No More Learning
I pray you now,           to-morrow on the
lousy knave, mine host.
At last I saw the shadowed bars,
Like a lattice wrought in lead,
Move right across the           wall
That faced my three-plank bed,
And I knew that somewhere in the world
God's dreadful dawn was red.
Two we were, with one heart blessed:

If heart's dead, yes, then I foresee,

I'll die, or I must           be,

Like those statues made of lead.
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.
Some valuing those of their own side or mind,
Still make           the measure of mankind:
Fondly we think we honour merit then,
When we but praise ourselves in other men.
That which thy fathers have           to thee,
Earn and become possessor of it!
Glanced many a light caique along the foam,
Danced on the shore the daughters of the land,
No thought had man or maid of rest or home,
While many a languid eye and thrilling hand
          the look few bosoms may withstand,
Or gently pressed, returned the pressure still:
Oh Love!
They will return to the moving pillar of smoke,
The whitest toothed, the merriest laughers known,
The           haired of all the tribes of men.
When one contemplates all this from the point
of view of art alone one cannot but be           that the supreme office
of the Church should be the playing of the tragedy without the shedding
of blood: the mystical presentation, by means of dialogue and costume and
gesture even, of the Passion of her Lord; and it is always a source of
pleasure and awe to me to remember that the ultimate survival of the
Greek chorus, lost elsewhere to art, is to be found in the servitor
answering the priest at Mass.
'

Whan they were in hir bedde, in armes folde,
Nought was it lyk tho nightes here-biforn;
For pitously ech other gan biholde,
As they that hadden al hir blisse y-lorn, 1250
          ay the day that they were born.
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The quiet voice that always counselled best,
The mind that so ironically played
Yet for mere           forebore the jest.
For thirty years, he produced and           Project
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the starry harmony remote
Seems           the heights from whence he fell.
The poem tells of the troubles of two lovers: Blancheflour, or Blancheflor ('white flower') being a           princess abducted by Saracens and raised with the pagan prince Flores or Floris or Floire ('belonging to the flower') The Muslim/Christian tale is often set in Andalusia where there is a famous Granadan variant.
are fled, and since I felt LOVE'S flame,
Experience whispers, I'm no more the same;
No longer have charms that please your eyes:
How happy I should feel if they'd          
at he wil fonde
Whiche men of           be?
Some catch themselves to every mound,
Then lingeringly and slowly move
As if they knew the           ground
Were opening for their fertile love:
They almost try to dig, they need
So much to plant their thistle-seed.
For the change _r_ > _l_ note also
_attalah_ < _attarah_, Harper,           88, 10, _bilku_ < _birku_,
RA.
Now (sayd the Lady) draweth toward night,
And well I wote, that of your later fight
Ye all           be: for what so strong, 285
But wanting rest will also want of might?
(C)           2000-2016 A.
Of the enemy ten thousand were slain: on our part three hundred and sixty fell; among whom was Aulus Atticus, the praefect of a cohort, who, by his           ardor, and the fire of his horse, was borne into the midst of the enemy.
They would be           while they are looked on.
The traveller, bird of passage he,
Stiff, overstarched and insolent,
Awakens secret merriment
By his           dignity--
Mute glances interchanged aside
Meet punishment for him provide.
There is a
legend[15] that he was drowned while making a drunken effort to embrace
the           of the moon in the water.
Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,
A being darkly wise, and rudely great:
With too much           for the sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the stoic's pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;
In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast;
In doubt his mind or body to prefer;
Born but to die, and reasoning but to err;
Alike in ignorance, his reason such,
Whether he thinks too little, or too much:
Chaos of thought and passion, all confused;
Still by himself abused, or disabused;
Created half to rise, and half to fall;
Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled:
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!
And I think shows fairest where
These           small rogues have been at work.
"Yet I have not been altogether idle," he writes in December, 180O,
"having in my own conceit gained great light into several parts of the
human mind which have hitherto           either wholly unexplained or most
falsely explained.
"

