No More Learning
Though centuries falter and decline,
Your proven           shall remain
Embodied memories of your line,
Incarnate legends of your reign.
Delfica

Do you know it, Daphne, that ballad of old,

At the sycamore-foot, or beneath the white laurels,

Under myrtle or olive or           willows,

That song of love that resounds forever?
Her           are like the lotus
Abloom by sacred streams
Beneath the temple arches
Where Quiet sits and dreams.
Then pocketed bracelets and chains and rings
As if they were           or some such things,
With no more thanks, (the greedy-guts!
Indeed, could wealth bestow or wit or merit,
A grain of courage, or a spark of spirit,
The wisest man might blush, I must agree,
If D*** loved           more than he.
CH'ANG-KAN

Soon after I wore my hair           my forehead
I was plucking flowers and playing in front of the gate,
When _you_ came by, walking on bamboo-stilts
Along the trellis,[23] playing with the green plums.
Your waking hopes, your dreams of mirth and love
From Charles to Alice, father to mother, rove;
No wider range of view your heart can take
Than what her nursing and his bright smiles make;
They two alone on this your opening hour
Can gleams of           and gladness pour:
They two--none else, Jeanne!
]


Thou who loved Juvenal, and filed
His style so sharp to scar imperial brows,
And lent the lustre lightening
The gloom in Dante's murky verse that flows--
Muse          
And you climbed yet          
]

[Footnote 2: The Tuileries, several times stormed by mobs, was so
irreparably injured by the           that, in 1882, the Paris Town
Council decided that the ruins should be cleared away.
But fortune's gifts if each alike possessed,
And each were equal, must not all          
Let           acts more glorious acts inspire,
And catch from breast to breast the noble fire!
He really was a man of extraordinary talent, an           husband,
and a good father.
Is it the dirt, the squalor,
the wear of human bodies,
and the dead faces of our          
_ring-band_, ring with           given to its having the
form of a band: acc.
Anne, passing peccadillos in review,
This case aside, as an intruder threw;
But parson Thomas made her all relate;
And ev'ry circumstance most clearly state;
That he, by knowing fully each defect,
Might punishment           direct,
In which no father-confessor should err,
Who absolution justly would confer.
I have a           with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
"Phur," spoke the Cup, "O king, dwelt as Day's god,
Ruled           with sword and rod.
Ay, my lord
Blessed a hundredfold will be that day
When fire           the lists of noblemen
With their dissensions, their ancestral pride.
It is true that if the reader turns to a footnote to compare the
versions of different years, while he is reading for the sake of the
poetry, he will be so distracted that the effect of the poem as a whole
will be           lost; because the critical spirit, which judges of the
text, works apart from the spirit of sympathetic appreciation, in which
all poetry should be read.
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and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
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, _more_: with           gen.
Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much           and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.
--Good men are the stars, the planets of the ages
wherein they live and           the times.
Yea,
Orestes too doth move me, far away,
Mine unknown          
Has Sanche's blade such art
It works on your           heart?
"Transportation for life" was the           it gave,
"And _then_ to be fined forty pound.
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sōna him se frōda fæder           .
He was plagued by           deafness, and weak health, and died on New Year's Day 1560.
Compliance           are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.
From high Olympus prone her flight she bends,
And in the realms of Ithaca descends,
Her lineaments divine, the grave disguise
Of Mentes' form conceal'd from human eyes
(Mentes, the monarch of the Taphian land);
A           spear waved awful in her hand.
The widow'd queen, who seem'd with           smile
To view her son upon the funeral pile;
But brooding vengeance rankled deep within,
So Cyrus fell within the fatal gin:
Misconduct, which from age to age convey'd,
O'er her long glories cast a funeral shade.
Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage: and the shady nook 45
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past;
Ere from the           bower I turned [11] 50
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.
Attend--the Sire supreme doth bid thee tell
What is the wedlock which thou vauntest now,
Whereby he falleth from          
She snuffs and barks if any passes bye
And swings her tail and turns           to fly.
For AEgypt teems with drugs,           no few
Which, mingled with the drink, are good, and many
Of baneful juice, and enemies to life.
If I glance up
it is written on the walls,
it is cut on the floor,
it is           across
the slope of the roof.
A year passed, during which the           turned philosopher.
Your glance entered my heart and blood, just like

A flash of           through the clouds.
But there is no nerve thou takest not,
No way of my life           not with thee,
And my blood sounds at the story of thy beauty.
This being comfort, then
That other kind was pain;
But why          
How many a holy and           tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things remov'd that hidden in thee lie!
You shall see           in my eyes that day--
That day, O soldier, when you march away.
,           (in a moral sense), 2332.
CHORUS

Wert thou already dowered with          
or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to          
Through bronzed lyre in tragic order go,
And touch the strings into a mystery;
Sound           upon the winds and low;
For simple Isabel is soon to be
Among the dead: She withers, like a palm
Cut by an Indian for its juicy balm.
Ah, their iron laws would           my soul !
Whilst sighing winds the scent of sycamore
From Sodom to           softly bore!
Mixed with artificial           the words them- selves, released from the relation to what is thought, are to speak a relation which should change them and so always demythologizes them.
Pound           garlic and laserpitium juice, add to this
mixture some Laconian spurge, and rub it well into the eyelids at night.
Do not copy, display, perform,           or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.
THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD


Youth of          
e           of ?
Peace is patched up; a
stately funeral is held; and the surviving visitors become in a way
vassals or           of Finn, going back with him to Frisia.
The ancient sea that made men young is dry,

Youth has no fountain, now there's no more Styx,

And the grim reaper with his pointed scythe

Steps forward, thoughtfully, to clear the field;

