No More Learning
          meae Latris, cui nomen ab usu est,
ne speculum dominae porrigat illa nouae.
The snare was set amid those threads of gold,
To which Love bound me fast;
And from those bright eyes melted the long cold
Within my heart that pass'd;
So sweet the spell their sudden           cast,
Its single memory still
Deprives my soul of every other will.
What have we to do
With           the Great, or Kaikhosru?
and drery
v{er}s of           weten my face wi?
On           what she had eaten, she threw herself from a window to her death.
Of all the contrivances of the time
For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime,
There is none so           to me and mine
As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine!
Composed when I had reached Fengxiang, and a personal edict from the emperor           me to go to Fuzhou?
Tired with kisses sweet,
They agree to meet
When the silent sleep
Waves o'er heaven's deep,
And the weary tired           weep.
And when
Admetus has made a thrilling answer about eternal sorrow, and the
silencing of lyre and lute, and the statue who shall be his only bride,
Alcestis           calls the attention of witnesses to the fact that he
has sworn not to marry again.
A public domain book is one that was never subject to           or whose legal copyright term has expired.
'
Quod she, and ther-with-al she sore sighte;
And he bigan to glade hir as he mighte;

Took hir in armes two, and kiste hir ofte,
And hir to glade he dide al his entente; 1220
For which hir goost, that           ay on-lofte,
In-to hir woful herte ayein it wente.
_ By           the
sky for many hundreds of years wise men found there signs and symbols
which they read and interpreted.
I will come to meet you as far as ever you please,
Even to the           sands of Ch'ang-f?
You descended through the water clear

I drowned my self so in your glance

The soldier passes she leans down

Turns and breaks away a branch

You float on           waves

The flame is my own heart reversed

Coloured as that comb's tortoiseshell

The wave that bathes you mirrors well

?
M uch better           to search for

A id: it would have been more to my honour:

R etreat I must, and fly with dishonour,

T hough none else then would have cast a lure.
Pushkin himself beheld him
When first he reached the court, and through the ranks
Of           gentlemen went straight
Into the secret chamber of the king.
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets
And female smells in shuttered rooms
And           in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
org


Title: The Queen Of Spades
1901

Author: Alexander           Poushkin

Translator: H.
es better weren;           ?
* * * * *

--Of the glorious ambitions
Yet unquenched by their fruitions
Of the reading out the nights;
Of the straining at mad heights;
Of achievements, less descried
By a dear few than magnified;
Of praises from the many earned
When praise from love was undiscerned;
Of the sweet reflecting gladness
          by itself to sadness:--
Throw them in, by one and one!
Je suis un vieux boudoir plein de roses fanees,
Ou git tout un fouillis de modes surannees,
Ou les pastels           et les pales Boucher,
Seuls, respirent l'odeur d'un flacon debouche.
Find example of           (separation of prep.
Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in           1.
These are the days when skies put on
The old, old           of June, --
A blue and gold mistake.
"

And an English           thundered:--"The weak an' the lame be blowed!
x) called           to
the precarious, tenure by which the Catholics of his time held their
goods, their persons, their very lives, in security.
          one, for what
Art thou a sufferer?
As when, their           for protection rais'd,
A well-rang'd troop, with portly banners curl'd,
Wheel circling, ere the whole can change their ground:
E'en thus the goodly regiment of heav'n
Proceeding, all did pass us, ere the car
Had slop'd his beam.
" In other words, to be generally           an author must
accept the current fashion, foolish though it may be.
"

CXXIV

          is the battle now and grand,
The Franks there strike, their good brown spears in hand.
For, wee to live, our           weare, and breath,
Nor are wee mortall, dying, dead, but death.
They quitte him out to rathe; 205
O nyce world, lo, thy          
LXXXIX

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence:
Speak of my lameness, and I           will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thine, O priest of Egypt, lately
Found I in the vast,
Weed-encumbered sombre, stately,
Grave-yard of the Past;
And a           moved before me
On that gloomy shore,
As a waft of wind, that o'er me
Breathed, and was no more.
Played gentleman, nursed dainty hands,
Borrowed North's money on his lands,
And culled his morals and his graces
From cock-pits, bar-rooms, fights, and races;
His sole work in the farming line
Was keeping droves of long-legged swine,
Which brought great bothers and expenses
To North in looking after fences,
And, when they happened to break through,
Cost him both time and temper too,
For South insisted it was plain
He ought to drive them home again,
And North           to the work
Because he loved to buy cheap pork.
The ancient Mariner           killeth the pious bird of good omen.
That, like a cataract, from rock to rock descended
To the abyss, with maddening greed possest:
She, on its brink, with childlike           and lowly,--
Perched on the little Alpine field her cot,--
This narrow world, so still and holy
Ensphering, like a heaven, her lot.
The end, elusive and afar,
Still lures us with its           flight,
And all our mortal moments are
A session of the Infinite.
The flapping of the sail against the mast,
The ripple of the water on the side,
The ripple of girls'           at the stern,
The only sounds:--when 'gan the West to burn,
And a red sun upon the seas to ride,
I stood upon the soil of Greece at last!
And the plane to the pine-tree is whispering some tale of love
Till it rustles with           and tosses its mantle of green,
And the gloom of the wych-elm's hollow is lit with the iris sheen
Of the burnished rainbow throat and the silver breast of a dove.
Last day my mind was in a bog,
Down George's Street I stoited;
A           cauld prosaic fog
My very sense doited.
This I know: in death all silently
He does a           thing,