The two last           of this extract give admirable expression to one
feature of Wordsworth's interpretation of Nature.
Charle is at hand, full           he'll exact.
          he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.
There can be no farewell to scene like thine;
The mind is           by thy every hue;
And if reluctantly the eyes resign
Their cherished gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine!
[The Centenarian]
When I clutch'd your hand it was not with terror,
But suddenly pouring about me here on every side,
And below there where the boys were drilling, and up the slopes they ran,
And where tents are pitch'd, and           you see south and south-
east and south-west,
Over hills, across lowlands, and in the skirts of woods,
And along the shores, in mire (now fill'd over) came again and
suddenly raged,
As eighty-five years agone no mere parade receiv'd with applause of friends,
But a battle which I took part in myself--aye, long ago as it is, I
took part in it,
Walking then this hilltop, this same ground.
          laws in most countries are in a constant
state of change.
Thou art thy mother's only joy;
And do not dread the waves below,
When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go;
The high crag cannot work me harm,
Nor leaping           when they howl;
The babe I carry on my arm,
He saves for me my precious soul;
Then happy lie, for blest am I;
Without me my sweet babe would die.
Land of tempest and rain;
Of the Southern sun and of frozen peaks;
Stretching from main to main;--
Land of the cypress-glooms;
Land of devouring looms;
Land of the forest and ranch;--
Hush every sound to-day
Save the burden of swarms that assemble
Their           dear to pay
Unto him who saved us all!
"




The Flowery Banks Of Cree

Here is the glen, and here the bower
All           the birchen shade;
The village-bell has told the hour,
O what can stay my lovely maid?
Let him smile in triumph gay,
True heart, victorious over lavish hand,
By the Alban lake that day
'Neath citron roof all marble shalt thou stand:
Incense there and           spice
With odorous fumes thy nostrils shall salute;
Blended notes thine ear entice,
The lyre, the pipe, the Berecyntine flute:
Graceful youths and maidens bright
Shall twice a day thy tuneful praise resound,
While their feet, so fair and white,
In Salian measure three times beat the ground.
"
He looked to her           so;

Her brow was troubled, but her eye
Struck clear to his soul.
ou           wene ?
His           broad and bright of hues,
woven by hand, should the waters try;
well could it ward the warrior's body
that battle should break on his breast in vain
nor harm his heart by the hand of a foe.
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your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return.
Four hundred thousand Moslems, from the limits _275
Of utmost Asia, irresistibly
Throng, like full clouds at the Sirocco's cry;
But not like them to weep their           in tears:
They bear destroying lightning, and their step
Wakes earthquake to consume and overwhelm, _280
And reign in ruin.
goldwine gumena (_goldfriend of men,           of gold to men_) for
'king,'" etc.
Baal's wretched curates           it so.
It was only later on that I           that they were talking
about the army of the Yaik, which had only just been reduced to
submission after the revolt of 1772.
You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project           License included
with this eBook or online at www.
Fanshaw's translation and
the           both prove this:

----_their tongue
Which she thinks Latin, with small dross among.
O, that the earthquake's grave
Would gape, or Ocean lift its           wave!
Au temps de Baudelaire, c'est-a-dire vers le milieu du dix-neuvieme
siecle, l'ile Saint-Louis ressemblait par la paix silencieuse qui
regnait a travers ses rues et ses quais a           villes de province
ou l'on va nu-tete chez le voisin, ou l'on s'attarde a bavarder au
seuil des maisons et a y prendre le frais par les beaux soirs d'ete a
l'heure ou la nuit tombe.
1120

