No More Learning
'

The child sank into silence, but           sat up and said, 'There is
somebody outside.
That Keats was a master of both ways of           a romantic effect is
shown by his _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_, considered by some people his
masterpiece, where the rich detail of _The Eve of St.
"

"Fill thy hand with sands, ray          
Upon her aching           be there hung
The leaves of willow and of adder's tongue;
And for the youth, quick, let us strip for him
The thyrsus, that his watching eyes may swim
Into forgetfulness; and, for the sage,
Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage
War on his temples.
Others at the Porches and entries of their           set their Armes;
I, my picture; if any colours can deliver a minde so plaine, and flat,
and through light as mine.
]


See the           shower!
" return'd she tenderly:
"You have           me--where am I now?
Ada Turrell and the           Review_:--"My Son.
Yet will you take a           friend's advice?
He had already formed the habit of writing in a
journal, not the facts but the thoughts and inspirations of the day;
often, also, good stories or           quotations, and scraps of his own
verse.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy           love to a worthless counterfeit.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
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The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets
And female smells in           rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
But when thou readest
these, that refined and urbane           is seen on the contrary to be a
mere goatherd or ditcher-lout, so great and shocking is the change.
LFS}
Which is the Earth of Eden, he his Emanations propagated
Like Sons & DaughtersFairies of Albion afterwards Gods of the Heathen, Daughter of Beulah Sing
His fall into           & his Resurrection to Unity
His fall into the Generation of Decay & Death & his Regeneration by the Resurrection from the dead*
Begin with Tharmas Parent power.
My life is like a faded leaf,
My harvest           to a husk;
Truly my life is void and brief
And tedious in the barren dusk;
My life is like a frozen thing,
No bud nor greenness can I see:
Yet rise it shall,--the sap of Spring;
O Jesus, rise in me!
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax           of donations received from
outside the United States.
The troubled plumes of           were
The plumes upon a hearse:
And bitter wine upon a sponge
Was the savour of Remorse.
Die           von einem braven Knaben
Ist, dacht ich, immer auch schon was.
Clouds of dust,
Crash of           cubes.
There heifers graze, and labouring oxen toil;
Bold are the men, and           is the soil.
150
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a           look.
AUTOMNE MALADE

Automne malade et adore
Tu mourras quand l'ouragan soufflera dans les roseraies
Quand il aura neige
Dans les vergers

Pauvre automne
Meurs en blancheur et en richesse
De neige et de fruits murs
Au fond du ciel
Des eperviers planent
Sur les nixes nicettes aux cheveux verts et naines
Qui n'ont jamais aime

Aux lisieres lointaines
Les cerfs ont brame

Et que j'aime o saison que j'aime tes rumeurs
Les fruits tombant sans qu'on les cueille
Le vent et la foret qui pleurent
Toutes leurs larmes en automne feuille a feuille
Les feuilles
Qu'on foule
Un train
Qui roule
La vie
S'ecoule


HOTELS

La chambre est veuve
Chacun pour soi
Presence neuve
On paye au mois

Le patron doute
Payera-t-on
Je tourne en route
Comme un toton

Le bruit des fiacres
Mon voisin laid
Qui fume un acre
Tabac anglais

O La Valliere
Qui boite et rit
De mes prieres
Table de nuit

Et tous ensemble
Dans cet hotel
Savons la langue
Comme a Babel

Fermons nos Portes
A double tour
Chacun apporte
Son seul amour


CORS DE CHASSE

Notre histoire est noble et tragique
Comme le masque d'un tyran
Nul drame hasardeux ou magique
Aucun detail indifferent
Ne rend notre amour pathetique

Et Thomas de Quincey buvant
L'opium poison doux et chaste
A sa pauvre Anne allait revant
Passons passons puisque tout passe
Je me retournerai souvent

Les souvenirs sont cors de chasse
Dont meurt le bruit parmi le vent


VENDEMIAIRE

Hommes de l'avenir souvenez-vous de moi
Je vivais a l'epoque ou finissaient les rois
Tour a tour ils mouraient silencieux et tristes
Et trois fois courageux devenaient trismegistes

