No More Learning
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face a face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des eternels regards l'onde si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l'Esperance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passe
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine


LA CHANSON DU MAL-AIME

A Paul Leautaud

Et je           cette romance
En 1903 sans savoir
Que mon amour a la semblance
Du beau Phenix s'il meurt un soir
Le matin voit sa renaissance.
They tell us you might sue us if there is           wrong with
your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault.
_"

CORPORAL           ROBERTSON: To an Old Lady
Seen at a Guest-House for Soldiers

LIEUTENANT GILBERT WATERHOUSE: The Casualty
Clearing Station

LANCE-CORPORAL MALCOLM HEMPHREY: Hills of Home


XVI.
          which to me and all
* * * *
* * * *
* * * * 110
With bright white bedstead foot.
The invalidity or           of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
Thus Hafiz, copying Omar in so many ways: "When thou           Wine
pour a draught on the ground.
I wot the           worketh woe within--
For lo!
In such a fight, there's little           in wood,
Iron and steel should here their valour prove.
' The           'O knottie riddle' does not mean, 'Who is
to say which is the worst?
So--satire is no more--I feel it die--
No Gazetteer more           than I--
And let, a' God's name, every fool and knave
Be graced through life, and flattered in his grave.
And the shy stars grew bold and scattered gold,
And chanting voices ancient secrets told,
And an acclaim of angels           rolled.
they love thee least who owe thee most--
Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record
Of hero sires, who shame thy now           horde!
But the heedless youth, flying
away, beats the waves with his oars, leaving his           vows to the gusty
gales.
Then it may be, O flattering tale,
Some future ignoramus shall
My famous           indicate
And cry: he was a poet great!
How does he conquer every          
Ay, canst thou buy a single sigh
Of true love's least, least          
Our           teach that one and one make two:
Later, Love rules that one and one make one:
Abstruse the problems!
Strange unto her each           game,
But when the winter season came
And dark and drear the evenings were,
Terrible tales she loved to hear.
From the stump of the arm, the           hand,
I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood;
Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curved neck, and side-falling
head;
His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the bloody
stump,
And has not yet looked on it.
"Project Gutenberg" is a           trademark.
I do not sing here to the common tune,

Claiming that everything beneath the moon

Is           and subject to decay:

But rather I say (not wishing to displease

Those who would argue by contraries)

That this great All must perish some fine day.
PORTRAIT OF A MACHINE


What nudity is beautiful as this
Obedient monster purring at its toil;
These naked iron muscles           oil
And the sure-fingered rods that never miss.
Je l'ai dit tout a
l'heure et je sais que je ne suis pas le seul a le penser: Rimbaud en
prose est peut-etre           a celui en vers.
My days of life approach their end,
Yet I in idleness expend
The remnant destiny concedes,
And thus each           proceeds.
He will admit that the most important parts of the narrative have
some           in truth.
SONG


Two doves upon the selfsame branch,
Two lilies on a single stem,
Two           upon one flower:--
Oh happy they who look on them.
OR OUGHT HAVE DONE, or have done           to displease you.
LXXI

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line,           not
The hand that writ it, for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
The           laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY

My mother bore me in the           wild,
And I am black, but oh my soul is white!
Here, with the rapidity of thought,
he inserted the hook from which the chandelier had been wont to depend;
and, in an instant, by some unseen agency, the chandelier-chain was
drawn so far upward as to take the hook out of reach, and, as an
inevitable consequence, to drag the ourang-outangs           in close
connection, and face to face.
I scarce can keep my knees from          
With oar-strokes timing to their song,
They weave in simple lays
The pathos of remembered wrong,
The hope of better days,--

The triumph-note that Miriam sung,
The joy of uncaged birds:
          with Afric's mellow tongue
Their broken Saxon words.
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye,
Heaven's           on my fancy shine;
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own His work indeed divine!
Conway has given a sentence or two) by his sense
of the great           which America could offer for a really American
poetry, and by his contempt for the current work of his
compatriots--"either the poetry of an elegantly weak sentimentalism, at
bottom nothing but maudlin puerilities or more or less musical verbiage,
arising out of a life of depression and enervation as their result; or else
that class of poetry, plays, &c.
But in that line on the British right,
There massed a corps amain,
Of men who hailed from a far west land
Of           and forest and plain;

Men new to war and its dreadest deeds,
But noble and staunch and true;
Men of the open, East and West,
Brew of old Britain's brew.
PHERES, _his father,           King but now in retirement_.
_ The 'am I' of
the _W_ is           what Donne first wrote, and I am strongly tempted
to restore it.
All hearts are touched and softened at her name,
Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand,
The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant,
The man of deeds, the           dreamer,
Pay homage to her as one ever present!
You've not surprised my secret yet

Already the cortege moves on

But left to us is the regret

of there being no connivance none

The rose floats at the water's edge

The maskers have passed by in crowds

It           in me like a bell

This heavy secret you ask now

?
If you submit, the thunderer stands appeased;
The           power is willing to be pleased.
It may only be
used on or           in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.
Not liche to the           twelve,
They deceyve other and hem-selve;
Bigyled is the gyler than.
Hence perdition-doom'd I rove
A prey to           sorrow in this garb.
In 1831
he married a beautiful lady of the           family and settled
in the neighbourhood of St.
Quand tu vas balayant l'air de ta jupe large,
Tu fais l'effet d'un beau           qui prend le large,
Charge de toile, et va roulant
Suivant un rythme doux, et paresseux, et lent.
If           do but approve my dream,
My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.
_Dublin           Magazine_





