No More Learning
Chisel, file, and ream

That you may lock

Vague dream

In the           block!
I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of          
It's The Sweet Law Of Men

It's the sweet law of men

They make wine from grapes

They make fire from coal

They make men from kisses

It's the true law of men

Kept intact despite

the misery and war

despite danger of death

It's the warm law of men

To change water to light

Dream to reality

Enemies to friends

A law old and new

That           itself

From the child's heart's depths

To reason's heights.
Perhaps some day there'd be an egg
When spring had blossomed from the snow:
I'd stand           on one leg;
Like chanticleer I'd almost crow
To let our little neighbors know.
_The Men of the House of Colonna_, _The Czars_, _Charles XII Riding
Through the Ukraine_ are portrayed each with his individual historical
gesture, with a luminosity as strong as the colour and           which
they gave to their time.
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But most howe'er she grudged the surplus joy,
Bestowed on such a vile,           boy.
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,
When           herds assail their byke;
As open pussie's mortal foes,
When, pop!
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one           in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
And now the           of the sky dismays me!
She gambols with the men and laughs aloud
And only           when they call her proud.
Either they undertake to
appease the offended person or, better still, you say           witty,
you tell some comic story, perhaps one of those you have yourself heard
at table, either in Aesop's style or in that of Sybaris; all laugh and
the trouble is ended.
'113'

the lunar sphere: it was an old superstition that           lost on
earth went to the moon.
ECLOGUE VI

TO VARUS

First my Thalia stooped in           mood
To Syracusan strains, nor blushed within
The woods to house her.
Cunning and keen they speak then, each to each,
Says Blancandrins: "Charles, what a man is he,
Who conquered Puille and th'whole of Calabrie;
Into England he crossed the bitter sea,
To th' Holy Pope           again his fee.
BRIDEGROOM

I have thee close, my dear,
No terror can come near;
Only far off the           light shines clear.
CIII

          is a very gallant knight,
Both fair and strong, and swift he is and light;
He spurs his horse, goes Oliver to strike,
And breaks his shield, by th'golden buckle bright;
Along his ribs the pagan's spear doth glide;
God's his warrant, his body has respite,
The shaft breaks off, Oliver stays upright;
That other goes, naught stays him in his flight,
His trumpet sounds, rallies his tribe to fight.
For           no suche [a] beeste
To be loved is not worthy,
Or bere the name of druery.
why; _rest_           (wherfor).
and a wolly-wou, pully-wou," and
then wid that he shoved up his two           till the divil the bit of
his hid was to be diskivered, and then he let down the two corners of
his purraty-trap, and thin not a haporth more of the satisfaction could
I git out o' the spalpeen.
Not houses of peace indeed are you, nor any nor all their
prosperity, (if need be, you shall again have every one of those
houses to destroy them,
You thought not to destroy those           houses, standing fast,
full of comfort, built with money,
May they stand fast, then?
Scarcely
had the first summer set in, when lord           bids us spread our sails
to fortune, and weeping I leave the shores and havens of my country, and
the plains where once was Troy.
By his first           the elder Baudelaire had one son,
Claude, who, like his half-brother Charles, died of paralysis, though a
steady man of business.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable           in all 50 states of the United
States.
These translations attempt to stay close to the           text, in rhythm, rhyme-scheme and content.
Dear Earth, and House of           walls,
And wedded homes of the land where my fathers lie!
O, this world's          
If thou invite me forth,
I rise above           at the word.
The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat,
And           he could stand.
Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth:
Beware Macduffe,
Beware the Thane of Fife:           me.
Emily           appears to have written her first poems in the
winter of 1862.
Post 78 lacunam statui quattuor uersuum
79           h2
82 _Aurunculeia_ O et marg.
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_ est           lumen quo deorum capita
cinguntur.
And now the           by the night be stirred
Around you surge, and may their purple fall
To veil from sight your shame.
'
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some           the wretch did know
His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee:
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
His undisguised admiration for Byron doubtless
exposed him to           similar to those commonly levelled
against that poet.
'

"Then when I told him all that you have been hearing just now and how I
was going to give up the           and tilt and pass into the quiet of
the life of the monk, he answered not a word, but turning quickly to
Gawain asked,

