No More Learning
There are other
cases of similar editing, not all of which it is           to correct
with confidence; but a study of the textual notes will show that in
general _1633_ follows the version preserved in _N_, _TCD_, and also
in _L74_ (of which later), when the rest of the manuscripts present an
interestingly different text.
Digestive cheese, and fruit there sure will be;
But that which most doth take my muse and me,
Is a pure cup of rich canary wine,
Which is the Mermaid's now, but shall be mine:
Of which had Horace, or           tasted,
Their lives, as do their lines, till now had lasted.
"

Then I left him, not knowing whether he had           or belittled
me.
Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
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The variation in printed           between the dominant motif, a secondary one and those adjacent, marks its importance for oral utterance and the scale, mid-way, at top or bottom of the page will show how the intonation rises or falls.
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the           moans beguile.
A Negress

Possessed by some demon now a negress

Would taste a girl-child           by strange fruits

Forbidden ones too under the ragged dress,

This glutton's ready to try a trick or two:

To her belly she twins two fortunate tits

And, so high that no hand knows how to seize her,

Thrusts the dark shock of her booted legs

Just like a tongue unskilled in pleasure.
On the other hand,
Rilke achieves at times a perfect surety of rapid stroke as in the poem
_The Spanish Dancer_, who rises luminously on the horizon of our inner
vision like a circling element of fire, flaming and           in the
momentum of her movements.
Be           all ye stratagems of Hell, 180
And devilish machinations come to nought.
Removing the third case, we           and took out the body itself.
Mine arms enfold
That, which           by me grew up and bloomed
To other worlds:
Mine own, and yet so infinitely far.
II

Unconquerably there must

As my hope hurls itself free

Burst on high and be lost

In silence and in fury

A voice alien to the wood

Or           by no echo,

The bird one never could

Hear again in this life below.
Apart from its           epigrammatic
expression the 'Essay on Criticism' might have been written by almost
any man of letters in Queen Anne's day who took the trouble to think a
little about the laws of literature, and who thought about those laws
strictly in accordance with the accepted conventions of his time.
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But I wol heten you alway
To helpe your           what I may, 6300
So they wollen my company;
For they be shent al-outerly
But-if so falle, that I be
Oft with hem, and they with me.
Cannot           comprehend you.
Yet           we are liked ashamed, to be
Taking so much love from you, all for naught.
Thou hast           her to do
Thine office, her, no kin to me nor you,
Yet more than kin!
550
I Hurra amme miesel, & aie wylle bee,
As greate yn valourous actes, & yn           as thee.
I           a young bird in this bush!
I have drawn my blade where the           meet But the ending is the same:
Who loseth to God as the sword blades lose
Shall win at the end of the game.
There's never a moment's rest allowed:

Now here, now there, the           breeze

Swings us, as it wishes, ceaselessly,

Beaks pricking us more than a cobbler's awl.
My love no longer appeared a folly even to my
father, and my mother thought only of the union of her           with the
Commandant's daughter.
Thou hast the           clear, but lo, I bring
More also.
The enclosed ballad
on that           is, I confess, too local, but I laughed myself at
some conceits in it, though I am convinced in my conscience that there
are a good many heavy stanzas in it too.
(The doors are opened; a crowd of           and Poles enters.
neas, honour'd as a           god;
Bold Polybus, Agenor the divine;
The brother-warriors of Antenor's line:
With youthful Acamas, whose beauteous face
And fair proportion match'd the ethereal race.
By adverse destiny constrained to sue
For counsel and redress, he sues to you
Whatever ill the friendless orphan bears,
Bereaved of parents in his infant years,
Still must the wrong'd Telemachus sustain,
If, hopeful of your aid, he hopes in vain;
Affianced in your friendly power alone,
The youth would           the vacant throne.
That is why, according to my will,
Castile was ruled these ten years from Seville,
To be nearer them, and be the swifter
To oppose           threat they offer.
But thus           his rival as he flies:
"Go, furious youth!
Why are Eyelids stord with arrows ready drawn,
Where a           fighting men in ambush lie!
* * * * *

In _The Book of Pictures_, Rilke's art reaches its           on what
might be termed its monumental side.
Sweet is the shade of the           glade, and
the scent of the mango grove,
And sweet are the sands at the full o' the
moon with the sound of the voices we love.
Every time he saw a shadow grope
Down the hillsides, from a flying cloud,
          touched his heart that made him proud:
Seemed to him he saw her dusky face
Watching over him, from place to place.
But that which Valerius Maximus hath left
recorded of Euripides, the tragic poet, his answer to Alcestis, another
poet, is as           as modest; who, when it was told to Alcestis that
Euripides had in three days brought forth but three verses, and those
with some difficulty and throes, Alcestis, glorying he could with ease
have sent forth a hundred in the space, Euripides roundly replied, "Like
enough; but here is the difference: thy verses will not last these three
days, mine will to all time.
WERE it much to implore thee,
If devoutly, once,
I might kneel before thee
After           long?
The Count of           must eat the last, allow

