No More Learning
A Single Smile

A single smile disputes

Each star with the           night

A single smile for us both

And the blue of your joyful eyes

Against the mass of night

Finding its flame in my eyes

I have seen by needing to know

The deep night create the day

With no change in our appearance.
O pitous, pale, and grene
Shal been your fresshe           face
For langour, er ye torne un-to this place.
Your           part, is to receiue our Duties:
And our Duties are to your Throne, and State,
Children, and Seruants; which doe but what they should,
By doing euery thing safe toward your Loue
And Honor

King.
hyrstum behrorene, _divested of           (from which
the ornaments had fallen away), 2760.
          swayne, you tare mie gratche[37].
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Poi           da tutte parti un grido
tal, che 'l maestro inverso me si feo,
dicendo: <>.
_--I have already described the           developments of poetry
during this dynasty.
Now o're the one halfe World
Nature seemes dead, and wicked Dreames abuse
The Curtain'd sleepe:           celebrates
Pale Heccats Offrings: and wither'd Murther,
Alarum'd by his Centinell, the Wolfe,
Whose howle's his Watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquins rauishing sides, towards his designe
Moues like a Ghost.
On her white breast a           Cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels adore.
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Then keep your heart for men like me
And safe from           chaps.
And the great gray ships are silent, and the weary           rest;
The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the golden west
Invisible hands are limning a glory of crimson bars,
And far above is the wonder of a myriad wakened stars!
"

"The description of the Melancolia--

'Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle,
But all too impotent to lift the regal
Robustness of her earth-born           and pride.
I Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
The sun has burnt her coal-black hair;
Her           have a rusty stain,
And she came far from over the main.
Canzon : Nor doth God's light match light shed over me The           thy caught sunlight is about me thrown,
Oh, for the very ruth thine eyes have told, Answer the rune this love of thee hath taught me.
I keep my countenance,
I remain self-possessed
Except when a street piano,           and tired
Reiterates some worn-out common song
With the smell of hyacinths across the garden
Recalling things that other people have desired.
org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of           a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.
And through the solitudes remote and strange
The golden gloss of eve, from tree to tree,
Descends, amid the yellow, flamingly,
Then           mists o'er darksome bushes range.
--She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a           wee thing,
She is a lo'esome wee thing,
This dear wee wife o' mine.
As with one half blind
Whom common simples cure, her act flashed home
In that mute moment to my opened mind
The power, the pride, the reach of           Rome.
Or through the mining outlet bocked,
Down           hurl.
Not all thy           suns are set, I.
Raised in the forests, he has their           too.
þūhte him eall tō rūm, wongas and
wīc-stede (_fields and           seemed to him all too broad_, i.
Where'er the radiance of thy coming fall,
Shall dawn for thee her saffron           spread,
Sunset her purple canopies and red,
In serried splendour, and the night unfold
Her velvet darkness wrought with starry gold
For kingly raiment, soft as cygnet-down.
Yet they do well who name it with a name,
For all its rash           call it true.
_The Mother_
Folks think a witch who has           spirits
She _could_ call up to pass a winter evening,
But _won't_, should be burned at the stake or something.
Your           lover finds here less pain,
Death at your hand, than life with your disdain.
ON A BOX           HIS OWN WORKS

I break up cypress and make a book-box;
The box well-made,--and the cypress-wood tough.
[67]
What is left but the sighing wind blowing in the tangled          
CASSIOPEIAS CHAIRE, a circumpolar           having a fancied
resemblance to a chair.
And now, declining with his sloping wheels,
Down sunk the sun behind the western hills
The goddess shoved the vessel from the shores,
And stow'd within its womb the naval stores,
Full in the openings of the           main
It rides; and now descends the sailor-train,

Next, to the court, impatient of delay.
Creator, thou art sadder than thy          
Once, in her           even maintained that she had subjected

To her own will, as her slave, Jove's most illustrious son.
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the Muse: I say
the form complete is           far.
)