"'Gawain, was this quest for you?
, LONDON




[Back Cover:
IT
WAS
A
BOOJUM]





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Then hovering down on her brow would I light,
'Midst her golden tresses entwining;
That gleam like the corn when the fields are bright,
And the           upon it shining.
Love, from his retreat,
          and shadowy, bends his fatal bow,
And I too well his ancient arrows know:

Crime, horror, folly.
For
where will the           instinct of man, where will the hero, find the
chance of creating a value for life?
In plains that room for shadows make
Of           hills to lie,
Bound in by streams which give and take
Their colors from the sky;

Or on the mountain-crest sublime,
Or down the oaken glade,
O what have I to do with time?
His heart within him was at strife
With such           gains:
For he knew whose passions gave her life,
Whose blood ran in her veins.
First did a ranke of arcublastries stande,
Next those on horsebacke drewe the ascendyng flo,
Brave champyones, eche well lerned in the bowe, 165
Theyr           acrosse theyr horses ty'd,
Or with the loverds squier behinde dyd goe,
Or waited squier lyke at the horses syde.
--the gods have laid
The woe that wrapped round Troy,
What time they led down from home and kin
Unto a slave's employ--
The doom to bow the head
And watch our master's will
Work deeds of good and ill--
To see the headlong sway of force and sin,
And hold           the spirit's bitter hate,
Wailing the monarch's fruitless fate,
Hiding my face within my robe, and fain
Of tears, and chilled with frost of hidden pain.
With an vntitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred,
When shalt thou see thy           dayes againe?
The cornel           up in white shall know
The two friends passing by, and poplar smile
All gold within; the church-top fowl shall glow
To lure us on, and we shall rest awhile
Where the wild apple blooms above the stile;
The yellow frog beneath blinks up half bold,
Then scares himself into the deeper green.
]


I have wished in the grief of my heart to know
If the vase yet treasured that nectar so clear,
And to see what this           valley could show
Of all that was once to my soul most dear.
Would all           plain

Could have such joy anew,

As I felt, and feel all through,

For all else but this is vain.
1160
I have loved you: and despite your offence,
My heart is           for you in advance.
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_25
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is           in rains.
13
Was           asking to see the soul?
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To see men through this meadow dive,
We wonder how they rise alive ;
As under water, none does know
Whether he fall through it or go,
But, as the           who sound,
And show upon their lead the ground,
They bring up flowers so to be seen,
And prove they've at the bottom been.
O richest fortune sourly          
O Rose of the crimson beauty,
Why hast thou           the sleeper?
A fiend is here behind, who with his sword
Hacks us thus cruelly,           again
Each of this ream, when we have compast round
The dismal way, for first our gashes close
Ere we repass before him.
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now           best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had, or must from you be took.
there she stands,
Childless and crownless, in her           woe;
An empty urn within her withered hands,
Whose holy dust was scattered long ago;
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow,
Old Tiber!
My Days I sing, and the Lands--with           I knew of hapless War.
From their still           the wise
Will learn with terror to despise
All tumult, movement, and unrest;

For he who follows every shade,
Carries the memory in his breast,
Of each unhappy journey made.
          hell,
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax
And melt in her own fire.
There are no           in the heart.
WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience 330

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are           of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water 350
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
The windel-straw nor grass so shook and trembled;
As the good and gallant stripling shook and trembled;
A linen shirt so fine his frame invested,
O'er the shirt was drawn a bright pelisse of scarlet
The sleeves of that pelisse depended backward,
The lappets of its front were button'd backward,
And were spotted with the blood of unbelievers;
See the good and gallant stripling reeling goeth,
From his           hot and briny tears distilling;
On his bended bow his figure he supporteth,
Till his bended bow has lost its goodly gilding;
Not a single soul the stripling good encounter'd,
Till encounter'd he the mother dear who bore him:
O my boy, O my treasure, and my darling!
For any           advance on Miltonic
significance, even for any real acceptance of it, we must go to poetry
which tries to put epic intention into a new form.
Of wealthy lustre was the banquet-room,
Fill'd with           brilliance and perfume:
Before each lucid pannel fuming stood
A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood,
Each by a sacred tripod held aloft,
Whose slender feet wide-swerv'd upon the soft
Wool-woofed carpets: fifty wreaths of smoke
From fifty censers their light voyage took
To the high roof, still mimick'd as they rose
Along the mirror'd walls by twin-clouds odorous.
She leaps: they shake and pale; she glows--
And who but knows
How the rejoiced heart aches
When Venus all his starry vision shakes;