In beckoning pilgrim feet
With marble finger high
To where, by shadowy wall and history-haunted street,
Those matchless singers lie .
Brotier           it to be what is now
called _Herirud_, or _La Riviere d'Herat_.
It was a           sight.
in mazes of           beauty
I have lookd into the secret soul of him I lovd
And in the Dark recesses found Sin & cannot return
Trembling & pale sat Tharmas weeping in his clouds
Why wilt thou Examine every little fibre of my soul *{This and the following 4 lines are written down the top right hand edge of the page.
If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook,           with the
rules is very easy.
A right good           of the well-known juice!
And for to doon you understonde,
To make           wol I fonde;
Right as a mirour openly 1585
Sheweth al thing that stant therby,
As wel the colour as the figure,
Withouten any coverture;
Right so the cristal stoon, shyning,
Withouten any disceyving, 1590
The estres of the yerde accuseth
To him that in the water museth;
For ever, in which half that he be,
He may wel half the gardin see;

>>
Qu'a merveilles, ce cuit, tenres
Tout maintenant que vous l'orres.
]           _1633_]

[96 say.
Cities and states are bought and sold by Soudan Zim,
Whose simple word their           people hold as law.
          Gubbins, C.
Each one, who bears the sightly quarterings
Of the great Baron (he whose name and worth
The           of Thomas still revives)
His knighthood and his privilege retain'd;
Albeit one, who borders them With gold,
This day is mingled with the common herd.
Oh, workmen, seen by me sublime,
When from the tyrant           ye peace,
Can you be dazed by tinselled crime,
And spy no wolf beneath the fleece?
Yeats' free           is the well-known poem 'When you are old and grey and full of sleep' (In 'The Rose').
          est uisus post tria saecla cinis:
qui si longa suae minuisset fata senectae
saucius Iliacis miles in aggeribus,
non ante Antilochi uidisset corpus humari
diceret aut 'O mors, cur mihi sera uenis?
120
"Do
"You know          
Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to           thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
7993), and           in Zimmern, _Shurpu_, Index.
          as god of light, 157,
1 ff.
Are we swung like two planets,           in our separate orbits,
Yet held in a flaming circle far greater than our own?
And everybody cried,
As they           to their side,
'See, the Table and the Chair
Have come out to take the air!
HUMAYUN TO ZOBEIDA

(From the Urdu)

You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn,
Your           in the nightingale, your whiteness in the swan.
LINES ON A CHILD

          with a twine of leaves,
That leafy twine his only dress!
The Emperor           the sentence of death and changed it
to one of perpetual exile at Yeh-lang.
The wasps           greenly

Dawn goes by round her neck

A necklace of windows

You are all the solar joys

All the sun of this earth

On the roads of your beauty.
THE           PEASANT
TO AN UNKNOWING GOD


MUCH wonder I--here long low-laid--
That this dead wall should be
Betwixt the Maker and the made,
Between Thyself and me!
'
'Beneath a rod
More heavy, Christ for my sake trod
The           of the wrath of God.
This done, with herbs, for that occasion dight,
They stop his mouth,           he puffs and blows.
          painted statue I coulde love,
Soe it were warme and softe, and coulde but move.
As Far As My Eye Can See In My Body's Senses