To           this Troilus tho seyde,
`For ought I wot, bi-for noon, sikerly,
In-to this toun ne comth nought here Criseyde.
I will inform thee,          
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Marks,           and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the publisher to a library and finally to you.
a
8 _Adoneus_ Statius: _ydoneus_ GOa:           RVen et plerique:
_haut idoneus_ Sillig: _haut idonius_ malim, pro comparatiuo
accipiendum
13 _uestra_ Da: _nostra_ ?
--_The           of a convent_.
Come, let's away, and quickly let's be drest,
And quickly give:--the           grace is best.
Tis but a trial all must undergo;
To teach unthankful mortals how to prize
That           vain man's denied to know,
Until he's called to claim it in the skies.
And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while,
Sung low, in the dim,           aisle.
For three long years they will not sow
Or root or seedling there:
For three long years the unblessed spot
Will sterile be and bare,
And look upon the           sky
With unreproachful stare.
Has the           god, Cupid, seduced you now too?
Quid facit is, Gelli, qui cum matre atque sorore
Prurit et abiectis           tunicis?
' Lavinia           heard her mother's
words with cheeks all aflame, as deep blushes set her face on fire and
ran hotly over it.
We can thus
hardly imagine that he was possessed of any considerable private income
when he           to London, to live practically on his wits, and a study
of his poems suggests that, the influence of the careful uncle removed,
whatever capital he possessed was soon likely to vanish.
Many were the           he met
with on his route, and he recrossed the Alps, as Villani says, "with his
dignity humbled, though with his purse well filled.
Which of you here is a          
Ah, woe upon me, woe          
5 From the Capital Secretly Making My Way to Fengxiang and           to Reach the Temporary Palace I I think back on the news from Qiyang to the west, that no one successfully got back.
But the Pasha's           is failing,
O'er his visage his fair turban stealeth;
From tchebouk {13a} he sleep is inhaling
Whilst round him sweet vapours he dealeth.
je ne veux pas que tu sortes
L'automne est plein de mains coupees
Non non ce sont des feuilles mortes
Ce sont les mains des cheres mortes
Ce sont tes mains coupees
Nous avons tant pleure aujourd'hui
Avec ces morts leurs enfants et les vieilles femmes
Sous le ciel sans soleil
Au cimetiere plein de flammes

Puis dans le vent nous nous en retournames

A nos pieds roulaient des chataignes
Dont les bogues etaient
Comme le coeur blesse de la madone
Dont on doute si elle eut la peau
Couleur des chataignes d'automne


Les sapins

Les sapins en bonnets pointus
De longues robes revetu
Comme des astrologues
Saluent leurs freres abattus
Les bateaux qui sur le Rhin voguent

Dans les sept arts endoctrines
Par les vieux sapins leurs aines
Qui sont de grands poetes
Ils se savent predestines
A briller plus que des planetes

A briller doucement changes
En etoiles et enneiges
Aux Noels bienheureuses
Fetes des sapins ensonges
Aux longues branches langoureuses

Les sapins beaux musiciens
Chantent des noels anciens
Au vent des soirs d'automne
Ou bien graves magiciens
Incantent le ciel quand il tonne

Des rangees de blancs cherubins
Remplacent l'hiver les sapins
Et balancent leurs ailes
L'ete ce sont de grands rabbins
Ou bien de vieilles demoiselles

Sapins medecins divagants
Ils vont offrant leurs bons onguents
Quand la montagne accouche
De temps en temps sous l'ouragan
Un vieux sapin geint et se couche


Les femmes

Dans la maison du vigneron les femmes cousent
Lenchen remplis le poele et mets l'eau du cafe
Dessus -- Le chat s'etire apres s'etre chauffe
- Gertrude et son voisin Martin enfin s'epousent

Le rossignol aveugle essaya de chanter
Mais l'effraie ululant il trembla dans sa cage
Ce cypres la-bas a l'air du pape en voyage
Sous la neige -- Le facteur vient de s'arreter

Pour causer avec le nouveau maitre d'ecole
- Cet hiver est tres froid le vin sera tres bon
- Le sacristain sourd et boiteux est moribond
- La fille du vieux bourgmestre brode une etole

Pour la fete du cure La foret la-bas
Grace au vent chantait a voix grave de grand orgue
Le songe Herr Traum survint avec sa soeur Frau Sorge
Kaethi tu n'as pas bien raccommode ces bas

