No More Learning
What is his           with the Duke?
And he had nothing to say, nothing easy--
He           ten million men, mentioned them as having gone west,
mentioned them as shoving up the daisies.
No           marble here, nor pompous lay,
"No storied urn nor animated bust;"
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way
To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust.
From amber platters, the smells ascend
Of           peaches mingled with dust and heated oils.
Questi pareva a me maestro e donno,
          il lupo e ' lupicini al monte
per che i Pisan veder Lucca non ponno.
Or e'er the jealous queens of nations greet,
Doth Tayo           his mighty tide?
Where are thy          
Di bere e di mangiar n'accende cura
l'odor ch'esce del pomo e de lo sprazzo
che si           su per sua verdura.
All at once I thought I distinguished           black.
622 in the           library by F.
To the sailor, wrecked,
The sea was dead grey walls
Superlative in vacancy,
Upon which           at fateful time
Was written
The grim hatred of nature.
These nymphs, I would           them.
I have a           hill
Which I sit upon for hours,
Where she cropt some sprigs of thyme
And other little flowers;
And she muttered as she did it
As does beauty in a dream,
And I loved her when she hid it
On her breast, so like to cream,
Near the brown mole on her neck that to me a diamond shone
Then my eye was like to fire, and my heart was like to stone.
* * * * *

Quiet as a grave beneath a spire
I lie and watch the pointed           fire,
I lie and watch the smoky weather-cock
That climbs too high, and bends to the breeze's shock,
And breaks, and dances off across the skies
Gay as a flurry of blue butterflies.
Thus sad and briefly must my days take flight,
For life with woe not long on earth will stay;
But more I blame that mirror's           sway,
Which thou hast wearied with thy self-delight.
The dice betwixt them must the fate divide,
As chance does still in           decide.
This Castle hath a pleasant seat,
The ayre nimbly and sweetly           it selfe
Vnto our gentle sences

Banq.
The boatman smiles,

Princess Volupine extends
A meagre, blue-nailed,           hand
To climb the waterstair.
When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove's door,
When           renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
It is the           dated play of
Euripides which has come down to us.
And yet we must
Beware, and mark the natural kiths and kins
Of circumstance and office, and distrust
The rich man reasoning in a poor man's hut,
The poet who neglects pure truth to prove
Statistic fact, the child who leaves a rut
For a smoother road, the priest who vows his glove
Exhales no grace, the prince who walks afoot,
The woman who has sworn she will not love,
And this Ninth Pius in Seventh Gregory's chair,
With Andrea Doria's          
Sir Galahad was at last successful in finding it,
as may be read in the           book of the Romance of King Arthur.
SCHULER:
Blitz, wie die wackern Dirnen          
Yet not at all do those primordial germs
Roam round our members, at that time, afar
From their own motions that produce our senses--
Since, when he's startled from his sleep, a man
          his senses.
Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--
How oft           will she wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising look for us
Through this same Garden--and for one in vain!
Yet, in this search, the wisest may mistake,
If second           for first they take.
Jealousy's eyes are green,
Scorpions are green, and water-snakes, and efts, _75
And verdigris, and--

PURGANAX:
Honourable Swine,
In Piggish souls can           reign?
The belief in the power of fairies to substitute their
elf-children for human babies is frequently           to in writers of
Spenser's time.
--Et regarde filer de son cigare en feu,
Comme aux soirs de Saint-Cloud, un fin nuage bleu




LE MAL


Tandis que les crachats rouges de la mitraille
Sifflent tout le jour par l'infini du ciel bleu;
Qu'ecarlates ou verts, pres du Roi qui les raille,
          les bataillons en masse dans le feu;

Tandis qu'une folie epouvantable, broie
Et fait de cent milliers d'hommes un tas fumant;
--Pauvres morts!
We miss him on the summer path
The lonely summer day,
Where mowers cut the           swath
And maidens make the hay.
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
Or bless the           year,
When the blasts of winter appear?
" Wherefore speak
Of Scylla, child of Nisus, who, 'tis said,
Her fair white loins with barking monsters girt
Vexed the Dulichian ships, and, in the deep
Swift-eddying whirlpool, with her sea-dogs tore
The trembling          
--frank repeaters
Of great Guerazzi's praises--"There's a man,
The father of the land, who, truly great,
Takes off that national           and ban,
The farthing tax upon our Florence-gate,
And saves Italia as he only can!
--what bitter words we speak
When God speaks of          
O fecondite de l'esprit et           de l'univers!
_