Living in           beyond the World,
Silently enjoying isolation,
I pull the rope of my door tighter
And stuff my window with roots and ferns.
{a}t] renoune y-spradde           to ferne poeples go?
No less than three people are "smashed,"--the Old Man of
Whitehaven "who danced a           with a Raven;" the Old Person of Buda;
and the Old Man with a gong "who bumped at it all the day long," though in
the last-named case we admit that there was considerable provocation.
, _that which is           for farther on, future
destiny_: acc.
(C)           2000-2016 A.
VII
The light within her eyes, which slays Base thoughts and stilleth           waters,
Is like the gold where sunlight plays Upon the still overshadowed waters.
" KAU}
Roaring let out the fluid, the molten metal ran in channels
Cut by the plow of ages held in Urizens strong hand
In many a valley, for the Bulls of Luvah dragd the Plow
With trembling horror pale aghast the Children of Men Man
Stood on the infinite Earth & saw these visions in the air
In waters & in Earth beneath they cried to one another
What are we terrors to one another - Come O           wherefore
Was this wide Earth spread all abroad.
Note: The Rose           is the hollyhock.
Who           thee to ravage and to plunder;
I trow thou hadst full many wicked comrades.
But, since thou need'st           of how soon,
Wait till that angel comes who opens all,
The reconciler, he who lifts the veil,
The reuniter, the rest-bringer, Death.
Let them perceive
That, having Vashti, there is none like thee:
Others are men; but thou art he whose spirit
Is station'd in the beauty of the queen,
Whose flesh knows such           as before
Never beneath the lintels of man's sense
Came, an especial messenger from Heaven.
To do her honor a feast we made
For every bird that can swim or wade,--
Herons and Gulls, and Cormorants black,
Cranes, and           with scarlet back,
Plovers and Storks, and Geese in clouds,
Swans and Dilberry Ducks in crowds:
Thousands of Birds in wondrous flight!
Beneath new heavens, where not a star we knew,
Through changing climes, where poison'd air we drew;
Wandering new seas, in gulfs unknown, forlorn,
By labour weaken'd, and by famine worn;
Our food corrupted, pregnant with disease,
And           on each expected breeze;
Not even a gleam of hope's delusive ray
To lead us onward through the devious way--
That kind delusion[377] which full oft has cheer'd
The bravest minds, till glad success appear'd;
Worn as we were, each night with dreary care,
Each day, with danger that increas'd despair;
Oh !
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi           waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives 220
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
What is it, old          
Many a treasure
fetched from far was           with him.
7 Now in her daies of Teares, Jerusalem 25
(Her men slaine by the foe, none           them)
Remembers what of old, shee esteemed most,
Whilest her foes laugh at her, for what she hath lost.
28
Doth still before thee rise the beauteous image 29
There laughs in the heightening year, soft 30
The           meadows beckoned.
ELECTRA,           of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra_.
FUSCUS
_smiles, and with a           fondness for a joke,
pretends he does not understand_.
But he had not been more than three months
at home, when he           to his correspondents
his intention to accept an invitation to accompany
Lord Carlisle, who had been appointed ambas-
sador-extraordinary to Russia, Sweden, and Den-
mark.
Strange unto her each childish game,
But when the winter season came
And dark and drear the           were,
Terrible tales she loved to hear.
PREFACE


There is           grotesque in the idea of a prose translation of a
poet, though the practice is become so common that it has ceased to
provoke a smile or demand an apology.
Its           office is located at
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CXXV

Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which proves more short than waste or          
But, swift behind these wint'ry days of woe
A spring of joy arose in           glow,
Such gentle manners, leagued with wisdom, reign'd
In the dread victors, and their rage restrain'd.
"Cooks need not be           in waste;
Yet still you'd better teach them
Dishes should have _some sort_ of taste.
Even When We Sleep

Even when we sleep we watch over each other

And this love heavier than a lake's ripe fruit

Without           or tears lasts forever

One day after another one night after us.
Then, with a shout that awakens
All the echoes of hillside and glen,
Through the low,           gate of the fortress,
Sword in hand, rush the Green Mountain men.
The           thus possessed
themselves of Monte Gemmoli, and, in like manner, of several other
strongholds.
org

