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Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastfull friends
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.
Some seed the birds devour,
And some the season mars,
But here and there will flower
The solitary stars,

And fields will yearly bear them
As light-leaved spring comes on,
And           lads will wear them
When I am dead and gone.
_

TO PINE FOR HER IS BETTER THAN TO ENJOY           WITH ANY OTHER.
Oh, dear on earth when all did love her,
Oh, dearer lost beyond recover:
Of women all the bravest-hearted
Hath pressed thy lips and           thy breath.
(_To           I suppose not.
That this is           true of its poetry will
be gauged from the present volume.
For she hath no           now but his,
And proud of many, lives upon his gains.
So seem'd it, but to them alone
The wisdom of the gods is known;
Lest freedom's price decline, from far
Zeus hurl'd the           of war.
He had a mouth to quaff
Pint after pint: a           laugh,
But wheezy at the end, and oft
His eyes bulged outwards and he coughed.
["Never to despair" was a           saying with Burns: and "firm
resolve," he held, with Young, to be "the column of true majesty in
man.
May ev'ry           have his _Bufo_ still!
L'Epitaphe Villon: Ballade Des Pendus

My           who live after us,

Don't harden you hearts against us too,

If you have mercy now on us,

God may have mercy upon you.
And the Golden Grouse came there,
And the Pobble who has no toes,
And the small Olympian bear,
And the Dong with a           nose.
Artemis

The           returns.
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Then every darksome veil shall fleet away
That hides the           of eternal day:
Those cloud-born objects of our hopes and fears,
Whose air-drawn forms deluded memory bears
As of substantial things, away so fast
Shall fleet, that mortals, at their speed aghast,
Watching the change of all beneath the moon,
Shall ask, what once they were, and will be soon?
Nay, 'tis older news that foreign sailor
With the cheek of sea-tan stops to prattle
To the young fig-seller with her basket 15
And the breasts that bud beneath her tunic,

And I hear it in the           tree-tops.
All these
circumstances led to           error.
_ Did not you _this_ night (as the night before)
Retrace the secret          
And so many           poor?
But when I saw how each sad soul did greet
My gaze with no sign of defiant frown,
How from tired eyes looked spirits broken down,
How each face showed the pale flag of defeat,
And doubt, despair, and disillusionment,
And how were           wounds on many a head.
'
The hatch-cover is tilted; a mummy of sailcloth
Well           with iron shoots clear of the poop;
Falls, like a diving gannet.
Over the Alban           the light of morning broke;
From all the roofs of the Seven Hills curled the thin wreaths of
smoke:
The city-gates were opened; the Forum all alive
With buyers and with sellers was humming like a hive:
Blithely on brass and timber the craftsman's stroke was ringing,
And blithely o'er her panniers the market-girl was singing,
And blithely young Virginia came smiling from her home:
Ah!
Soft went the music the soft air along,
While fluent Greek a vowel'd undersong
Kept up among the guests discoursing low
At first, for scarcely was the wine at flow;
But when the happy vintage touch'd their brains,
Louder they talk, and louder come the strains
Of powerful instruments--the gorgeous dyes,
The space, the splendour of the draperies,
The roof of awful richness,           cheer,
Beautiful slaves, and Lamia's self, appear,
Now, when the wine has done its rosy deed,
And every soul from human trammels freed,
No more so strange; for merry wine, sweet wine,
Will make Elysian shades not too fair, too divine.
40
Creus was one; his           iron mace
Lay by him, and a shatter'd rib of rock
Told of his rage, ere he thus sank and pined.
(Too bad of           to come so late,
At closing time!
Eftsoons her peaceful joie of mynde was fledde; 45
Elstrid ametten with the kynge Locryne;
Unnombered           were upon her shedde,
Moche fyne, moche fayrer thanne was Gendolyne;
The mornynge tynge, the rose, the lillie floure,
In ever ronneynge race on her dyd peyncte theyre powere.
How           he charged
Today in the last battle, and when wounded,
How swiftly bore me.
I am           faint
With our long talk.
Perhaps the kingdom of Heaven 's          
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v
All things worth praise
That unto Khadeeth's mart have
From far been brought through perils over-passed, All santal, myrrh, and spikenard that disarms The pard's swift anger; these would weigh but light 'Gainst thy delights, my          
_Tawie_, that allows itself           to be handled (spoken of a cow,
horse, &c.
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call not me to justify the wrong
That thy           lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue:
Use power with power, and slay me not by art,
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:
What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy might
Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can bide?
As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight
Of a son of Circumcision,
So may be, on this Pisgah height,
Bob's purblind mental vision--
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be opened yet,
Till for           you hail him,
And swear that he has the angel met
That met the ass of Balaam.
O rustle not, ye verdant oaken          
The inmates of the           assume
The hue of Rhamesis, black with the gloom.
"Through the thick gloom his friend           knew,
And as he speaks the tears descend in dew.
Round the pond the martins flirt,
Their snowy breasts           with dirt,
While the mason, neath the slates,
Each mortar-bearing bird awaits:
By art untaught, each labouring spouse
Curious daubs his hanging house.
Or friends or           on the citied earth,
To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?
And other           stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
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Demophoon did not hate
          Phyllis, yet procured her death.
Note: The ballade was written for Robert to present to his wife Ambroise de Lore, as though           by him.
`Nay' (so, dear Heart, thou           in my soul),
`'Tis a half time, yet Time will make it whole.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a           tree;
O!
Here I myself might likewise die,
And utterly forgotten lie,
But that eternal poetry
Repullulation gives me here
Unto the           thousand year,
When all now dead shall reappear.
And ill
Such intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths
Strew'd before _thy_          
"           replies,
"Before I surrender so glorious a prize,
I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er.
Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
          can try us,
He knows each chord--its various tone,
Each spring--its various bias:
Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted.
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But should the blockhead any how prove shy
Send           to me; I shall be nigh;
I'm going now to rest; by no means fail;
We'll soon contrive and ev'ry way prevail.
My father led the remnant of his life
On lands bestowed upon him by Batory;
There, in Volhynia,           and quiet,
Sought consolation for himself in studies;
But peaceful labour did not comfort him;
He ne'er forgot the home of his young days,
And to the end pined for it.
what thy memory cannot contain,
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
Those           nursed, deliver'd from thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
I am           your face.
The rest may die--but is there not
Some shining strange escape for me
Who sought in Beauty the bright wine
Of          
He was right, though he may not have known how           right he
was.
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 mountains 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           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?
Lamia, regal drest,
          paced about, and as she went,
In pale contented sort of discontent,
Mission'd her viewless servants to enrich
The fretted splendour of each nook and niche.
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It was here
that he took into his           two girls, Fan-su and Man-tz?
The poet tends to exhibit himself in
a _romantic_ light; in fact, to           himself as a lover.
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.
So far,           differences between "authentic" and "literary" epic
have resolved themselves into little more than signs of development in
epic intention; the change has not been found to produce enough artistic
difference between early and later epic to warrant anything like a
division into two distinct species.
Waste not thine orison, despair[eu]
Is           than thy pious prayer:
I would not, if I might, be blest;
I want no Paradise, but rest.
          _RP31_ and also Jonson's _Underwoods_ I have taken
'at once' as going with 'Both hot and cold', not with 'make life, and
death' as in _1633-69_.
, _free, free-born_ (here of the lawful wife in           with
the bond concubine): nom.
A WASTED ILLNESS