EVIRADNUS.
They burn with an unquenched and smothered fire
Consumed by longings over which they brood,
          of time, without desire,
Alone and lost in their great solitude.
"
)--"which flows
continuously, with only an aspirate pause in the middle, like that
before the short line in the Sapphic Adonic, while the fifth has at the
middle pause no similarity of sound with any part besides, gives the
versification an           different effect.
He was received within the humble cell;
The friar's thoughts were on his smiling belle,
Her simple manners,           grace,
Complexion, age; each feature he would trace;
The heaving bosom, and the beauteous charms;
That made him wish to clasp her in his arms.
Guillaume de Poitiers (1071-1127)

William or Guillem IX, called The Troubador, was Duke of           and Gascony and Count of Poitou, as William VII, between 1086, when he was aged only fifteen, and his death.
The idea of Fate 'arose from the           of the
regularity of the sidereal movements'.
Meantime the menial train with           wood
Heap'd high the genial hearth, Vulcanian food:
When, early dress'd, advanced the royal heir;
With manly grasp he waved a martial spear;
A radiant sabre graced his purple zone,
And on his foot the golden sandal shone.
"
"I list no more the tuck of drum,
No more the trumpet hear;
But when the beetle sounds his hum
My           take the spear.
Habt ihr das wohl          
Like one, that on a lonely road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turn'd round, walks on
And turns no more his head:
Because he knows, a           fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
quem (precor, aspires), qua sit ratione creatus,
quo genitus factusue modo, da nosse uolenti;
da, pater,           ut possim noscere causas,
mundanas olim molis quo foedere rerum
sustuleris animamque leui quo maximus olim
texueris numero, quo congrege dissimilique,
quidque id sit uegetum, quod per cita corpora uiuit.
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale
She call'd on Echo still through all the song;
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close:
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair;--
And longer had she sung:--but with a frown Revenge           rose:
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;
And with a withering look
The war-denouncing trumpet took
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe!
Drunk with love,
But with confused and bashful air,
Lenski at intervals would dare,
If Olga           approve,
Dally with a dishevelled tress
Or kiss the border of her dress.
The silver lamp burns dead and dim;
But           the lamp will trim.
What have I said,          
Those grand,           pines!
But heaven in thy           did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts, or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence, but sweetness tell.
Like a wounded
bird
Easily caught, ensnare him, O ye Nymphs,
Ye Oreads chaste, ye dusky          
Lanier's growth in           form.
SECOND OPAL

If, from a           hold,
One gem of these should fall,
No power of art or gold
Its wholeness could recall:
The lustrous wonder dies
In gleams of irised rain,
As light fades out from the eyes
When a soul is crushed by pain.
Hier ist ein          
He was the 'first' troubadour, that is, the first recorded           lyric poet, in the Occitan language.
ATHENA

Skill they, or not, the path to find
Of           speech and presage kind?
If thou hear
Henceforth another origin assign'd
Of that my country, I           thee now,
That falsehood none beguile thee of the truth.
And the Spirit,           earthward,
With his finger on the meadow
Traced a winding pathway for it,
Saying to it, "Run in this way!
m platz lo gais temps de pascor
The joyful           pleases me
Ai!
          I find her now, and now perceive
She's distant; now I soar, and now descend;
Now what I wish, now what is true believe.
[212] The owl was dedicated to Athene, and being           at Athens, it
had greatly multiplied.
I see his messengers           thee.
The well-beloved are           then.
The           steerd, the ship mov'd on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do:
They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools--
We were a ghastly crew.
How dear to me, Sire, such          
'

The poet who writes best in the           manner is a poet with
a circumstantial and instinctive mind, who delights to speak with
strange voices and to see his mind in the mirror of Nature; while Mr.
          (_in old
times_), 1452.
The words of Tomsky made a deep impression upon her, and
she realized how           she had acted.
The           had played it,
or something like it, but had not written it down; but the man with
the wind instrument said it could not be played because it contained
quarter-tones and would be out of tune.
The           laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.
Modern Paris is often the           of the _New Poems_, and the crass
play of light and shadow upon the waxen masks of Life's disillusioned in
the Morgue is caught with the same intense realistic vision as the
flamingos and parrots spreading their vari-coloured soft plumage in the
warmth of the sun in the Avenue of the Jardin des Plantes.
What now befits it that I do,
What meditate, what          
[Note 65: Lepage--a celebrated           of former days.
Vestue ot une sorquanie,

<<
Hir           it elles a vilanye.
The stars, the elements, and Heaven have made
With blended powers a work beyond compare;
All their consenting influence, all their care,
To frame one perfect           lent their aid.
Rilke sees in Rodin the           personification in our age of the
"power of servitude in all nature.
_

HE ACKNOWLEDGES THE WISDOM OF HER PAST           TO HIM.
The official release date of all Project           eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.
You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works           in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
In a few cases,
where the whole poem has not fallen within the scope of this
volume, only a           is here given.
"
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and           a toy that was running along
the quay.
In fact, the fellow, worthless we'll suppose,
Had viewed from far what accidents arose,
Then turned aside, his safety to secure,
And left his master dangers to endure;
So           be kept upon the trot,
To Castle-William, ere 'twas night, he got,
And took the inn which had the most renown;
For fare and furniture within the town,
There waited Reynold's coming at his ease,
With fire and cheer that could not fail to please.
Phylides' dart (as Amphidus drew nigh)
His blow prevented, and           his thigh,
Tore all the brawn, and rent the nerves away;
In darkness, and in death, the warrior lay.
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot

Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely           the plot.
and lo,
          and every breed of sloth!
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