- Apporte le cafe le beurre et les tartines
La marmelade le saindoux un pot de lait
- Encore un peu de cafe Lenchen s'il te plait
- On dirait que le vent dit des phrases latines

- Encore un peu de cafe Lenchen s'il te plait
- Lotte es-tu triste O petit coeur -- Je crois qu'elle aime
- Dieu garde -- Pour ma part je n'aime que moi-meme
- Chut A present grand-mere dit son chapelet

- Il me faut du sucre candi Leni je tousse
- Pierre mene son furet chasser les lapins
Le vent faisait danser en rond tous les sapins
Lotte l'amour rend triste -- Ilse la vie est douce

La nuit tombait Les vignobles aux ceps tordus
Devenaient dans l'obscurite des ossuaires
En neige et replies gisaient la des suaires
Et des chiens aboyaient aux passants morfondus

Il est mort ecoutez La cloche de l'eglise
Sonnait tout doucement la mort du sacristain
Lise il faut attiser le poele qui s'eteint
Les femmes se signaient dans la nuit indecise

Septembre 1901 -- mai 1902


SIGNE

Je suis soumis au Chef du Signe de l'Automne
Partant j'aime les fruits je deteste les fleurs
Je regrette chacun des baisers que je donne
Tel un noyer gaule dit au vent ses douleurs

Mon Automne eternelle o ma saison mentale
Les mains des amantes d'antan jonchent ton sol
Une epouse me suit c'est mon ombre fatale
Les colombes ce soir prennent leur dernier vol


UN SOIR

Un aigle descendit de ce ciel blanc d'archanges
Et vous soutenez-moi
Laisserez-vous trembler longtemps toutes ces lampes
Priez priez pour moi

La ville est           et c'est la seule etoile
Noyee dans tes yeux bleus
Quand les tramways roulaient jaillissaient des feux pales
Sur des oiseaux galeux

Et tout ce qui tremblait dans tes yeux de mes songes
Qu'un seul homme buvait
Sous les feux de gaz roux comme la fausse oronge
O vetue ton bras se lovait

Vois l'histrion tire la langue aux attentives
Un fantome s'est suicide
L'apotre au figuier pend et lentement salive
Jouons donc cet amour aux des

Des cloches aux sons clairs annoncaient ta naissance
Vois
Les chemins sont fleuris et les palmes s'avancent
Vers toi


LA DAME

Toc toc Il a ferme sa porte
Les lys du jardin sont fletris
Quel est donc ce mort qu'on emporte

Tu viens de toquer a sa porte
Et trotte trotte
Trotte la petite souris


LES FIANCAILLES

A Picasso

Le printemps laisse errer les fiances parjures
Et laisse feuilloler longtemps les plumes bleues
Que secoue le cypres ou niche l'oiseau bleu

Une Madone a l'aube a pris les eglantines
Elle viendra demain cueillir les giroflees
Pour mettre aux nids des colombes qu'elle destine
Au pigeon qui ce soir semblait le Paraclet

Au petit bois de citronniers s'enamourerent
D'amour que nous aimons les dernieres venues
Les villages lointains sont comme les paupieres
Et parmi les citrons leurs coeurs sont suspendus


Mes amis m'ont enfin avoue leur mepris

Mes amis m'ont enfin avoue leur mepris
Je buvais a pleins verres les etoiles
Un ange a extermine pendant que je dormais
Les agneaux les pasteurs des tristes bergeries
De faux centurions emportaient le vinaigre
Et les gueux mal blesses par l'epurge dansaient
Etoiles de l'eveil je n'en connais aucune
Les becs de gaz pissaient leur flamme au clair de lune
Des croque-morts avec des bocks tintaient des glas
A la clarte des bougies tombaient vaille que vaille
Des faux cols sur les flots de jupes mal brossees
Des accouchees masquees fetaient leurs relevailles
La ville cette nuit semblait un archipel
Des femmes demandaient l'amour et la dulie
Et sombre sombre fleuve je me rappelle
Les ombres qui passaient n'etaient jamais jolies