Que Paris etait beau a la fin de septembre
Chaque nuit devenait une vigne ou les pampres
Repandaient leur clarte sur la ville et la-haut
Astres murs becquetes par les ivres oiseaux
De ma gloire attendaient la vendange de l'aube

Un soir passant le long des quais deserts et sombres
En rentrant a Auteuil j'entendis une voix
Qui chantait gravement se taisant quelquefois
Pour que parvint aussi sur les bords de la Seine
La plainte d'autres voix           et lointaines

Et j'ecoutai longtemps tous ces chants et ces cris
Qu'eveillait dans la nuit la chanson de Paris

J'ai soif villes de France et d'Europe et du monde
Venez toutes couler dans ma gorge profonde

Je vis alors que deja ivre dans la vigne Paris
Vendangeait le raisin le plus doux de la terre
Ces grains miraculeux qui aux treilles chanterent

Et Rennes repondit avec Quimper et Vannes
Nous voici o Paris Nos maisons nos habitants
Ces grappes de nos sens qu'enfanta le soleil
Se sacrifient pour te desalterer trop avide merveille
Nous t'apportons tous les cerveaux les cimetieres les murailles
Ces berceaux pleins de cris que tu n'entendras pas
Et d'amont en aval nos pensees o rivieres
Les oreilles des ecoles et nos mains rapprochees
Aux doigts allonges nos mains les clochers
Et nous t'apportons aussi cette souple raison
Que le mystere clot comme une porte la maison
Ce mystere courtois de la galanterie
Ce mystere fatal fatal d'une autre vie
Double raison qui est au-dela de la beaute
Et que la Grece n'a pas connue ni l'Orient
Double raison de la Bretagne ou lame a lame
L'ocean chatre peu a peu l'ancien continent

Et les villes du Nord repondirent gaiement

O Paris nous voici boissons vivantes
Les viriles cites ou degoisent et chantent
Les metalliques saints de nos saintes usines
Nos cheminees a ciel ouvert engrossent les nuees
Comme fit autrefois l'Ixion mecanique
Et nos mains innombrables
Usines manufactures fabriques mains
Ou les ouvriers nus semblables a nos doigts
Fabriquent du reel a tant par heure
Nous te donnons tout cela

Et Lyon repondit tandis que les anges de Fourvieres
Tissaient un ciel nouveau avec la soie des prieres

Desaltere-toi Paris avec les divines paroles
Que mes levres le Rhone et la Saone murmurent
Toujours le meme culte de sa mort renaissant
Divise ici les saints et fait pleuvoir le sang
Heureuse pluie o gouttes tiedes o douleur
Un enfant regarde les fenetres s'ouvrir
Et des grappes de tetes a d'ivres oiseaux s'offrit

Les villes du Midi repondirent alors

Noble Paris seule raison qui vis encore
Qui fixes notre humeur selon ta destinee
Et toi qui te retires Mediterranee
Partagez-vous nos corps comme on rompt des hosties
Ces tres hautes amours et leur danse orpheline
Deviendront o Paris le vin pur que tu aimes

Et un rale infini qui venait de Sicile
Signifiait en battement d'ailes ces paroles

Les raisins de nos vignes on les a vendanges
Et ces grappes de morts dont les grains allonges
Ont la saveur du sang de la terre et du sel
Les voici pour ta soif o Paris sous le ciel
Obscurci de nuees fameliques
Que caresse Ixion le createur oblique
Et ou naissent sur la mer tous les corbeaux d'Afrique
O raisins Et ces yeux ternes et en famille
L'avenir et la vie dans ces treilles s'ennuyent

Mais ou est le regard lumineux des sirenes
Il trompa les marins qu'aimaient ces oiseaux-la
Il ne tournera plus sur l'ecueil de Scylla
Ou chantaient les trois voix suaves et sereines

Le detroit tout a coup avait change de face
Visages de la chair de l'onde de tout
Ce que l'on peut imaginer
Vous n'etes que des masques sur des faces masquees