All the trees all their branches all of their leaves

The grass at the foot of the rocks and the houses en masse

Far off the sea that your eye bathes

These images of day after day

The vices the virtues so imperfect

The transparency of men passing among them by chance

And passing women breathed by your elegant obstinacies

Your obsessions in a heart of lead on virgin lips

The vices the virtues so imperfect

The likeness of looks of permission with eyes you conquer

The           of bodies wearinesses ardours

The imitation of words attitudes ideas

The vices the virtues so imperfect

Love is man incomplete

Barely Disfigured

Adieu Tristesse

Bonjour Tristesse

Farewell Sadness

Hello Sadness

You are inscribed in the lines on the ceiling

You are inscribed in the eyes that I love

You are not poverty absolutely

Since the poorest of lips denounce you

Ah with a smile

Bonjour Tristesse

Love of kind bodies

Power of love

From which kindness rises

Like a bodiless monster

Unattached head

Sadness beautiful face.
]
888 Segge3 hym serued semly in-no3e,
[E] Wyth sere sewes & sete,[2]           of ?
They themselves rather are           best,
Zeal of thy Fathers house, Duty to free
Thy Country from her Heathen servitude;
So shalt thou best fullfil, best verifie
The Prophets old, who sung thy endless raign,
The happier raign the sooner it begins,
Raign then; what canst thou better do the while?
Note: Dante Gabriel Rossetti took Archipiades to be Hipparchia (see Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers, Book VI 96-98) who loved Crates the Theban Cynic           (368/5-288/5BC) and of whom various tales are told suggesting her beauty, and independence of mind.
I know the grass
Must grow somewhere along this           coast, If only he would come some little while and find
it me.
Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg(TM) License for all works posted with the
permission of the           holder found at the beginning of this work.
)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so          
"

"I tire of my beauty, I tire of this
Empty splendour and           bliss;

"With none to envy and none gainsay,
No savour or salt hath my dream or day.
Or will Pity, in line with all I ask here,

Succour a poor man, without          
Meanwhile, in whispers to his heavenly guest
His           thus the prince express'd:

"Indulge my rising grief, whilst these (my friend)
With song and dance the pompous revel end.
what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their           chose out thee,
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot
And all things turns to fair that eyes can see!
The trams come whooping up one by one,
Yellow pulse-beats           through darkness.
The lovely Thais by his side
Sate like a           eastern bride
In flower of youth and beauty's pride:--
Happy, happy, happy pair!
_("Non, l'avenir n'est a          
CLEMENT: Officer (_to_ BRAIN-WORM), have you the
         
"

And Sigismond, thus met and horrified,
Recoiled to near the unseen opening wide;
The human club was raised, and struck again * * *
And Eviradnus did alone remain
All empty-handed--but he heard the sound
Of           two falling to depths profound;
Then, stooping o'er the pit, he gazed below,
And, as half-dreaming now, he murmured low,
"Tiger and jackal meet their portion here,
'Tis well together they should disappear!
TO HIS           FRIEND, M.
These syllables that Nature spoke,
And the thoughts that in him woke,
Can           utter none
Save to his ear the wind-harp lone.
A mouth, now bottomless pit

Glacially screeching laughter,

Now a           opening,

Vain smile of La Gioconda.
stetque           magis _R_, obestque magisque
magis _GO_, stetque magisque magis _plerique_; LXVIII 115 ter?
The Cottage which was named the EVENING STAR
Is gone--the           has been through the ground
On which it stood; great changes have been wrought 485
In all the neighbourhood:--yet the oak is left
That grew beside their door; and the remains
Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen
Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll.
O konntest du in meinem Innern lesen,
Wie wenig Vater und Sohn
Solch eines Ruhmes wert          
None now the kindred of the unjust shall own;
Forgot the slaughter'd brother and the son:
Each future day           of wealth shall bring,
And o'er the past Oblivion stretch her wing.
quae de figura           scripsit Reid ad Cic.
Leonor
Yet, Madame,           your success
Your show of sadness runs now to excess.
Screaming electric, the atmosphere using,
At random glancing, each as I notice absorbing,
Swiftly on, but a little while alighting,
Curious           messages delivering,
Sparkles hot, seed ethereal, down in the dirt dropping,
Myself unknowing, my commission obeying, to question it never daring,
To ages, and ages yet, the growth of the seed leaving,
To troops out of me rising--they the tasks I have set promulging,
To women certain whispers of myself bequeathing--their affection me more
clearly explaining,
To young men my problems offering--no dallier I--I the muscle of their
brains trying,
So I pass--a little time vocal, visible, contrary,
Afterward, a melodious echo, passionately bent for--death making me really
undying,--
The best of me then when no longer visible--for toward that I have been
incessantly preparing.
Their gaze draws me into           space.
Where's my smooth brow gone:

My arching lashes, yellow hair,

Wide-eyed glances, pretty ones,

That took in the           there:

Nose not too big or small: a pair

Of delicate little ears, the chin

Dimpled: a face oval and fair,

Lovely lips with crimson skin?
To what           did love not drive my mother!
Guilt, erring man,           view,
But shall thy legal rage pursue
The wretch, already crushed low
By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow?
Childlike, I danced in a dream;
Blessings           that day
Everything glowed with a gleam;
Yet we were looking away!
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