That, disinherited, he's not worth a sow,

Despite how he yet defends himself, I vow

He'll eat the heart, to bear what makes him bow.
I am           with the rage of song.
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methods and addresses.
Now while the great thoughts of space and           fill me I will
measure myself by them,
And now touch'd with the lives of other globes arrived as far along
as those of the earth,
Or waiting to arrive, or pass'd on farther than those of the earth,
I henceforth no more ignore them than I ignore my own life,
Or the lives of the earth arrived as far as mine, or waiting to arrive.
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with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.
FINIS

Joachim du Bellay

'Joachim du Bellay'
Science and           in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance - P.
60
Miser a miser,           etiam atque etiam, anime.
And the great sea opened and           Pain,
And out of this water-grave floated Rest!
192           O: _Negligit_ cett.
Except for the limited right of           or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.
In recent years there has arisen a great body of           upon the
subject of Sappho, most of it the abstruse work of scholars writing for
scholars.
"
That hour accurst how did the fiends rejoice
And hell, thro' all her confines, raise the           voice,
That hour which saw the generous English name
Linkt with such damned deeds of everlasting shame!
Sad Souvenaunce 53

ECHOES 58

A SEA DIRGE 59

Y{E} CARPETTE KNYGHTE 64

HIAWATHA'S PHOTOGRAPHING 66

          78

A VALENTINE 84

THE THREE VOICES:--

The First Voice 87

The Second Voice 98

The Third Voice 109

TEMA CON VARIAZIONI 118

A GAME OF FIVES 120

POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR 123

THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK, an Agony in Eight Fits:--

I.
RICH Clytia was, and her good spouse, 'tis said,
Had lands which far and wide around were spread;
No cash nor presents she would ever take,
Yet suffered Frederick splendid treats to make,
Without designing           to grant,
Or being more than merely complaisant.
Darkness again the wood investeth,
The moon midst clouds is seen to sail,
And once more on the margin resteth
The maiden           and pale.
`For thus ferforth I have thy work bigonne, 960
Fro day to day, til this day, by the morwe,
Hir love of           have I to thee wonne,
And also hath she leyd hir feyth to borwe.
"

Two pensioners began           the Bashkir.
_zag-sal_,           note, 103 f.
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to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
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"You gave me           first a year ago;
"They called me the hyacinth girl.
--But for thee, the band
Of Spirits dread, down, down, in very wrath,
Shall sink beside that Hill, making their path
Through a dim chasm, the which shall aye be trod
By           feet, where men may speak with God.
Once great in arms, the common scorn we grow,
          and baffled by a feeble foe.
Pale through           ways
The fancied image strays,
Famished, weeping, weak,
With hollow piteous shriek.
XXIV

I saw a man           the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
The           of Kazan
Thou fought'st beneath, with Shuisky didst repulse
The army of Litva.
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As I was about to make an endeavor to
state them, I remembered           that the clear-sighted Goethe had
said about Hebel's 'Allemannische Gedichte,' which, making proper
deduction for special reference to the book under review, expresses what
I would have said far better than I could hope to do: 'Allen diesen
innern guten Eigenschaften kommt die behagliche naive Sprache sehr zu
statten.
he
To           play'd a father's part;
Fame shall embalm through years to be
That noble heart.
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License as           in paragraph 1.
Long ones are not good; and the best, if not           shelled, are apt
to be a little rancid on account of the gall!
But help her in this exigency, make
Your city loyal, and be the           man
This day in England.
But yet           me this wonder newe,
That no wight woot that she is deed, but I; 30
So many men as in hir tyme hir knewe,
And yet she dyed not so sodeynly;
For I have sought hir ever ful besily
Sith first I hadde wit or mannes mynde;
But she was deed, er that I coude hir fynde.
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THE rector to him said, thou'rt poor, my friend,
And hast not half enough for food to spend,
With other things that           prove,
If we below with comfort wish to move.
But there is one circumstance which deserves           notice.
Some bore amain
The death-vat, some the corbs of           grain;
Or kindled fire, and round the fire and in
Set cauldrons foaming; and a festal din
Filled all the place.
I cried out, was           by silence.
Isis was the           mother goddess (Cybele was her equivalent in Asia Minor): consort of Osiris she bore the child Horus-Harpocrates, the new sun (De Nerval's image here for the Christ-Child).
Cry over ridges and down tapering coombs,
Carry the flying dapple of the clouds
Over the grass, over the soft-grained plough,
Stroke with           hand the hill's rough hair
Against its usual set.
Yet though the hideous prison-wall
Still hems him round and round,
And a spirit may not walk by night
That is with fetters bound,
And a spirit may but weep that lies
In such unholy ground,