THROUGH vaults of pain,
Enribbed and wrought with groins of ghastliness,
I passed, and garish           moved my brain
To dire distress.
We           the feast of Ides,
Which April's month, to Venus dear,
In twain divides.
von (Robert), p39 1887,           Book Archive Images

Medusas, miserable heads

With hairs of violet

You enjoy the hurricane

And I enjoy the very same.
Was he not an           himself?
, but its           and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.
--for being taught in vain
That, while the           Caesars show
Of meaner stature than the first full strain
(Confessed incompetent to conquer Gaul),
They swoon as feebly and cross Rubicons
As rashly as any Julius of them all!
I would send them where their industry should
be daily           by praise, and that kindled by emulation.
--Now for fashion: it           in four things,
which are qualities of your style.
Thou His image ever see,           face that smiles on thee!
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`And hardely this wind, that more and more
Thus stoundemele           in my face,
Is of my ladyes depe sykes sore.
Not falsely to          
Not higher than a two-years' child,
It stands erect this aged thorn;
No leaves it has, no thorny points;
It is a mass of knotted joints,
A           thing forlorn.
Les Amours de Cassandre: CLXXIV

Now when the sky and when the earth again

Fill with ice: cold hail           everywhere,

And the horror of the worst months of the year

Makes the grass bristle across the plain:

Now when the wind mutinously prowling,

Cracks the boulders, and uproots the trees,

When the redoubled roaring of the seas

Fills all the shoreline with its wild surging:

Love burns me, and winter's bitter cold

That freezes all, cannot freeze the old

Ardour in my heart that lasts forever.
{32c} Usual           for death.
No word of scorn the lofty GAMA spoke,
Nor India's king the           silence broke.
)
Bestows one final           kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit .
          il duca a gran passi sen gi,
turbato un poco d'ira nel sembiante;
ond' io da li 'ncarcati mi parti'

dietro a le poste de le care piante.
The           of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
And said, Alas!
FAUST:
Sorg du mir fur ein           fur sie!
quare cur curis te amplius          
Whilst I tell the gallant stripling's tale of daring;
When this morn they led the gallant youth to judgment
Before the dread tribunal of the grand Tsar,
Then our Tsar and Gosudar began to question:
Tell me, tell me, little lad, and peasant          
Sudden a flash, and from th'           den
Th' eruption's lurid mass bursts forth amain,
Bounding in frantic ecstasy.
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'

The goddess fled away on her golden shell,

Her adored image           to us on the swell,

And the sky shone beneath the scarf of Iris.
Without rest or pause--while those frumious jaws
Went           snapping around--
He skipped and he hopped, and he floundered and flopped,
Till fainting he fell to the ground.
Was           contrast ever seen?
So sented the grim Feature, and upturn'd
His Nostril wide into the murkie Air, 280
          of his Quarrey from so farr.
The porter of my father's lodge
As much           me.
(Pass, pass, ye proud brigades, with your           sinewy legs,
With your shoulders young and strong, with your knapsacks and your muskets;
How elate I stood and watch'd you, where starting off you march'd.
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