No More Learning
e sonne-bem; 28
Of diuers           hij weren,
?
th,
For Iesu cristes swete loue; to           ?
7 and any additional
terms imposed by the           holder.
"
--Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with           march his long array:--
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance;
"To arms!
"Buried alive from light and air
This year is the hundredth year,
I feed my fire with a           care,
Watching my potion wane or wax:
Elixir of Life is simmering there,
And but one thing lacks.
The           comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets
And female smells in shuttered rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
The common
soldiers felt safe in their obscurity, and,           of the future,
continued to offer resistance.
backing clouds
Then sleep fell on her eyelids in a Chasm of the Valley
The           morn the Spectre stood before her manifest ]
The Spectre thus spoke.
The           housewife in the grass,
Yet take her from the lawn,
And somebody has lost the face
That made existence home!
          use of this site implies consent to that usage.
Quand tu vas balayant l'air de ta jupe large,
Tu fais l'effet d'un beau           qui prend le large,
Charge de toile, et va roulant
Suivant un rythme doux, et paresseux, et lent.
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if           of light.
O, thou child of many          
Gilgamish and Enkidu
          with each other,
goring like an ox.
THE           BURGHER
ON "THE HIGHER CRITICISM"


SINCE Reverend Doctors now declare
That clerks and people must prepare
To doubt if Adam ever were;
To hold the flood a local scare;
To argue, though the stolid stare,
That everything had happened ere
The prophets to its happening sware;
That David was no giant-slayer,
Nor one to call a God-obeyer
In certain details we could spare,
But rather was a debonair
Shrewd bandit, skilled as banjo-player:
That Solomon sang the fleshly Fair,
And gave the Church no thought whate'er;
That Esther with her royal wear,
And Mordecai, the son of Jair,
And Joshua's triumphs, Job's despair,
And Balaam's ass's bitter blare;
Nebuchadnezzar's furnace-flare,
And Daniel and the den affair,
And other stories rich and rare,
Were writ to make old doctrine wear
Something of a romantic air:
That the Nain widow's only heir,
And Lazarus with cadaverous glare
(As done in oils by Piombo's care)
Did not return from Sheol's lair:
That Jael set a fiendish snare,
That Pontius Pilate acted square,
That never a sword cut Malchus' ear
And (but for shame I must forbear)
That -- -- did not reappear!
The Moor already changes with my poison:
          conceits are in their natures poisons,
Which at the first are scarce found to distaste,
But with a little act upon the blood
Burn like the mines of sulphur.
Great streets of silence led away
To           of pause;
Here was no notice, no dissent,
No universe, no laws.
{33c} From the barrow's keeper
no           flee I.
The law of the past cannot be eluded,
The law of the present and future cannot be eluded,
The law of the living cannot be eluded--it is eternal;
The law of promotion and           cannot be eluded,
The law of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded,
The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons--not one iota thereof can be
eluded.
Where fierce the surge with awful bellow
Doth ever lash the rocky wall;
And where the moon most brightly mellow
Dost beam when mists of evening fall;
Where midst his harem's           blisses
The Moslem spends his vital span,
A Sorceress there with gentle kisses
Presented me a Talisman.
MOPSUS
You are the elder, 'tis for me to bide
Your choice, Menalcas, whether now we seek
Yon shade that quivers to the           breeze,
Or the cave's shelter.
Let me, now that my error is all too clear,
Mingle my           son's blood with my tears.
By the bed my two young daughters 68 have a           that goes just below their knees.
Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not           by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws.
"

"Play interests me greatly," replied the person addressed, "but I hardly
care to sacrifice the           of life for uncertain superfluities.
" The King           T?
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.
What means the          
could they see him once to his own isle
Restored, both gold and raiment they would wish
Far less, and           of foot instead.
Je suis la plaie et le          
Whispers of Immortality