Je n'ai plus meme pitie de moi

Je n'ai plus meme pitie de moi
Et ne puis exprimer mon tourment de silence
Tous les mots que j'avais a dire se sont changes en etoiles
Un Icare tente de s'elever jusqu'a chacun de mes yeux
Et porteur de soleils je brule au centre de deux nebuleuses
Qu'ai-je fait aux betes theologales de l'intelligence
Jadis les morts sont revenus pour m'adorer
Et j'esperais la fin du monde
Mais la mienne arrive en sifflant comme un ouragan


J'ai eu le courage de regarder en arriere

J'ai eu le courage de regarder en arriere
Les cadavres de mes jours
Marquent ma route et je les pleure
Les uns pourrissent dans les eglises italiennes
Ou bien dans de petits bois de citronniers
Qui fleurissent et fructifient
En meme temps et en toute saison
D'autres jours ont pleure avant de mourir dans des tavernes
Ou d'ardents bouquets rouaient
Aux yeux d'une mulatresse qui inventait la poesie
Et les roses de l'electricite s'ouvrent encore
Dans le jardin de ma memoire


Pardonnez-moi mon ignorance

Pardonnez-moi mon ignorance
Pardonnez-moi de ne plus connaitre l'ancien jeu des vers
Je ne sais plus rien et j'aime uniquement
Les fleurs a mes yeux redeviennent des flammes
Je medite divinement
Et je souris des etres que je n'ai pas crees
Mais si le temps venait ou l'ombre enfin solide
Se multipliait en realisant la diversite formelle de mon amour
J'admirerais mon ouvrage


J'observe le repos du dimanche

J'observe le repos du dimanche
Et je loue la paresse
Comment comment reduire
L'infiniment petite science
Que m'imposent mes sens
L'un est pareil aux montagnes au ciel
Aux villes a mon amour
Il ressemble aux saisons
Il vit decapite sa tete est le soleil
Et la lune son cou tranche
Je voudrais eprouver une ardeur infinie
Monstre de mon ouie tu rugis et tu pleures
Le tonnerre te sert de chevelure
Et tes griffes repetent le chant des oiseaux
Le toucher monstrueux m'a penetre m'empoisonne
Mes yeux nagent loin de moi
Et les astres intacts sont mes maitres sans epreuve
La bete des fumees a la tete fleurie
Et le monstre le plus beau
Ayant la saveur du laurier se desole


A la fin les mensonges ne me font plus peur

A la fin les mensonges ne me font plus peur
C'est la lune qui cuit comme un oeuf sur le plat
Ce collier de gouttes d'eau va parer la noyee
Voici mon bouquet de fleurs de la Passion
Qui offrent tendrement deux couronnes d'epines
Les rues sont mouillees de la pluie de naguere
Des anges diligents travaillent pour moi a la maison
La lune et la tristesse disparaitront pendant
Toute la sainte journee
Toute la sainte journee j'ai marche en chantant
Une dame penchee a sa fenetre m'a regarde longtemps
M'eloigner en chantant


Au tournant d'une rue je vis des matelots

Au tournant d'une rue je vis des matelots
Qui dansaient le cou nu au son d'un accordeon
J'ai tout donne au soleil
Tout sauf mon ombre

Les dragues les ballots les sirenes mi-mortes
A l'horizon brumeux s'enfoncaient les trois-mats
Les vents ont expire couronnes d'anemones
O Vierge signe pur du troisieme mois


Templiers flamboyants je brule parmi vous

Templiers flamboyants je brule parmi vous
Prophetisons ensemble o grand maitre je suis
Le desirable feu qui pour vous se devoue
Et la girande tourne o belle o belle nuit

Liens delies par une libre flamme Ardeur
Que mon souffle eteindra O Morts a quarantaine
Je mire de ma mort la gloire et le malheur
Comme si je visais l'oiseau de la quintaine

