No More Learning
most learned Dame,
Faire ympe of Phoebus and his aged bride,
The Nourse of time and everlasting fame,
That warlike hands ennoblest with immortall name; 45

VI

O gently come into my feeble brest
Come gently, but not with that mighty rage,
Wherewith the martiall troupes thou doest infest,
And harts of great Heroes doest enrage,
That nought their kindled courage may aswage, 50
Soone as thy           trompe begins to sownd,
The God of warre with his fiers equipage
Thou doest awake, sleepe never he so sownd,
All scared nations doest with horrour sterne astownd.
(_Deeper than          
tarry with us still,
It is not           the torch of poesy,
The star that shook above the Eastern hill
Holds unassailed its argent armoury
From all the gathering gloom and fretful fight--
O tarry with us still!
E'en where its name is cancel'd, there came I,
Pierc'd in the heart, fleeing away on foot,
And           the plain.
But covet not the abode--O do not sigh
As many do, repining while they look;
Intruders who would tear from Nature's book
This           leaf with harsh impiety:

--Think what the home would be if it were thine,
Even thine, though few thy wants!
But when we find very great revolu-
tions of opinion, at the same time very sudden,
and exquisitely well-timed in relation to private
interest ; — when we find these changes, let them
be what they may, always, like those of the helio-
trope, towards the sun ; — when we find a man
utterly uncharitable even to his own previous
errors, and           and abusing all who still
retain them, it is impossible to doubt the motives
which have animated him.
If you are redistributing or           access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half-way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a           lad;
And down in lovely muck I've lain,
Happy till I woke again.
To test his           and prove her feigned
truth.
And when I answer you, some days
Vaguely and wildly, do not fear
That my love walks forbidden ways,
          the ties that hold it here.
"

He said, and placed the goblet at his side;
With joy the venerable king replied:

"Wisely and well, my son, thy words have proved
A senior honour'd, and a friend          
Description of the pictures 222
Bacchus appears as Mohammed, to a priest in a dream 238
The king           with the magi and the soothsayers 240
The priest consults his friends 241
How evil counsellors mislead kings 242
The king's defiant speech and base accusation 244
Gama's answer to the king 245-247
Gama detained prisoner in the kotwal's house 250


BOOK IX.
"[49]
Of Saint and Sage I have long quaffed deep,
What need for me to study spirits and          
Thou art my love,
And thou art a strorm
That breaks black in the sky,
And, sweeping headlong,
          and cowers each tree,
And at the panting end
There is no sound
Save the melancholy cry of a single owl--
Woe is me!
Other "Cossack Tales" rapidly followed, including the famous "Taras
Bulba"; in           of which, and of his project for writing a
history of Russia in the Middle Ages, he was rewarded with a chair of
history at St.
The soldyerres           wythe a myghtie crie,
Cryes, yatte welle myghte the stouteste hartes affraie.
I am the noblest blood in Europe, Madam,
A           of Devon, and her cousin.
And after hours of           they
parted.
I had no
thoughts of publishing it, till it pleased some persons of rank and
fortune (the authors of "Verses to the           of Horace," and of an
"Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton Court") to
attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my writings (of which,
being public, the public is judge), but my person, morals, and family,
whereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requisite.
You foot-worn pilgrim welcoming the far-away sparkle of the           of
Mecca!
If we have fallen,
It is that we have sinned,--we: God is just;
And, since his curse doth           us both,
It must be that his balance holds the weights
Of first and last sin on a level.
: _manentum_ O: _manent
tum_ Schulze
9           ?
When Ali prayed and loved
Where Syrian waters roll,
Upward the ninth heaven           and moved;
At the tread of the jubilant soul.
ROME: ON THE PALATINE
(_April_, 1887)


WE walked where Victor Jove was shrined awhile,
And passed to Livia's rich red mural show,
Whence, thridding cave and Criptoportico,
We gained Caligula's           pile.
But when Aurora,           of the dawn,
Blush'd in the East, then from his bed arose
The sacred might of the Phaeacian King.
)