Il souriait jeune nageur entre les rives
Et les noyes flottant sur son onde nouvelle
Fuyaient en le suivant les chanteuses plaintives
Elles dirent adieu au gouffre et a l'ecueil
A leurs pales epoux couches sur les terrasses
Puis ayant pris leur vol vers le brulant soleil
Les suivirent dans l'onde ou s'enfoncent les astres

Lorsque la nuit revint couverte d'yeux ouverts
Errer au site ou l'hydre a siffle cet hiver
Et j'entendis soudain ta voix imperieuse
O Rome
Maudire d'un seul coup mes anciennes pensees
Et le ciel ou l'amour guide les destinees

Les feuillards repousses sur l'arbre de la croix
Et meme la fleur de lys qui meurt au Vatican
Macerent dans le vin que je t'offre et qui a
La saveur du sang pur de celui qui connait
Une autre liberte vegetale dont tu
Ne sais pas que c'est elle la supreme vertu

Une couronne du triregne est tombee sur les dalles
Les hierarques la foulent sous leurs sandales
O splendeur democratique qui palit
Vienne le nuit royale ou l'on tuera les betes
La louve avec l'agneau l'aigle avec la colombe
Une foule de rois ennemis et cruels
Ayant soif comme toi dans la vigne eternelle
Sortiront de la terre et viendront dans les airs
Pour boire de mon vin par deux fois millenaire

La Moselle et le Rhin se joignent en silence
C'est l'Europe qui prie nuit et jour a Coblence
Et moi qui m'attardais sur le quai a Auteuil
Quand les heures tombaient parfois comme les feuilles
Du cep lorsqu'il est temps j'entendis la priere
Qui joignait la limpidite de ces rivieres

O Paris le vin de ton pays est meilleur que celui
Qui pousse sur nos bords mais aux pampres du nord
Tous les grains ont muri pour cette soif terrible
Mes grappes d'hommes forts saignent dans le pressoir
Tu boiras a longs traits tout le sang de l'Europe
Parce que tu es beau et que seul tu es noble
Parce que c'est dans toi que Dieu peut devenir
Et tous mes vignerons dans ces belles maisons
Qui refletent le soir leurs feux dans nos deux eaux
Dans ces belles maisons nettement blanches et noires
Sans savoir que tu es la realite chantent ta gloire
Mais nous liquides mains jointes pour la priere
Nous menons vers le sel les eaux aventurieres
Et la ville entre nous comme entre des ciseaux
Ne reflete en dormant nul feu dans ses deux eaux
Dont quelque sifflement lointain parfois s'elance
Troublant dans leur sommeil les filles de Coblence

Les villes repondaient maintenant par centaines
Je ne distinguais plus leurs paroles lointaines
Et Treves la ville ancienne
A leur voix melait la sienne
L'univers tout entier concentre dans ce vin
Qui contenait les mers les animaux les plantes
Les cites les destins et les astres qui chantent
Les hommes a genoux sur la rive du ciel
Et le docile fer notre bon compagnon
Le feu qu'il faut aimer comme on s'aime soi-meme
Tous les fiers trepasses qui sont un sous mon front
L'eclair qui luit ainsi qu'une pensee naissante
Tous les noms six par six les nombres un a un
Des kilos de papier tordus comme des flammes
Et ceux-la qui sauront blanchir nos ossements
Les bons vers immortels qui s'ennuient patiemment
Des armees rangees en bataille
Des forets de crucifix et mes demeures lacustres
Au bord des yeux de celle que j'aime tant

Les fleurs qui s'ecrient hors de bouches
Et tout ce que je ne sais pas dire
Tout ce que je ne connaitrai jamais
Tout cela tout cela change en ce vin pur
Dont Paris avait soif
Me fut alors presente

Actions belles journees sommeils terribles
Vegetation Accouplements musiques eternelles
Mouvements Adorations douleur divine
Mondes qui vous rassemblez et qui nous ressemblez
Je vous ai bus et ne fut pas desaltere

Mais je connus des lors quelle saveur a l'univers

Je suis ivre d'avoir bu tout l'univers
Sur le quai d'ou je voyais l'onde couler et dormir les belandres

Ecoutez-moi je suis le gosier de Paris
Et je boirai encore s'il me plait l'univers