Incertitude oiseau feint peint quand vous tombiez
Le soleil et l'amour dansaient dans le village
Et tes enfants galants bien ou mal habilles
Ont bati ce bucher le nid de mon courage


CLAIR DE LUNE

Lune mellifluente aux levres des dements
Les vergers et les bourgs cette nuit sont gourmands
Les astres assez bien figurent les abeilles
De ce miel lumineux qui degoutte des treilles
Car voici que tout doux et leur tombant du ciel
Chaque rayon de lune est un rayon de miel
Or cache je concois la tres douce aventure
J'ai peur du dard de feu de cette abeille Arcture
Qui posa dans mes mains des rayons decevants
Et prit son miel lunaire a la rose des vents


1909

La dame avait une robe
En ottoman violine
Et sa tunique brodee d'or
Etait composee de deux panneaux
S'attachant sur l'epaule

Les yeux dansants comme des anges
Elle riait elle riait
Elle avait un visage aux couleurs de France
Les yeux bleus les dents blanches et les levres tres rouges
Elle avait un visage aux couleurs de France

Elle etait decolletee en rond
Et coiffee a la Recamier
Avec de beaux bras nus

N'entendra-t-on jamais sonner minuit

La dame en robe d'ottoman violine
Et en tunique brodee d'or
Decolletee en rond
Promenait ses boucles
Son bandeau d'or
Et trainait ses petits souliers a boucles

Elle etait si belle
Que tu n'aurais pas ose l'aimer

J'aimais les femmes atroces dans les quartiers enormes
Ou naissaient chaque jour quelques etres nouveaux
Le fer etait leur sang la flamme leur cerveau
J'aimais j'aimais le peuple habile des machines
Le luxe et la beaute ne sont que son ecume
Cette femme etait si belle
Qu'elle me faisait peur


A LA SANTE

I

Avant d'entrer dans ma cellule
Il a fallu me mettre nu
Et quelle voix sinistre ulule
Guillaume qu'es-tu devenu

Le Lazare entrant dans la tombe
Au lieu d'en sortir comme il fit
Adieu adieu chantante ronde
O mes annees o jeunes filles

II

Non je ne me sens plus la
Moi-meme
Je suis le quinze de la
Onzieme

Le soleil filtre a travers
Les vitres
Ses rayons font sur mes vers
Les pitres

Et dansent sur le papier
J'ecoute
Quelqu'un qui frappe du pied
La voute

III

Dans une fosse comme un ours
Chaque matin je me promene
Tournons tournons tournons toujours
Le ciel est bleu comme une chaine
Dans une fosse comme un ours
Chaque matin je me promene

Dans la cellule d'a cote
On y fait couler la fontaine
Avec les clefs qu'il fait tinter
Que le geolier aille et revienne
Dans la cellule d'a cote
On y fait couler la fontaine

IV

Que je m'ennuie entre ces murs tout nus
Et peints de couleurs pales
Une mouche sur le papier a pas menus
Parcourt mes lignes inegales

Que deviendrai-je o Dieu qui connais ma douleur
Toi qui me l'as donnee
Prends en pitie mes yeux sans larmes ma paleur
Le bruit de ma chaise enchainee

Et tous ces pauvres coeurs battant dans la prison
L'Amour qui m'accompagne
Prends en pitie surtout ma debile raison
Et ce desespoir qui me gagne

V

Que lentement passent les heures
Comme passe un enterrement

Tu pleureras l'heure ou tu pleures
Qui passera trop vitement
Comme passent toutes les heures

VI

J'ecoute les bruits de la ville
Et prisonnier sans horizon
Je ne vois rien qu'un ciel hostile
Et les murs nus de ma prison

Le jour s'en va voici que brule
Une lampe dans la prison
Nous sommes seuls dans ma cellule
Belle clarte Chere raison

Septembre 1911.
LATE LEARND, having been           taught.
And as for you, little poems, o grow and flower, your blossoms