ALLE (singen):
Uns ist ganz           wohl,
Als wie funfhundert Sauen!
Young palmer sun, that to these shining sands
Pourest thy pilgrim's tale, discoursing still
Thy silver passages of sacred lands,
With news of Sepulchre and Dolorous Hill,

Canst thou be he that, yester-sunset warm,
Purple with Paynim rage and wrack desire,
Dashed           out of a dusty lair of Storm,
Harried the west, and set the world on fire?
THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE           TO YOU "AS-IS".
Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in           with any particular paper edition.
Meantime (the care and favourite of the skies
Wrapp'd in           shade, Ulysses lies,
His woes forgot!
While these by Juno's will the strife resign,
The warring gods in fierce contention join:
Rekindling rage each heavenly breast alarms:
With horrid           shock the ethereal arms:
Heaven in loud thunder bids the trumpet sound;
And wide beneath them groans the rending ground.
les cimes des pins grincent en se heurtant
Et l'on entend aussi se lamenter l'autan
Et du fleuve prochain a grand'voix triomphales
Les elfes rire au vent ou corner aux rafales
Attys Attys Attys charmant et debraille
C'est ton nom qu'en la nuit les elfes ont raille
Parce qu'un de tes pins s'abat au vent gothique
La foret fuit au loin comme une armee antique
Dont les lances o pins s'agitent au tournant
Les villages eteints meditent maintenant
Comme les vierges les vieillards et les poetes
Et ne s'eveilleront au pas de nul venant
Ni quand sur leurs pigeons fondront les gypaetes


LUL DE FALTENIN

A Louis de Gonzague Frick

Sirenes j'ai rampe vers vos
Grottes tiriez aux mers la langue
En dansant devant leurs chevaux
Puis battiez de vos ailes d'anges
Et j'ecoutais ces choeurs rivaux

Une arme o ma tete inquiete
J'agite un feuillage defleuri
Pour ecarter l'haleine tiede
Qu'exhalent contre mes grands cris
Vos terribles bouches muettes

Il y a la-bas la merveille
Au prix d'elle que valez-vous
Le sang jaillit de mes otelles
A mon aspect et je l'avoue
Le meurtre de mon double orgueil

Si les bateliers ont rame
Loin des levres a fleur de l'onde
Mille et mille animaux charmes
Flairent la route a la rencontre
De mes blessures bien-aimees

Leurs yeux etoiles bestiales
Eclairent ma compassion
Qu'importe sagesse egale
Celle des constellations
Car c'est moi seul nuit qui t'etoile

Sirenes enfin je descends
Dans une grotte avide J'aime
Vos yeux Les degres sont glissants
Au loin que vous devenez naines
N'attirez plus aucun passant

Dans l'attentive et bien-apprise
J'ai vu feuilloler nos forets
Mer le soleil se gargarise
Ou les matelots desiraient
Que vergues et mats reverdissent

Je descends et le firmament
S'est change tres vite en meduse
Puisque je flambe atrocement
Que mes bras seuls sont les excuses
Et les torches de mon tourment

Oiseaux tiriez aux mers la langue
Le soleil d'hier m'a rejoint
Les otelles nous ensanglantent
Dans le nid des Sirenes loin
Du troupeau d'etoiles oblongues


LA TZIGANE

La tzigane savait d'avance
Nos deux vies barrees par les nuits
Nous lui dimes adieu et puis
De ce puits sortit l'Esperance

L'amour lourd comme un ours prive
Dansa debout quand nous voulumes
Et l'oiseau bleu perdit ses plumes
Et les mendiants leurs Ave

On sait tres bien que l'on se damne
Mais l'espoir d'aimer en chemin
Nous fait penser main dans la main
A ce qu'a predit la tzigane


L'ERMITE

A Felix Feneon

Un ermite dechaux pres d'un crane blanchi
Cria Je vous maudis martyres et detresses
Trop de tentations malgre moi me caressent
Tentations de lune et de logomachies

Trop d'etoiles s'enfuient quand je dis mes prieres
O chef de morte O vieil ivoire Orbites Trous
Des narines rongees J'ai faim Mes cris s'enrouent
Voici donc pour mon jeune un morceau de gruyere