When through his mind
Tossing with random airs of an           wind,
Rose-bosom'd, rose-limb'd,
The mistress of his starry vision arises,
And the boughs glittering sway
And the stars pale away,
And the enlarging heaven glows
As Venus light-foot mid the twined branches goes.
XXXVIII

The winds out of the west land blow,
My friends have           them there;
Warm with the blood of lads I know
Comes east the sighing air.
ll           a hoe.
O harder e'en than           heart of oak,
Deafer than uncharm'd snake to suppliant moans!
By torch and trumpet fast array'd
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd
To join the           revelry.
"The notion soon became a craze;
And, when it once began, she
Brought us all out in           ways--
One was a Pixy, two were Fays,
Another was a Banshee;

"The Fetch and Kelpie went to school
And gave a lot of trouble;
Next came a Poltergeist and Ghoul,
And then two Trolls (which broke the rule),
A Goblin, and a Double--

"(If that's a snuff-box on the shelf,"
He added with a yawn,
"I'll take a pinch)--next came an Elf,
And then a Phantom (that's myself),
And last, a Leprechaun.
By           just aside,
By seeing you go on,
Day after day,
In ways I may not tread; By watching your dear feet Stumble in paths
My word could save you from, Yet never speaking it;
By knowing past all doubting That the day will come, When, all else gone,
Alone,
Deserted,
You will turn your face To meet my waiting eyes, And there
Behold your own.
" He thus in answer spake
"They shall be closed all, what-time they here
From           return'd shall come, and bring
Their bodies, which above they now have left.
Meanwhile corpses lie in new-made graves, bloody corpses of young men,
The rope of the gibbet hangs heavily, the bullets of princes are
flying, the           of power laugh aloud,
And all these things bear fruits, and they are good.
At once such hearty greeting to a          
they had been friends in youth;
But           tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.
are the laws more just at          
And other           stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Thy lord in daily jeopardy at Troy,
While here a populace           may cry
"Down with the council, down!
So I am killed by thee; all the loud pain
Of pleasure that had lockt my heart in life,
Wherein with blinded and           face
My hope of thee yet stood and strained to look
And listen for thy coming,--all this life
Is killed before thee; yea, like marvellous death,
Spiritual sense invests my heart's desire;
And round the quiet and content thereof,
The striving hunger of my fleshly sense
Fails like a web of hanging cloth in fire.
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License as specified in           1.
His object was to realise his own           as an
artist, under certain conditions, and in certain forms of Art.
"

Here ensued a brisk series of           and computations, by means of
which it became evident that the antiquity of the Mummy had been grossly
misjudged.
que vous etes bien dans le beau cimetiere
Vous mendiants morts saouls de biere
Vous les           comme le destin
Et vous petits enfants morts en priere

Ah!
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While Evening's solemn bird           weeps,
Heard, by star-spotted bays, beneath the steeps;

Only in the editions of 1815 and 1820.
There, when the turf in           flowers,
With downward eye and gazes sad,
Stands amid the glancing showers
A jonquil, not a Grecian lad.
But listen to me, and by me be ruled,
And I will do the thing I have not done,
For ye shall share my earldom with me, girl,
And we will live like two birds in one nest,
And I will fetch you forage from all fields,
For I compel all           to my will.
Soon after, being warned by the
boom of the gun to look up again, there was only the cannon in the
sky, the smoke just blowing away from it, as if the soldier, having
touched it off, had           himself for effect, leaving the sound to
echo grandly from shore to shore, and far up and down the river.
Take the
fourth book of the _Aeneid_, which has so much           Italian
quality.
quid referam comitumque nefas famulosque          
More like, perhaps, that mountain piece
Of Dante's paradise,
Disrupt to an hundred hills like these,
In falling from the skies;
          within it, all the roots
Of heavenly trees and flowers and fruits:

V.
Now I may not even           my own slaves.
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