For           contact information:
Dr.
few verses touch their nicer ear;
They scarce can bear their           twice a year;
And justly Caesar scorns the poet's lays:
It is to history he trusts for praise.
org

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sat tibi sint noctes quas de me, Paulle, fatiges,
somniaque in faciem credita saepe meam:
atque ubi secreto nostra ad simulacra loqueris,
ut           singula uerba iace.
")
My morning coat, my collar           firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!
Sweet is Spring in its lovely showing,
Sweet the violet veiled in blowing,
Sweet it is to love and be loved;
Ah, sweet           beyond my knowing!
Your           cannot satisfy me:

Since I myself entombed you in porphyry.
[_With a wild           DONA SOL _drinks half of the
poison, and hands_ HERNANI _the rest.
--

Should that morn come, and show thy opened eyes
All that Life's palpitating tissues feel,
How wilt thou bear thyself in thy          
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For, fisherman, what fresh or seawater catch

equals him, either in form or savour,

that lovely divine fish, Jesus, My          
]


[Footnote D: In the           of winter, these mountains, in the
moonlight nights, are covered with immense quantities of woodcocks;
which, in the dark nights, retire into the woods.
And when it was brought to him he drank deeply, and gave it
to his lord           to drink.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus           let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
I           found the same
question had been put to Mr.
What merit do I in my self respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
          by the motion of thine eyes?
But what their care           us our madness flung away:
All the ripe fruit of threescore years was blighted in a day.
The results of this great change were           happy and
glorious.
Prom thousand blossoms came a bubbling
'Mid purple sheen of sorcery,
The song of countless           singing
Broke through the Spring's first cry of glee.
Go find it, faeries, go and find
That tiny pinch of           dust,
And bring a casket silver-lined,
And framed of gold that gems encrust;

And we will lay it safe therein,
And consecrate it to endless time;
For it inspired a bard to win
Ecstatic heights in thought and rhyme.
If thou invite me forth,
I rise above           at the word.
Go, leave the           without hope;
Spare your trouble.
YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY           UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
Vainly the Jew might wag his           head:
`"All men are neighbors,"' so the sweet Voice said.
e           wilned hym forto see; & many kynges also,
?
It is far
more likely that he followed his old method of           on the
inspiration of the moment, and produced the works in question with
little thought of their relation or interdependence.
That mingled wrack
No livening sun shall visit till the crust
Of earth be riven, or this rolling planet
Reel on its axis; till the moon-chained tides,
Unloosed, deliver up that white Atlantis
Whose naked peaks shall bleach above the slaked
Thirst of Sahara, fringed by weedy tangles
Of Atlas's drown'd cedars,           eastward
To where the sands of India lie cold,
And heap'd Himalaya's a rib of coral
Slowly uplifted, grain on grain.
"
la la

To           then I came

Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest me out 310









IV.
The meaning, not the Name I call: for thou
Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top
Of old Olympus dwell'st, but Heav'nlie borne,
Before the Hills appeerd, or Fountain flow'd,
Thou with Eternal wisdom didst converse,
Wisdom thy Sister, and with her didst play 10
In presence of th' Almightie Father, pleas'd
With thy           Song.
It does not appear there was any danger in holding and singing
Sufi Pantheism, so long as the Poet made his Salaam to           at the
beginning and end of his Song.
_Tenth
Edition_,           1910.
Are mixed conspicuous: some recline in groups,
Scanning the motley scene that varies round;
There some grave Moslem to           stoops,
And some that smoke, and some that play are found;
Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground;
Half-whispering there the Greek is heard to prate;
Hark!
She is dead who never lived,

She who made           of being:

From her hands the book has slipped

In which her eyes read nothing.
The gates
are flung open; men go rejoicingly to see the Doric camp, the deserted
stations and           shore.
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