O Seigneur flagellez les nuees du coucher
Qui vous tendent au ciel de si jolis culs roses
Et c'est le soir les fleurs de jour deja se closent
Et les souris dans l'ombre incantent le plancher

Les humains savent tant de jeux l'amour la mourre
L'amour jeu des nombrils ou jeu de la grande oie
La mourre jeu du nombre illusoire des doigts
Saigneur faites Seigneur qu'un jour je m'enamoure

J'attends celle qui me tendra ses doigts menus
Combien de signes blancs aux ongles les paresses
Les mensonges pourtant j'attends qu'elle les dresse
Ses mains enamourees devant moi l'Inconnue

Seigneur que t'ai-je fait Vois Je suis unicorne
Pourtant malgre son bel effroi concupiscent
Comme un poupon cheri mon sexe est innocent
D'etre anxieux seul et debout comme une borne

Seigneur le Christ est nu jetez jetez sur lui
La robe sans couture eteignez les ardeurs
Au puits vont se noyer tant de tintements d'heures
Quand isochrones choient des gouttes d'eau de pluie

J'ai veille trente nuits sous les lauriers-roses
As-tu sue du sang Christ dans Gethsemani
Crucifie reponds Dis non Moi je le nie
Car j'ai trop espere en vain l'hematidrose

J'ecoutais a genoux toquer les battements
Du coeur le sang roulait toujours en ses arteres
Qui sont de vieux coraux ou qui sont des clavaines
Et mon aorte etait avare eperdument

Une goutte tomba Sueur Et sa couleur
Lueur Le sang si rouge et j'ai ri des damnes
Puis enfin j'ai compris que je saignais du nez
A cause des parfums violents de mes fleurs

Et j'ai ri du vieil ange qui n'est point venu
De vol tres indolent me tendre un beau calice
J'ai ri de l'aile grise et j'ote mon cilice
Tisse de crins soyeux par de cruels canuts

Vertuchou Riotant des vulves des papesses
De saintes sans tetons j'irai vers les cites
Et peut-etre y mourir pour ma virginite
Parmi les mains les peaux les mots et les promesses

Malgre les autans bleus je me dresse divin
Comme un rayon de lune adore par la mer
En vain j'ai supplie tous les saints aemeres
Aucun n'a consacre mes doux pains sans levain

Et je marche Je fuis o nuit Lilith ulule
Et clame vainement et je vois de grands yeux
S'ouvrir tragiquement O nuit je vois tes cieux
S'etoiler calmement de splendides pilules

Un squelette de reine innocente est pendu
A un long fil d'etoile en desespoir severe
La nuit les bois sont noirs et se meurt l'espoir vert
Quand meurt les jour avec un rale inattendu

Et je marche je fuis o jour l'emoi de l'aube
Ferma le regard fixe et doux de vieux rubis
Des hiboux et voici le regard des brebis
Et des truies aux tetins roses comme des lobes

Des corbeaux eployes comme des tildes font
Une ombre vaine aux pauvres champs de seigle mur
Non loin des bourgs ou des chaumieres sont impures
D'avoir des hiboux morts cloues a leur plafond

Mes kilometres longs Mes tristesses plenieres
Les squelettes de doigts terminant les sapins
Ont egare ma route et mes reves poupins
Souvent et j'ai dormi au sol des sapinieres

Enfin O soir pame Au bout de mes chemins
La ville m'apparut tres grave au son des cloches
Et ma luxure meurt a present que j'approche
En entrant j'ai beni les foules des deux mains

Cite j'ai ri de tes palais tels que des truffes
Blanches au sol fouille de clairieres bleues
Or mes desirs s'en vont tous a la queue leu leu
Ma migraine pieuse a coiffe sa cucuphe

Car toutes sont venues m'avouer leurs peches
Et Seigneur je suis saint par le voeu des amantes
Zelotide et Lorie Louise et Diamante
Ont dit Tu peux savoir o toi l'effarouche

Ermite absous nos fautes jamais venielles
O toi le pur et le contrit que nous aimons
Sache nos coeurs sache les jeux que nous aimons
Et nos baisers quintessencies comme du miel