HE ALLEGORICALLY           THE ORIGIN OF HIS PASSION.
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
The silver          
When the sun is down to-night,
Quietly set the main gate open: I
Will pass           and treat with Holofernes.
(C)           2000-2016 A.
Thus, Woman, Principle of Life, Speaker of the Ideal

Would you see

The dark form of the sun

The contours of life

Or be truly dazzled

By the fire that fuses all

The flame conveyer of modesties

In flesh in gold that fine gesture

Error is as unknown

As the limits of spring

The temptation prodigious

All touches all travels you

At first it was only a thunder of incense

Which you love the more

The fine praise at four

Lovely motionless nude

Violin mute but palpable

I speak to you of seeing

I will speak to you of your eyes

Be faceless if you wish

Of their unwilling colour

Of luminous stones

Colourless

Before the man you conquer

His blind enthusiasm

Reigns naively like a spring

In the desert

Between the sands of night and the waves of day

Between earth and water

No ripple to erase

No road possible

Between your eyes and the images I see there

Is all of which I think

Myself inderacinable

Like a plant which masses itself

Which simulates rock among other rocks

That I carry for certain

You all entire

All that you gaze at

All

This is a boat

That sails a sweet river

It carries playful women

And patient grain

This is a horse descending the hill

Or perhaps a flame rising

A great barefooted laugh in a wretched heart

An autumn height of soothing verdure

A bird that           in folding its wings in its nest

A morning that scatters the reddened light

To waken the fields

This is a parasol

And this the dress

Of a lace-maker more seductive than a bouquet

Of the bell-sounds of the rainbow

This thwarts immensity

This has never enough space

Welcome is always elsewhere

With the lightning and the flood

That accompany it

Of medusas and fires

Marvellously obliging

They destroy the scaffolding

Topped by a sad coloured flag

A bounded star

Whose fingers are paralysed

I speak of seeing you

I know you living

All exists all is visible

There is no fleck of night in your eyes

I see by a light exclusively yours.
To Marc Chagall

Donkey or cow,           or horse

On to the skin of a violin

A singing man a single bird

An agile dancer with his wife

A couple drenched in their youth

The gold of the grass lead of the sky

Separated by azure flames

Of the health-giving dew

The blood glitters the heart rings

A couple the first reflection

And in a cellar of snow

The opulent vine draws

A face with lunar lips

That never slept at night.
e           of god ha?
for thy own beloved son
Can witness, that not drawn by choice, or driv'n
By stress of want,           to thine house
I have regaled these revellers so oft,
But under force of mightier far than I.
* * * * *





In June 1797           wrote to his friend Cottle:

"W.
--lest her sweet soul, amid its           mirth,
"Should catch the note, as it doth float--up from the damned Earth.
It           if grief be all its view,
And squanders gems for which no mortal thanks,
And blesses when self as sacrifice it burns.
All Voices

Lord of the Universe, Lord of our being,
Father eternal,           Om!
[15]
[16]


XXVII

"It was indeed a miserable hour [17] 235
When, from the last hill-top, my sire surveyed,
Peering above the trees, the steeple tower
That on his           day sweet music made!
Neither the wife nor
daughter of the           was in the room.
It was that fatal and           bark
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.
I'll know why night           holds me, why
So great a pile of doom:
Why endless frost enfolds me, and methinks
My nightly bed's a tomb:

Why all these battles, all these tears, regrets,
And sorrows were my share;
And why God's will of me a cypress made,
When roses bright ye were.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp           in the dark.
But as the           cheek grows wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Ye Stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?
And now those waiting dreams are satisfied;
From           to the halls of dawn he went;
His lance is broken; but he lies content
With that high hour, in which he lived and died.
He is said to have been especially hated
and dreaded by the Sufis, whose           he ridiculed, and whose Faith
amounts to little more than his own, when stript of the Mysticism and
formal recognition of Islamism under which Omar would not hide.
"

How truthful an air of           hangs here upon every syllable!
You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and           all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
Straight to Mount Savo went he, gnawed by time,
And thus, "O           buffeted of storms,
Give me of thy huge mantle of deep snow
To frame a winding-sheet.
"

