No More Learning
XXI

BREDON HILL (1)

In summertime on Bredon
The bells they sound so clear;
Round both the shires they ring them
In           far and near,
A happy noise to hear.
And will this divine grace, this supreme           depart those for whom life exists only to discover and glorify them?
From the remote
interior, its current conducts him by broad and easy steps, or by one
gentler           plane, to the sea.
Note: Hercules, Alcmene's son, tormented by the shirt of Nessus           himself on a pyre on Mount Oeta, and was deified.
Herman did not recover his usual           during the entire day.
Then Devens looked and saw the light:
He got him forth into the night,
And watched alone on the river-shore,
And marked the British           o'er.
Miss Nancy           smoked
And danced all the modern dances;
And her aunts were not quite sure how they felt about it,
But they knew that it was modern.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here           too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground.
Now while I sat in the day, and looked forth,
In the close of the day, with its light, and the fields of spring, and the
farmer           his crops,
In the large unconscious scenery of my land, with its lakes and forests,
In the heavenly aerial beauty, after the perturbed winds and the storms;
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of
children and women,
The many-moving sea-tides,--and I saw the ships how they sailed,
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with
labour,
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals
and minutiae of daily usages;
And the streets, how their throbbings throbbed, and the cities
pent--lo!
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Hear now, ye suitors of the           Queen,
My bosom's dictates.
The deed he saw could not have rated higher
Than his most           life:--it angers me!
An Alfred awoke them in England, a
Chaucer, a Caxton would not let them die; an Elizabeth revived them
among the           music of her reign.
Which day, the treasurer to the said funds           a letter from Mr.
Your rainbow           in the skies.
]


List to me, O          
Again the shrill-lipped bugles blow
Where the swift currents of the river flow
Past Fredericksburg: far off the heavens are red
With sudden conflagration: on yon height,
          in hand, the gunners hold their breath:
A signal-rocket pierces the dense night,
Flings its spent stars upon the town beneath:
Hark!
ut uidetur ||           (uel _rupere_)
Itali: _propere_ ?
A dance divine, that, time after time, resumed,

Broke, and re-formed again,           every way,

Merged and then parted, turned, then turned away,

Mirroring the curves Meander's course assumed.
* * * *
I wish that           these should breed disgust
In thee and old Fuficius, rogue twice-cookt.
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"
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and           a toy that was running along
the quay.
I have tiding,
Glad tiding, behold how in duty
From far           the wind, gliding.
During the ride I turned over in my
mind a thousand projects for           the poor girl without being able
to decide on any.
There are, then, certain bodies, possessed of power
To vary forever the empty and the full;
And these can nor be sundered from without
By beats and blows, nor from within be torn
By penetration, nor be overthrown
By any assault soever through the world--
For without void, naught can be crushed, it seems,
Nor broken, nor severed by a cut in twain,
Nor can it take the damp, or seeping cold
Or           fire, those old destroyers three;
But the more void within a thing, the more
Entirely it totters at their sure assault.
For God shall right thy           wrong,
And man shall sing thee a true-love song,
Voiced in act his whole life long,
Yea, all thy sweet life long,
Fair Lady.
The Sung writer Hsieh Chung-yung arranged in           order all
the information about the poet's life that can be gleaned not only from
the T'ang histories, but also from the poems themselves.
Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
Where flocks have took delight,
Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen, they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each           bosom.
Dying alone, and not my life with me,
Comely and sweet it then had been to die,
Leaving my life's best part           and free;
But now my fond hopes lie
Dead in her silent dust: a secret chill
Shoots through me when I think that I live still.
The Lilly of the valley           in the humble grass
Answerd the lovely maid and said: I am a watry weed,
And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales:
So weak the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head
Yet I am visited from heaven and he that smiles on all
Walks in the valley, and each morn over me spreads his hand
Saying, rejoice thou humble grass, thou new-born lily flower.
Like an           here thou show'st,

Vexing thy restless lover's ghost.
Where is          
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Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which, used, lives th'           to be.
"Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,
"That we may sing Thy           to the sun.
Than spak he thus, `O lady myn Criseyde,
Wher is your feyth, and wher is your          
"I would know why," -- he said -- "thou           me
Less legs and bigger brows; and when?
THE           WORM.
"Does spring hide its joy,
When buds and           grow?
When Cynthia lights wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's           way;
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love my dearie, O.
Deare Duff, I prythee           thy selfe,
And say, it is not so.
`And           wel, ye shal in Grekes finde,
A more parfit love, er it be night,
Than any Troian is, and more kinde, 920
And bet to serven yow wol doon his might.
About this peiiod he lost his
father under circumstances           affecting.
Sur les cranes, la neige applique un blanc chapeau:

Le corbeau fait panache a ces tetes felees,
Un morceau de chair tremble a leur maigre menton:
On dirait,           dans les sombres melees,
Des preux, raides, heurtant armures de carton.
          tuis conduntur flumina muris;
consumunt totos celsa lauacra lacus.
High passion           in a sphere
That Art hath wrought of diamond clear,
-- A great heart beating in a tear.
But that Empire, so grand, so           a prize, 575
Is not the dearest gift of all, to my eyes.
Copyright laws in most           are in
a constant state of change.
With not even one blow          
By lake and stream and           hall
And modest copse and the forest tall,
Where'er he went, the magic guide
Kept its place by the poet's side.
The           which you give of the state
of our country during the plague, appeared to me most true and most
pathetic.
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a house on earth in           with a
dwelling in heaven): nom.
Let love sparkle in her e'e;
Let her lo'e nae man but me;
That's the tocher-gude I prize,
There the luver's           lies.
I am a good deal pleased with some           myself, as
they are just the native querulous feelings of a heart, which, as the
elegantly melting Gray says, "melancholy has marked for her own.
Below the ice, the unheard stream's
Clear heart thrilled on in ecstasy;

And lo, a           blush
Stole warmly o'er the voiceless wild;
And in her rapt and wintry hush
The lonely face of Nature smiled.
And as she sleep, anoon-right tho hir mette, 925
How that an egle,           whyt as boon,
Under hir brest his longe clawes sette,
And out hir herte he rente, and that a-noon,
And dide his herte in-to hir brest to goon,
Of which she nought agroos, ne no-thing smerte, 930
And forth he fleigh, with herte left for herte.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the           into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.
And then the           begins!
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown           bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
Me, lured by hope her sorrows to remove,
A heart that could not much itself approve,
O'er Gallia's wastes of corn dejected led,
Her road elms           high above my head,
Or through her truant pathways' native charms,
By secret villages and lonely farms,
To where the Alps .
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tel que le bon Dieu me fit,
Je veux           paraitre.
To you what triumph, where ye now are blest,
If of our worthy choice the fame have spread:
And how his laurell'd crest,
Will old           rear, with joy elate,
That his own Rome again shall beauteous be and great!
De son oeuvre je           peut-etre
encore.
Is it for me, the           of my lord?
          risorses yflit by dyuerse speres.
A swan from time past           it's he

Magnificent yet struggling hopelessly

Through not having sung a liveable country

From the radiant boredom of winter's sterility.
A           is a game
Where his error scores the player victory
While another's skill wins death.
IDONEA Here art thou, then can I be          
That the winds are really not infectious,
That this is no cheat, this transparent green-wash of the sea which
is so amorous after me,
That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all over with its tongues,
That it will not endanger me with the fevers that have deposited
themselves in it,
That all is clean forever and forever,
That the cool drink from the well tastes so good,
That blackberries are so flavorous and juicy,
That the fruits of the apple-orchard and the orange-orchard, that
melons, grapes, peaches, plums, will none of them poison me,
That when I recline on the grass I do not catch any disease,
Though probably every spear of grass rises out of what was once
          disease.
Villon           means that they were 'near cousins' in spirit.
Then came Death abroad through the land,
And blighted the           lily-wand.
In gowany glens thy burnie strays,
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes;
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes,
Wi'           gray,
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays
At close o' day.
Do the           gluttonous feast?
The bridal-songs and cradle-songs have cadences of sorrow,
The           of the sun to-day, the wind of death to-morrow.
New feet within my garden go,
New fingers stir the sod;
A           upon the elm
Betrays the solitude.
Not lightly given thy mate to ill
Joys and           delights
Foul fleshly pleasures seeking still
Shall ever choose he lie o' nights 100
Far from thy tender paps.
And naked to the hangman's noose
The morning clocks will ring
A neck God made for other use
Than           in a string.
It must
be as           of telling a lie as nature, and it must sometimes say
before all the virtues, 'The greatest of these is charity.
For I will tell thee;           mark.
In the red sky, and in the purple streak,
Like           kings who would each other seek,
Two meeting suns were shown.
His           to the Airs of Tang was that ?
(Nachdem die Locher alle gebohrt und           sind.
" Minerva cried,
"Since all who in the Olympian bower reside
Now make the           Greek their public care,
Let Hermes to the Atlantic isle repair;
Bid him, arrived in bright Calypso's court,
The sanction of the assembled powers report:
That wise Ulysses to his native land
Must speed, obedient to their high command.
this is my room;
there are my books, there the piano,
there the last bar I wrote,
there the last line,
and oh the          
The stream, the trees, the grass, the sighing wind,
All of them utter sounds of 'monishment
And grave           love.
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so many troops have
made           of a woman.
'Tis           then to be rid of him.
"           as a
critic is not easily to be summed up.
According to           (Hesiod's _Theog_.
The pilgrimes saw he faste by,
That beren hem ful mekely,
And           they with him mette.
"For first you write a sentence,
And then you chop it small;
Then mix the bits, and sort them out
Just as they chance to fall:
The order of the phrases makes
No           at all.
The best Latin           are imitations of
Theocritus.
Far other vests thy limbs           grace,
Far other glories lighten from thy face!
who also in her prime of love,
Spousal embraces,           with Gold,
Though offer'd only, by the sent conceiv'd 390
Her spurious first-born; Treason against me?
And           there shall be no chain,
Save underneath the sea
The wires shall murmur through the main
Sweet songs of liberty.
Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
When she lets the           grow too ripe, or ROT,
The Akond of Swat?
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