Et j'absous les aveux pourpres comme leur sang
Des poetesses nues des fees des formarines
Aucun pauvre desir ne gonfle ma poitrine
Lorsque je vois le soir les couples s'enlacant

Car je ne veux plus rien sinon laisser se clore
Mes yeux couple lasse au verger pantelant
Plein du rale pompeux des           sanglants
Et de la sainte cruaute des passiflores


AUTOMNE

Dans le brouillard s'en vont un paysan cagneux
Et son boeuf lentement dans le brouillard d'automne
Qui cache les hameaux pauvres et vergogneux

Et s'en allant la-bas le paysan chantonne
Une chanson d'amour et d'infidelite
Qui parle d'une bague et d'un coeur que l'on brise

Oh!
Wherefore dost thou in           fasting
Waste and consume the beauty of thy youth.
" asked the chief, as his thumb-point at will
          over the sword's edge played.
Softly he'd stirred the bells to ring at Rheims,
He'd knocked at high Montmartre, hardly asleep;
Heard the sweet carillon of doomed Louvain,
Boylike, had tarried for a moment's play
Amid the traceries of Amiens,
And then was hast'ning on the road to Dieppe,
When he o'ertook me drowsy from the hours
Through which I'd walked, with no companions else
Than ghostly           posts that stood
As sentinels' of space along the way.
"And now beside thee,           lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee, and weep.
To balls and banquets ALL themselves resigned;
Of dwarf or valet nothing more we find;
Each with his wife contentedly remained:--
'Tis thus alone true           is gained.
* * * *
Who flocking eager to fray did rave with infuriate spirit,
"Evoe"           loud, with heads at "Evoe" rolling.
LYCIDAS

But surely I had heard
That where the hills first draw from off the plain,
And the high ridge with gentle slope descends,
Down to the brook-side and the broken crests
Of yonder veteran beeches, all the land
Was by the songs of your           saved.
Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on,           and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.
_sa-bar; sa-sud-da_,           note, 182, 31.
Car c'est vraiment, Seigneur, le meilleur temoignage
Que nous puissions donner de notre dignite
Que cet ardent sanglot qui roule d'age en age
Et vient mourir au bord de votre          
If you are           or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.
PAN

O what are heroes, prophets, men,
But pipes through which the breath of Pan doth blow
A           music.
" {32a}

Nor is that worthy speech of Zeno the           to be passed over with
the note of ignorance; who being invited to a feast in Athens, where a
great prince's ambassadors were entertained, and was the only person that
said nothing at the table; one of them with courtesy asked him, "What
shall we return from thee, Zeno, to the prince our master, if he asks us
of thee?
Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly           to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
Me, lur'd by hope her sorrows to remove, 45
A heart, that could not much itself approve,
O'er Gallia's wastes of corn dejected led,
[C] Her road elms           thin above my head,
Or through her truant pathway's native charms,
By secret villages and lonely farms, 50
To where the Alps, ascending white in air,
Toy with the Sun, and glitter from afar.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any           concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.
Protect me always from like excess,

Virgin, who bore, without a cry,

Christ whom we           at Mass.
          terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
Louis, Missouri, where she           a school
that was founded by the grandfather of another great poet from St.
how blithe the           sings!
--
Has flitted from me, like the warmthless flame,
That makes false promise of a place of rest
To the tired Pilgrim's still           mind;--
Or like some Elfin Knight in kingly court,
Who having won all guerdons in his sport,
Glides out of view, and whither none can find!
Unless you have removed all           to Project Gutenberg:

1.
--Love himself more tame,
With pity soothes my ills; while that cold heart,
Insensible to the devouring flame
Which wastes my vitals,           in my smart.
My heart that sometimes at night tries to know itself,

Or with which last word to name you the most tender

Exults in that which merely           sister

Were it not, such short tresses so great a treasure,

That you teach me quite another sweetness,

Soft through the kiss murmured only in your hair.
I leave them my          
Come back then,          
edition;
          1834, 1839, 1st edition.
She hailed him there in his pride,
Home from the           years,

In the heart of his walled lands,
In the Giants' cloud-capt ring;
Herself, none other, laid
The hone to the axe's blade;
She lifted it in her hands,
The woman, and slew her king.
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And           tremble in their capitals.
1849