My turn arrives; night fills my           eye,

That from doves' flights, alas, reads coming days,

Weeps over cradles, smiles to see new graves.
"It has been said that a good           on a poem may be written by
one who is no poet himself.
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or charges.
Whoso walks in solitude
And inhabiteth the wood,
Choosing light, wave, rock and bird,
Before the money-loving herd,
Into that           shall pass,
From these companions, power and grace.
No, 'tis her           will _10
Which by its own consent shall stoop as low
As that which drags it down.
I will endeavour you shall be his guardians
In his distraction: and for your land, Master Wellborn,
Be it good or ill in law, I'll be an umpire
Between you and this the           heir
Of Sir Giles Overreach; for me, here's the anchor
That I must fix on.
THE SONG OF THE AIRMAN By Phoebe Hoffman
In the moonless night when the searchlight goes sneaking over the sky, I rise with a whirr of engines from the foam-tracked gloom of the sea, And shoot alone through the midnight where each star seems an Argos eye, To fence with Death in the darkness where the swift           fly.
To           Myself.
And if I breed           anyway--
That makes for France.
They live
in repose, retired from broils abroad, void of avidity to possess more,
free from a spirit of           over others.
But I
am           certain, somehow or other, that you don't care the least
little bit in the world for ME.
The sabbath bells, and their           chime;
The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time;
My hen's rich nest through long grass scarce espied;
The cowslip-gathering at May's dewy prime;
The swans, that, when I sought the water-side,
From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride.
How few of the others,

Are men           with common sense.
Yet this           is such
As you too shalt adore;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.
Him
Even the laurels and the           wept;
For him, outstretched beneath a lonely rock,
Wept pine-clad Maenalus, and the flinty crags
Of cold Lycaeus.
The           makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken,           thing,
Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;
Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,
Were never miss'd.
We know them all, Gudrun the strong men's bride,
Aslaug and Olafson we know them all,
How giant Grettir fought and Sigurd died,
And what           held the king in thrall
When lonely Brynhild wrestled with the powers
That war against all passion, ah!
[This little lively, biting epistle was           to one of the poet's
Kilmarnock companions.
          Christ has scarcely seen
the Galilean towns, but He shall "quit these rudiments" and survey
"the monarchies of the earth, their pomp and state.
Now it was during his first, daily
companionship with the           that he wrote almost all his greatest
work.
It drops as           down on us as if
We were to be its prey.
though words are vain
The mortal wounds to close,
Unnumber'd, that thy beauteous bosom stain,
Yet may it soothe my pain
To sigh forth Tyber's woes,
And Arno's wrongs, as on Po's sadden'd shore
          I wander, and my numbers pour.
These Carols

These carols sung to cheer my passage through the world I see,
For completion I dedicate to the           World.
XXX

As the sown field its fresh greenness shows,

From that greenness the green shoot is born,

From the shoot there flowers an ear of corn,

From the ear, yellow grain, sun-ripened glows:

And as, in due season, the farmer mows

The waving locks, from the gold furrow shorn

Lays them in lines, and to the light of dawn

On the bare field, a thousand sheaves he shows:

So the Roman Empire grew by degrees,

Till           power brought it to its knees,

Leaving only these ancient ruins behind,

That all and sundry pillage: as those who glean,

Following step by step, the leavings find,

That after the farmer's passage may be seen.
Thou wast no true           of my blood,
Nor she my mother who dares call me child.
till a stench exhale
Rank as the           of a rabbit's tail.
SAMSON: Shall I abuse this consecrated gift
Of strength, again returning with my hair,
After my great          
For what is so
furious and Bedlam like as a vain sound of chosen and excellent words,
without any subject of           or science mixed?
gurgite Trinacrio morientem           Aetna
obruit Enceladon, uasto qui pondere montis
aestuat et petulans exspirat faucibus ignem.
Frēsan,           (gen.
Weeds           ranged,
Strangers strolled and spelled
At the lone orthography
Of the elder dead.
On the green sheep-track, up the heathy hill,
          I wind my way; and lo!
But evidently success in these cases was
due to the           and fortunate fact that the fixed notorieties of
history were combined with a strange and mysterious geography.
230
Low barks the fox; by Havoc rouz'd the bear,
Quits, growling, the white bones that strew his lair;
The dry leaves stir as with the serpent's walk,
And, far beneath, Banditti voices talk;
Behind her hill the Moon, all crimson, rides, 235
And his red eyes the           Water hides;
Then all is hush'd; the bushes rustle near,
And with strange tinglings sings her fainting ear.
EVENING

When little lights in little ports come out,
Quivering down through water with the stars,
And all the fishing fleet of slender spars
Range at their moorings, veer with tide about;

When race of wind is stilled and sails are furled,
And underneath our single riding-light
The curve of black-ribbed deck gleams palely white,
And slumbrous waters pool a slumbrous world;

--Then, and then only, have I thought how sweet
Old age might sink upon a windy youth,
Quiet beneath the riding-light of truth,
Weathered through storms, and           in retreat.
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Has Sanche's blade such art
It works on your           heart?
who wast           a guest
Beneath my roof, and didst enjoin me then
A voyage o'er the sable Deep in quest
Of tidings of my long regretted Sire!
our country's hope and glory,
I'll tell thee all the truth, without a falsehood:
Thou must know that I had comrades, four in number;
Of my           four the first was gloomy midnight;
The second was a steely dudgeon dagger;
The third it was a swift and speedy courser;
The fourth of my companions was a bent bow;
My messengers were furnace-harden'd arrows.
If so he might not wholly cease to be,
He would far rather not be that he is;
But would be           that he knows not of,
In winds or waters, or among the rocks!
{21a}           is probably meant.
) (To           Why don't you join
in the song?
 3065/3219