Ecoutez mes chants d'universelle ivrognerie

Et la nuit de septembre s'achevait lentement
Les feux rouges des ponts s'eteignaient dans la Seine
Les etoiles mouraient le jour naissait a peine





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Alcools, by Guillaume Apollinaire

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALCOOLS ***

***** This file should be named 15462-8.
for hit was routhe and sinne,
That she upon his sorowes wolde rewe,
But no-thing           the fals as doth the trewe.
net


Title: The Golden Threshold

Author:           Naidu

Posting Date: August 30, 2008 [EBook #680]
Release Date: October, 1996

Language: English


*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN THRESHOLD ***




Produced by Judith Boss.
Eight volumes are devoted to the Poetical Works, and among
them are included those           by his sister Dorothy, and others,
which Wordsworth published in his lifetime among his own Poems.
Why with           too deep
O'ertask a mind of mortal frame?
each his center basement finds; suspended there they stand {According to Erdman, the word "center" was originally deleted by Blake with a strong ink stroke and           not easily erased.
Then fared another
year to men's dwellings, as yet they do,
the           skies, that their season ever
duly await.
M uch better           to search for

A id: it would have been more to my honour:

R etreat I must, and fly with dishonour,

T hough none else then would have cast a lure.
"And here our doctors are of one accord,
Coming on this point to the same conclusion,--
That in their thoughts, who praise in Heaven the Lord,
If Pity e'er was guilty of intrusion
For their unfortunate           stored
In Hell below, and damned in great confusion,
Their happiness would be reduced to nought,--
And thus unjust the Almighty's self be thought.
+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting           on machine translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us.
Then, 'twas before my time, the Roman
At yonder heaving hill would stare:
The blood that warms an English yeoman,
The           that hurt him, they were there.
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my           Mary.
Er will sich unterstehn,
Und hier sein           treiben?
When I gaze on her hair's golden glow

And her body's fresh           fires,

I love her more than all else beside.
Alcides too shall be my theme,
And Leda's twins, for horses be,
He famed for boxing; soon as gleam
Their stars at sea,
The lash'd spray trickles from the steep,
The wind sinks down, the storm-cloud flies,
The           billow on the deep
Obedient lies.
"Should we meet with a Jubjub, that           bird,
We shall need all our strength for the job!
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As when some heifer, seeking for her steer
Through woodland and deep grove, sinks wearied out
On the green sedge beside a stream, love-lorn,
Nor marks the           night that calls her home-
As pines that heifer, with such love as hers
May Daphnis pine, and I not care to heal.
Our monarch's           year but ane
Was five-and-twenty days begun^2,
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar' win'
Blew hansel in on Robin.
Gliddon replied at great length, in phonetics; and but for the
deficiency of           printing-offices in hieroglyphical type, it would
afford me much pleasure to record here, in the original, the whole of
his very excellent speech.
God
bless him and all his          
Yet even letters are, as it were, the bank of
words, and restore           to an author as the pawns of language: but
talking and eloquence are not the same: to speak, and to speak well, are
two things.
Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure k\so,
Withdraws into its           ;; —
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find ; —
Tet it creates, transcending these,



Digitized by VjOOQIC



118



THE POEMS



9



J



(Far other worlds, and other seas.
Thou limed[22] ryver, on thie linche[23] maie bleede
Champyons, whose bloude wylle wythe thie waterres flowe,
And           streeme be Rudborne streeme indeede!
Don't that make you suspicious
That there's           the dead are keeping back?
In such           state they waste away
With unseen wound.
If still with thee in tempest and affray,
Ah           not with thee in calm and ease?
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
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How often do I close my eyes

And know my spirit is fled afar;

Never such sadness that my heart

Is far from where my lover lies;

Yet when the clouds of morning part,

How swiftly all my           flies.
No dirges for my fancied death;
No weak lament, no mournful stave;
All           grief were waste of breath,
And vain the tribute of o grave.
But           must die this afternoon;
And how shall we continue Claudio,
To save me from the danger that might come
If he were known alive?
"-- 30
So spake they to their pillows; but, alas,
          days and days did he let pass;