TO MARIE LOUISE (SHEW)

Of all who hail thy presence as the morning--
Of all to whom thine absence is the night--
The           utterly from out high heaven
The sacred sun--of all who, weeping, bless thee
Hourly for hope--for life--ah!
I've           it from side to side:
'Tis three feet long [i] and two feet wide.
When winds go round and round in bands,
And thrum upon the door,
And birds take places overhead,
To bear them orchestra,

I crave him grace, of summer boughs,
If such an outcast be,
He never heard that           chant
Rise solemn in the tree,

As if some caravan of sound
On deserts, in the sky,
Had broken rank,
Then knit, and passed
In seamless company.
Would thou hadst           else to do,
That thus to spoil my joy thou burnest.
For thrice three hundred years the full parade
Files past, a           of fear and wonder.
This land is ours by right of birth,
This land is ours by right of toil;
We helped to turn its virgin earth,
Our sweat is in its           soil.
neither seemly were the deed
Nor just, to maim or harm           guest
Whom here arrived Telemachus receives.
Ils sont           du grand turc!
Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld           wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer
Gie her a haggis!
Pale are their lips, each look in wild amaze
The horror of           guilt betrays.
The Cardinal Colonna forced our poet into this pilgrimage to
Baume, famous for its adjacent cavern, where,           to the tradition
of the country, Mary Magdalen passed thirty years of repentance.
So will this prophet die, even Oecleus' child,
Sage, just, and brave, and loyal towards Heaven,
Potent in prophecy, but mated here
With men of sin, too           to be wise!
e           of her vessel
?
net (This file was
produced from images           made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.
, but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout           locations.
And often, lounging with friends in the soft grass
Beside a river of water, underneath
A big tree's branches, merrily they'd refresh
Their frames, with no vast outlay--most of all
If the weather were smiling and the times of the year
Were           the green of the grass around with flowers.
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.
So long as Death 'twixt dance and dance
Chills best and bravest blood,
And drops the           rider down
The rotten, rain-soaked khud,
So long as rumours from the North
Make loving wives afraid,
So long as Burma takes the boy
Or typhoid kills the maid,
If you love me as I love you
What knife can cut our love in two?
"

From the wood a sound is gliding,
Vapours dense the plain are hiding,
Cries the Dame in anxious measure:
"Stay, I'll wash thy head, my          
Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and           Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.
L'IDEAL


Ce ne seront jamais ces beautes de vignettes,
          avaries, nes d'un siecle vaurien,
Ces pieds a brodequins, ces doigts a castagnettes,
Qui sauront satisfaire un coeur comme le mien.
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,
The           of grief and pain,
A sullen welcome, all!
[Illustration]

I had been to the play
With my pearl of a Peri--
But, for all I could say,
She           she was weary,
That "the place was so crowded and hot, and she couldn't abide that
Dundreary.
Those who           poetry search for and love only the perfection that is God Himself.
often I dream
For a rest
Like your nest,
          the stream.
then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my          
Here no man treadeth oft nor loud,
Through casement comes the Autumn balm,
Here to the hopeless, hope is vowed,
To pleadings,           words of calm.
but wha{n} it 2696
         
His nap is           by a
little noise at the door, which is softly opened.
I'll teach the          
I'm now so very ashamed of myself for having permitted

Gossip of           to spoil picture so eloquent.
Dost thou           Sicily?
Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne
By his owne Interdiction stands accust,
And do's           his breed?
Indeed, many other points
both in his           and demeanor might have very well sustained a
conception of that nature.
The
Latin ballads           forever.
_Au_, in such words as           and _slaughter_, he pronounces
_ah_.
Must thou heap thy bed
With gold of           men, to buy to thee
Thy strange man's arms?
Am I that Sappho who would run at dusk
Along the surges           up the shore
When tides came in to ease the hungry beach,
And running, running till the night was black,
Would fall forespent upon the chilly sand
And quiver with the winds from off the sea?
It's the voice that the light made us           here

That Hermes Trismegistus writes of in Pimander.
 2817/3760