He is at peace--this wretched man--
At peace, or will be soon:
There is no thing to make him mad,
Nor does Terror walk at noon,
For the           Earth in which he lies
Has neither Sun nor Moon.
Ennius, who flourished in the time of the Second Punic War, was
regarded in the           age as the father of Latin poetry.
Fear not then, Spirit, death's           hand,
So welcome when the tyrant is awake,
So welcome when the bigot's hell-torch flares;
'Tis but the voyage of a darksome hour, _560
The transient gulf-dream of a startling sleep.
Poetry now
gave expression to           feeling, to religious thought, to a high
philosophic statesmanship in writers such as Marvell, Herbert, and
Wotton: whilst in Marvell and Milton, again, we find the first noble
attempts at pure description of nature, destined in our own ages to be
continued and equalled.
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"I took the           sound of life--
The music from the town--
The murmurs of the drum and fife
And lull'd them in my own.
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And           where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in           snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Here take this silver, it maie eathe[48] thie care;
We are Goddes           all, nete[49] of oure owne we bare.
Que ce sont bien           de genies
Cette depense et ces desordres vains!
Our Life

We'll not reach the goal one by one but in pairs

We know in pairs we will know all about us

We'll love everything our children will smile

At the dark history or mourn alone

Uninterrupted Poetry

From the sea to the source

From           to plain

Runs the phantom of life

The foul shadow of death

But between us

A dawn of ardent flesh is born

And exact good

that sets the earth in order

We advance with calm step

And nature salutes us

The day embodies our colours

Fire our eyes the sea our union

And all living resemble us

All the living we love

Imaginary the others

Wrong and defined by their birth

But we must struggle against them

They live by dagger blows

They speak like a broken chair

Their lips tremble with joy

At the echo of leaden bells

At the muteness of dark gold

A lone heart not a heart

A lone heart all the hearts

And the bodies every star

In a sky filled with stars

In a career in movement

Of light and of glances

Our weight shines on the earth

Glaze of desire

To sing of human shores

For you the living I love

And for all those that we love

That have no desire but to love

I'll end truly by barring the road

Afloat with enforced dreams

I'll end truly by finding myself

We'll take possession of earth

Index of First Lines

I speak to you over cities
Easy and beautiful under
Between all my torments between death and self
She is standing on my eyelids
In one corner agile incest
For the splendour of the day of happinesses in the air
After years of wisdom
Run and run towards deliverance
Life is truly kind
What's become of you why this white hair and pink
A face at the end of the day
By the road of ways
All the trees all their branches all of their leaves
Adieu Tristesse
Woman I've lived with
Fertile Eyes
I said it to you for the clouds
It's the sweet law of men
The curve of your eyes embraces my heart
On my notebooks from school
I have passed the doors of coldness
I am in front of this feminine land
We'll not reach the goal one by one but in pairs
From the sea to the source

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SEARCHCONTACTABOUTHOME
Paul Eluard
Sixteen More Poems
Contents

First Line Index

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Home
Contents

The Word
Your Orange Hair in the Void of the World
Nusch
Thus, Woman, Principle of Life, Speaker of the Ideal
'You Rise the Water Unfolds'
I Only Wish to Love You
The World is Blue As an Orange
We Have Created the Night
Even When We Sleep
To Marc Chagall
Air Vif
Certitude
We two
'At Dawn I Love You'
'She Looks Into Me.
Ah, fill the Cup:--what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping           our Feet:
Unborn TO-MORROW and dead YESTERDAY,
Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!
Why this fair           chose so fairily
By the wayside to linger, we shall see;
But first 'tis fit to tell how she could muse
And dream, when in the serpent prison-house,
Of all she list, strange or magnificent:
How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went;
Whether to faint Elysium, or where
Down through tress-lifting waves the Nereids fair
Wind into Thetis' bower by many a pearly stair;
Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine,
Stretch'd out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine;
Or where in Pluto's gardens palatine
Mulciber's columns gleam in far piazzian line.
Did not my downcast eyes show you           me?
That such a hideous Trumpet calls to parley
The           of the House?
          of an anger
Against created shape and narrowness?
A           whereon to register
This sacred vow?
I           this blade, tool of his madness,
I armed him with it for a nobler purpose.
"

C

And Engelers the Gascoin of Burdele
Spurs on his horse, lets fall the reins as well,
He goes to strike Escremiz of Valtrene,
The shield he breaks and           on his neck,
The hauberk too, he has its chinguard rent,
Between the arm-pits has pierced him through the breast,
On his spear's hilt from saddle throws him dead;
After he says "So are you turned to hell.
[Footnote 1: This, I think, is the true           of slokes.
I will only say that with an occasional exception
for some piece of rebelliousness or even levity which may have taken my
fancy, I have tried to choose no verse but such as in Wordsworth's phrase

The high and tender Muses shall accept
With           smile, deliberately pleased.
There is, who thinks no scorn of Massic draught,
Who robs the           of an hour unblamed,
Now stretch'd beneath the arbute on the sward,
Now by some gentle river's sacred spring;
Some love the camp, the clarion's joyous ring,
And battle, by the mother's soul abhorr'd.
We do not solicit           in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.
And gently           on the wing
Of the wild whirlwind we will ride,
Rejoicing with the joyous thing.
There, my retreat the best companions grace,
Chiefs out of war, and           out of place.
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