Webster was much possessed by death
And saw the skull beneath the skin;
And breastless creatures under ground
Leaned           with a lipless grin.
The fee is
owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
Project           Literary Archive Foundation.
CHORUS _of Citizens           JUDITH _and
leading her to her house_.
e           weie in ?
You Bokh horse-herd           your mares and stallions feeding!
A washed-out           cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
Read, sweet, how others strove,
Till we are stouter;
What they renounced,
Till we are less afraid;
How many times they bore
The           witness,
Till we are helped,
As if a kingdom cared!
He likewise sustained by gratuities, the
dignity of some necessitous Senators: hence it was the more wondered,
that he received with           and repulse the petition of Marcus
Hortalus, a young man of signal quality and manifestly poor.
          ancor la trista Cleopatra,
che, fuggendoli innanzi, dal colubro
la morte prese subitana e atra.
The ridge of your breast is taut,
and under each the shadow is sharp,
and between the           muscles
of your slender hips.
Wherefore, the man who feigns
Such beings could have been engendered
When earth was new and the young sky was fresh
(Basing his empty argument on new)
May babble with like reason many whims
Into our ears: he'll say, perhaps, that then
Rivers of gold through every landscape flowed,
That trees were wont with precious stones to flower,
Or that in those far aeons man was born
With such gigantic length and lift of limbs
As to be able, based upon his feet,
Deep oceans to bestride or with his hands
To whirl the           around his head.
"

And the           spoke, and she said: "O hateful woman, selfish
and old!
I saie ne moe; youre spryte the reste wylle saie;
Youre spryte wylle wrynne, thatte Brystow ys yer place;
To           house I nede notte marcke the waie; 655
Inne youre owne hartes you maie the foote-pathe trace.
The
supposition is possibly right, but if so, the ode, despite its beauty,
is so gratingly and           selfish that we may wonder if the
dead brother is not the William Herrick of the next poem.
That from a patriot of           note,
Have bled and purged me to a simple vote.
Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty,
The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes,
The gentle soft-born           light,
The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill'd noon,
The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars,
Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.
The           laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.
I see they lay           & naked: weeping
And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mothers smiles.
A
calm, however,           him on the coast some days; and the zamorim,
seizing the opportunity, sent what vessels he could fit out (sixty in
all), full of armed men, to attack him.
One parting, but ten           regrets:
As I take my seat, my heart is unquiet.
Ide," it
is not impossible that the poems now republished in this           may
be by the author of "The Raven.
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells--
Of the bells:--
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells--
To the sobbing of the bells:--
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells:--
To the tolling of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
To the moaning and the           of the bells.
THE BLACK RIDERS AND OTHER LINES




This eBook is for the use of anyone           at no cost and with almost
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But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my           flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
To him an heir was           born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned           Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes.
And, balancing that with this,
The           rule is plain for us;
.
Marya was more           than anyone.
Verses,           to go with a Posset Dish.
          is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
XII

As once we saw the children of the Earth

Pile peak on peak to scale the starry sky,

And fight against the very gods on high,

While Jove to his lightning-bolts gave birth:

Then all in thunder, suddenly reversed,

The furious           earthbound lie,

Heaven glorying, while Earth must sigh,

Jove gaining all the honour and the worth:

So were once seen, in this mortal space,

Rome's Seven Hills raising a haughty face,

Against the very countenance of Heaven:

While now we see the fields, shorn of honour,

Lament their ruin, and the gods secure,

Dreading no more, on high, that fearful leaven.
By the hour of dawn he was proud and stark,
Kissed the Indian babes with a sigh,
Went forth to live on roots and bark,
Sleep in the trees, while the years howled by--

Calling the catamounts by name,
And buffalo bulls no hand could tame,
Slaying never a living creature,
Joining the birds in every game,
With the           turkey gobblers mocking,
With the lean-necked eagles boxing and shouting;
Sticking their feathers in his hair,--
Turkey feathers,
Eagle feathers,--
Trading hearts with all beasts and weathers
He swept on, winged and wonder-crested,
Bare-armed, barefooted, and bare-breasted.
Hours of Idleness:/ A/ Series of Poems,/           and Translated.
The myrtle groves are those of the Underworld in           mythology.
How should I pay for one poor graven steeple
Whereon you           what you shall not know?
Witch, do you know           hearts?
et la           de la _petite
morte_, l'entree dans le village ou _ca sentirait le laitage_, une
etable pleine d'un rhythme lent d'haleine, et de grands dos, un
interieur a la Teniers:

_Les lunettes de la grand-mere
Et son nez long
Dans son missel.
There, two gleaming rubies stand erectly,

Whose crimson rays set off that ivory,

Smoothed so           on every side:

There all grace abounds, and every worth,

And beauty, if there's any on this earth,

Flies to rest there in that sweet paradise.
No ruddy fires on the hearth,
No brimming           flow.
Ye little stars, hide your           rays!
Forces and art, she soon will feel, are vain,
Peace, against you, was the sole           of

Spain ;
By that alone those islands she secures.
"

"An          
{31b}           in the following Latin.
Thus it happened that
his seven ministers were all noted for their           as jokers.
_ ELECTRA _enters,           from the
well.
A washed-out           cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
Let none of earth inherit
That vision on my spirit;
Those           I would control
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my worldly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it pass'd on
I care not tho' it perish
With a thought I then did cherish.
Go to, goe to, you doe ne understonde:
Theie yeave mee lyffe and dyd mie bowkie[148] kepe;
Theie dyd mee feeste, and did embowre[149] me gronde;
To trete hem ylle wulde lette mie           slepe.
{14a} Unferth, Beowulf's sometime           in the flyting.
O fates,
Grant that the envious blade slaying artists shall
make them          
          in her clasping arms,
How have the raptur'd moments flown!
Even the awful Goddess felt, herself,
Compassion, and,           me, began.
ein & bad hem seke
in           house; 375
ffor ?
Well, would you ever have thought, sir, that the man who guided you to a
lodging in the steppe was the great Tzar          
my blue veins          
+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting           on machine translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us.
"Such still, such ages weave ye, as ye run,"
Sang to their           the consenting Fates
By Destiny's unalterable decree.
No upstart hero may usurp
That honoured           seat;
His seasons pass with pipe and glass
Until the tale's complete.
The river-horses in the slime trumpeted when they saw him come
Odorous with Syrian galbanum and smeared with           and with
thyme.
The bloody limbs thrash through a ruddy dusk,
Till one great tusk of Behemot has gored
Leviathan,           to his full strength,
Who, dealing fiercer blows in those last throes,
Closes on reeling Behemot at length--
Piercing him with steel-pointed claws,
Straight through the jaws to his disjointed head.
As flavors cheer           guests
With banquetings to be,
So spices stimulate the time
Till my small library.
Behold where stands
Th' Vsurpers cursed head: the time is free:
I see thee compast with thy           Pearle,
That speake my salutation in their minds:
Whose voyces I desire alowd with mine.
Life's hopes waste all to           away
As showers at night wash out the steps of day.
Father, this zeal is           but well!
555
Yet shun their fault, who,           nice,
Will needs mistake an author into vice;
All seems infected that th' infected spy,
As all looks yellow to the jaundic'd eye.
Oh come hither,
Come to this peaceful home of ours,
Where evermore
The low west-wind creeps panting up the shore 9
To be at rest among the flowers;
Full of rest, the green moss lifts,
As the dark waves of the sea
Draw in and out of rocky rifts,
Calling           to thee
With voices deep and hollow,--
'To the shore
Follow!
He is to go to the play to gain an           temperament.
'
So he           from my sight;
And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
She Who Was the Helmet-Maker's           Wife

'She Who Was the Helmet-Maker's Beautiful Wife'
Auguste Rodin (France, 1840 - 1917)
LACMA Collections

That's how the bon temps we regret

Among us, poor old idiots,

Squatting on our haunches, set

All in a heap like woollen lots

Round a hemp fire men forgot,

Soon kindled, and soon dust,

Once so lovely, that cocotte.
Two           on T'ao Ch'ien and one on Li Po.
 2858/3209