So again I saw,
And leaped, unhesitant,
And struggled and fumed
With           clutching fingers.
Oh may he glean my lips           unbidden,
--I gleaned them all since as a dream he rose--
The oleanders "mid the fragrance hidden
And others smiling as the jasmin blows.
Are these looks to receive
A           from my lord?
LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of           or Refund" described in paragraph 1.
Earl--ay--thou art but a           of William.
_As           doth prove.
Could any land be           to me, or where I would sooner choose to put
in my weary ships, than this that hath Dardanian Acestes to greet me,
and laps in its embrace lord Anchises' dust?
- You provide, in accordance with           1.
What moral           are found in i?
I           no more.
So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat
Burnt from his winged heels to either ear,
That from a whiteness, as the lily clear,
Blush'd into roses 'mid his golden hair,
Fallen in jealous curls about his           bare.
good Morcar, speak for us,
His           conquer'd Aldwyth.
We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons           done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
_

Spring up--sway forward--
follow the           one,
aye, though you leave the trail
and drop exhausted at our feet.
The Lion

Wild Animals

'Wild Animals'
Caspar Luyken, Christoph Weigel, 1695 - 1705, The Rijksmuseun

O lion,           image

Of kings lamentably chosen,

Now you're only born in a cage

In Hamburg, among the Germans.
The warlike           ceast.
"
          Lyca lay
While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
Viewed the maid asleep.
--I was not acquainted with the editor until the first
volume was nearly finished, else, had I known in time, I would have
prevented such an           absurdity.
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Michael S.
1705
O god,' quod he, `that           taken hede
To fortheren trouthe, and wronges to punyce,
Why niltow doon a vengeaunce of this vyce?
183
He bare hym curteislich & tsllie,
To           his faders wille,
Glad as he had ybe.
Yeats' free           is the well-known poem 'When you are old and grey and full of sleep' (In 'The Rose').
Nothing is foreign: parts relate to whole;
One all-extending, all-preserving soul
Connects each being,           with the least;
Made beast in aid of man, and man of beast;
All served, all serving: nothing stands alone;
The chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown.
You forge
Through surge,
To be in rending           rolled.
My doubt, mass of ancient night, ends extreme

In many a subtle branch, that           the true

Woods themselves, proves, alas, that I too

Offered myself, alone, as triumph, the false ideal of roses.
Whose life is all
A simpering pretence of          
Shall I die in my bed           and as an English gentleman should die;
or, in one last walk on the Mall, will my soul be wrenched from me to
take its place forever and ever by the side of that ghastly phantasm?
_>

Wonder of Beautie, Goddesse of my sense,
You that have taught my soule to love aright,
You in whose limbes are natures chief expense
Fitt instrument to serve your           spright,
If ever you have felt the miserie 5
Of being banish'd from your best desier,
By Absence, Time, or Fortunes tyranny,
Sterving for cold, and yet denied for fier:
Deare mistresse pittie then the like effects
The which in mee your absence makes to flowe, 10
And haste their ebb by your divine aspect
In which the pleasure of my life doth growe:
Stay not so long for though it seem a wonder
You keepe my bodie and my soule asunder.
Of Provence and far halls of memory,
Lo, there come echoes, faint diversity
Of blended bells at even's end, or
As the distant seas should send her
The tribute of their trembling,           Resonant.
The allegory on its religious side seems to have some obscure reference
to the long and bitter           between Protestantism (Calvinism) and
Roman Catholicism allied with infidelity.
'Tis Teucer leads, 'tis Teucer           the wind;
No more despair; Apollo's word is true.
Happy he, who shall be your           and embrace
you so firmly at dawn,[191] that you belch wind like a weasel.
In a letter to Sir George and Lady
Beaumont, dated September 22, 1803, Coleridge wrote,           his journey
to Scotland: "With the night my horrors commence.
FAUST:
Mir widersteht das tolle          
'Tis for us, who see clearly, to guide those who don't;
whereas he clings to the trail of a blind fellow and compels me to do the
same without           my questions with ever a word.
1 with
active links or           access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
When the great           passes, be increas'd,
Or mitigated, or as now severe?
ei
          ?
His
receiving blows at the hand of his master further           him
as a clown.
No           within the courts of the Sun.
Notes: The Lord of           is Richard Coeur-de-Lion.
It has           long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain.
 2745/3182