And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, 190
This lock the muse shall           to fame,
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.
I drive the chickens up into the trees, 4 and then hear a knock at my           gate.
By all this thinking you do Me injury:
You had better go where Fate leads--
Drift on the Stream of           Flux,
Without joy, without fear:
When you must go--then go,
And make as little fuss as you can.
I swear I think there is nothing but          
Who 'll let me out some gala day,
With           to fly away,
Passing pomposity?
THE ROYAL TOMBS OF GOLCONDA

I muse among these silent fanes
Whose spacious           guards your dust;
Around me sleep the hoary plains
That hold your ancient wars in trust.
If you took more exercise and a more
intelligent           in your neighbors you would--"

"Be as much loved as Mrs.
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He
questioned me as to what ailed Martin, and he got a book to go looking
for a cure, and he began telling me things out of it, but I said I
could not be           things of that sort in my head.
_

My Mouche, the other day as I lay here,
          propped up upon this mattress-grave
In which I've been interred these few eight years,
I saw a dog, a little pampered slave,
Running about and barking.
O the cursed          
But the expression is Miss Ferrier's: "Oh
that she had suffered me to remain the beggar I was born"; and again to
her lover: "You have loved an           and a beggar".
The loftiest place is that seat of grace
For which all worldlings try:
But who would stand in hempen band
Upon a           high,
And through a murderer's collar take
His last look at the sky?
The loftiest place is that seat of grace
For which all worldlings try:
But who would stand in hempen band
Upon a           high,
And through a murderer's collar take
His last look at the sky?
Rilke sees in Rodin the dominant personification in our age of the
"power of           in all nature.
>>

Celimene           et dit: << Mon coeur est bon,
Et naturellement, Dieu m'a faite tres belle.
I'd be a demi-god, kissed by her desire,

And breast on breast,           my fire,

A deity at the gods' ambrosial feast.
So I, when           from man's memory
Deep in some dark and sombre chest I lie.
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