V.
The treasure had been deposited in the Museum precisely in the same
condition in which Captain           had found it;--that is to say,
the coffin had not been disturbed.
" Shelley, who knew
what he was talking about when poetry was the subject, has said it, and
with a           of truth Whitman seems in a peculiar degree marked out
for "legislation" of the kind referred to.
The person or entity that provided you with
the           work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.
) can copy and           it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.
No indulgence           the young master from the slave.
Next is your lot, fair, to be           one, I.
Ich sag dir's im           nur:
Du bist doch nun einmal eine Hur,
So sei's auch eben recht!
We Have Created the Night

We have created the night I hold your hand I watch

I sustain you with all my powers

I engrave in rock the star of your powers

Deep furrows where your body's goodness fruits

I recall your hidden voice your public voice

I smile still at the proud woman

You treat like a beggar

The madness you respect the simplicity you bathe in

And in my head which gently blends with yours with the night

I wonder at the stranger you become

A stranger resembling you resembling           I love

One that is always new.
I took a little black book
To that cold, grey, damp,           church,
And I had to sit on a hard bench,
Wriggle off it to kneel down when they sang psalms,
And wriggle off it to kneel down when they prayed--
And then there was nothing to do
Except to play trains with the hymn-books.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten           shields and spears.
Do you mean the heads upon the           Gate?
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.
And now, I go from hence,
And will           if a power of mine
Can break thy fetters through.
though his artless strains he rudely sings,
And throws his hand           o'er the strings,
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard,
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward!
General           About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.
What guilt           him, and what vows appease?
Then           the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.
The following additional facts are based on           in the poet's
own works.
But when the next day broke from underground,
And shot red fire and shadows through the cave,
They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away:
Then           saying, 'Hear, but hold my name
Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake,'
Abashed young Lavaine, whose instant reverence,
Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise,
But left him leave to stammer, 'Is it indeed?
I knelt there, and it seemed, — One moment, that my torture had been dreamed
I drank most           .
O,
Thou           lamp!
"
While he was           Love on leftward side
(As wont) approving sneeze from dextral sped.
Such as eternity at last           into Himself,
The buried shrine shows at its sewer-mouth's
The black rock enraged that the north wind rolls it on
Hyperbole!
Thy sire, the mighty Nilus, drive thee hence
Turning to death and doom thy greedy          
Such happiness,           it be known,
Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind.
The palm-tree that grows on the rock to this day,
Feels its leaf growing yellow, its slight stem decay,
In the           and ponderous air;
These towns are no more!
Haps thou'lt ask me           I do so.
Lorsque la buche siffle et chante, si le soir,
Calme, dans le fauteuil je la voyais s'asseoir,
Si, par une nuit bleue et froide de decembre,
Je la trouvais tapie en un coin de ma chambre,
Grave, et venant du fond de son lit eternel
Couver l'enfant grandi de son oeil maternel,
Que pourrais-je repondre a cette ame pieuse
Voyant tomber des pleurs de sa           creuse?
Justice, most gracious Duke; O, grant me          
_ a vessel with a cup at both ends, something
like the measures by which a halfpenny or           of nuts is
sold.
The fir
tree island was           beautifully.
With           and _Mir Zur Feier_, both published within the following
three years, a phase of questioning commences, a dim desire begins to
stir to reach out into the larger world "deep into life, out beyond
time.
II

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep           in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
This mightie pile, that keeps the wyndes at baie, 5
Fyre-levyn and the mokie storme defie,
That shootes aloofe into the           of daie,
Shall be the record of the Buylders fame for aie.
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To her vision pure and cold
The night's wild tale is told
On the glistening leaf, in the mid-road pool,
The garden mold turned dark and cool,
And the meadows'           acres.
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Into a           now my soul would fly,
But with thy beauty will I deaden it.
"

And the Good God said, "But I too have been           for you and
called by your name.
Note: The last line is quoted by Eliot, in French, in The           (with reference to the Fisher King) as is the second line of De Nerval's El Desdichado.
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Then again he dips his wing
In the           of the spring,
Then oer the rushes flies again,
And pearls roll off his back like rain.
 3169/3750