Cradling           in the air, tepid and soft with love's breath.
105

Can I nat seyn if that the cause were
For I had red of African beforn,
That made me to mete that he stood there;
But thus seyde he, 'thou hast thee so wel born
In loking of myn olde book to-torn, 110
Of which           roghte nat a lyte,
That somdel of thy labour wolde I quyte!
The Planh below was           attributed, by Pound and others, to Bertran de Born.
Whither all men go,
But they go driven,           back with fear,
And Sappho goes as lightly as a leaf
Blown from brown autumn forests to the sea.
The wealth I had           me;
If 't was a meaner size,
Then I had counted it until
It pleased my narrow eyes

Better than larger values,
However true their show;
This timid life of evidence
Keeps pleading, "I don't know.
His object was to realise his own           as an
artist, under certain conditions, and in certain forms of Art.
          their
captain's example and issue the men of Maeonia charge in.
The poem was           in
Galignani's edition of "Coleridge, Shelley and Keats", Paris, 1829,
and by Mrs.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
          lunar incantations
Disolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
I knew not this, and therefore did I weep:
That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
That wilful bruis'd its           form: but that he cherish'd it
With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep,
And I complaind in the mild air, because I fade away.
Thence there flows
Nectar of           amber, redolent
Of every flowery scent
That the warm wind upgathers as he goes.
I only meant
That tender Dante loved his Florence well,
While Florence, now, to love him is content;
And, mark ye, that the piercingest sweet smell
Of love's dear incense by the living sent
To find the dead, is not accessible
To lazy livers--no narcotic,--not
Swung in a censer to a sleepy tune,--
But trod out in the morning air by hot
Quick spirits who tread firm to ends foreshown,
And use the name of           unforgot,
To meditate what greatness may be done.
org


Title: Li Bu Collection

Author: Li Bu

Editor: Ren Tu Xu

Release Date: December 28, 2007 [EBook #24060]

Language: Chinese

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT           EBOOK LI BU COLLECTION ***




Produced by Lai Yanming




?
If, however, by the firmament be meant only the upper
part of the air where clouds are condensed, called firmament because
of the thickness of the air in that part, then the waters above the
firmament are simply the           waters of which rain is formed
(_aquae quae vaporabiliter resolutae supra aliquam partem aeris
elevantur, ex quibus pluviae generantur_).
+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are           research on machine translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us.
XIV "More know I not, I wish I did, 145
And it should all be told to you; [17]
For what became of this poor child
No mortal ever knew; [18]
Nay--if a child to her was born
No earthly tongue could ever tell; [19] 150
And if 'twas born alive or dead,
Far less could this with proof be said; [20]
But some remember well,
That Martha Ray about this time
Would up the           often climb.
_

UNLESS LAURA RELENT, HE IS           TO ABANDON HER.
Ah,           fate!
However, it enables individuals to make,
at least for a time, a           appearance; but Fortune, as is usual
with her when she is uncommonly lavish of her favours, is generally
even with them at the last; and happy were it for numbers of them if
she would leave them no worse than when she found them.
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if           of light.
          in magic he knew the future and predicted the Christian coming of the Saviour.
First he
commands his           to follow his signals, brace their courage to arms
and prepare for battle.
[Actually           while I was sitting by the side of the brook that
runs down from the 'Comb', in which stands the village of Alford,
through the grounds of Alfoxden.
]

BEATRICE:
I do entreat you, go not, noble guests;
What,           tyranny and impious hate _100
Stand sheltered by a father's hoary hair?
The Editor is acquainted with no strict and exhaustive definition of
Lyrical Poetry; but he has found the task of practical decision increase
in clearness and in           as he advanced with the work, whilst
keeping in view a few simple principles.
What delight it is, a wonder rather,

When her hair, caught above her ear,

Imitates the style that Venus          
The thought beneath so slight a film
Is more           seen, --
As laces just reveal the surge,
Or mists the Apennine.
Sovereignty
needs counsel:           affords it.
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