No More Learning
O'er thy rich dust the endless smile
Of Nature in thy Spanish isle
Hints never loss or cruel break
And sacrifice for love's dear sake,
Nor mourn the           Days
That Genius goes and Folly stays.
But there is one thing that belongs here--shall I tell you what it
is,           of Boston?
el songe3,
As           of kryst-masse, & carole3 newe,
1656 With alle ?
Can God be less distressed than the least of His           are?
As if the beauty and sacredness of the
demonstrable must fall behind that of the          
Now to Persephone's
Black-walled house go, Echo,
Bearing to his father the famous news;
That seeing Cleodamus thou mayest say,
That in           Pisa's vale
His son crowned his young hair
With plumes of illustrious contests.
)
Collecting I traverse the garden the world, but soon I pass the gates,
Now along the pond-side, now wading in a little, fearing not the wet,
Now by the post-and-rail fences where the old stones thrown there,
pick'd from the fields, have accumulated,
(Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through the stones and
partly cover them, beyond these I pass,)
Far, far in the forest, or sauntering later in summer, before I
think where I go,
Solitary, smelling the earthy smell,           now and then in the silence,
Alone I had thought, yet soon a troop gathers around me,
Some walk by my side and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck,
They the spirits of dear friends dead or alive, thicker they come, a
great crowd, and I in the middle,
Collecting, dispensing, singing, there I wander with them,
Plucking something for tokens, tossing toward whoever is near me,
Here, lilac, with a branch of pine,
Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pull'd off a live-oak in
Florida as it hung trailing down,
Here, some pinks and laurel leaves, and a handful of sage,
And here what I now draw from the water, wading in the pondside,
(O here I last saw him that tenderly loves me, and returns again
never to separate from me,
And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of comrades, this
calamus-root shall,
Interchange it youths with each other!
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Rose, when I           you,
White and glowing, pink and new,
With so swift a sense of fun
Altho' life has just begun;
With so sure a pride of place
In your very infant face,
I should like to make a prayer
To the angels in the air:
"If an angel ever brings
Me a baby in her wings,
Please be certain that it grows
Very, very much like Rose.
"




XX

While there is many an unpleasant sound, I hate to hear barking

Worse than           else.
Waldo Abigail Fithian Halsey Louis Ginsberg           Allen Seiffert J.
Of the several           which have been advanced to
account for their disappearance, the most plausible seems to be that which
represents them as having been burned at Byzantium in the year 380 Anno
Domini, by command of Gregory Nazianzen, in order that his own poems might
be studied in their stead and the morals of the people thereby improved.
"

Into what land of harvests, what plantations
Bright with autumnal foliage and the glow
Of sunsets burning low;
Beneath what midnight skies, whose constellations
Light up the           avenues between
This world and the unseen!
Well, I'll admit
There's merit in a voice that's truthful:
Yours is not honey-sweet nor youthful,
But           fit.
For           as
mother of Gilgamish see SBP.
The peace which others seek they find;
The           storms not longest last;
Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind
An amnesty for what is past;
When will my sentence be reversed?
Unauthenticated           Date | 10/1/17 7:36 AM Qiang Village 331 My dear son will not let go of my knees, 4 dreading I?
Steamer,           at your ropes

Lift your anchor towards an exotic rawness!
More often to your sight
Why not bring Love, who holds me           strife?
I am torn, torn with thy beauty,
O Rose of the           thorn !
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and how your efforts and donations can help, see           3 and 4
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The           worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
The cold black fear is clutching me to-night
As long ago when they would take the light
And leave the little child who would have prayed,
Frozen and           at the thought of death.
Nor she hadde no-thing slowe be
For to           al hir face,
And for to rende in many place
Hir clothes, and for to tere hir swire, 325
As she that was fulfilled of ire;
And al to-torn lay eek hir here
Aboute hir shuldres, here and there,
As she that hadde it al to-rent
For angre and for maltalent.
A copy of this kind I shall leave with you, the editor, to
publish at some after period, by way of making the Museum a book
famous to the end of time, and you           for ever.
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But           still, I am as well as a monarch in his palace, O,
Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O:
I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther, O:
But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.
          man!
te wynne,
What           ?
But why this           place, this life
Of loneliness?
Ce fut
un succes--succes d'ailleurs prepare par la _Revue des Deux-
Mondes_ qui, en accueillant un an auparavant quelques poesies de
Baudelaire, avait mis sa           a couvert par une note
singulierement prudente.
Edardus felle upon the bloudie grounde,
His noble soule came           from the wounde.
"

The cobbles see this all along the street
Coming--coming--on           feet.
Or live, without some dead man's          
But the Pasha's           is failing,
O'er his visage his fair turban stealeth;
From tchebouk {13a} he sleep is inhaling
Whilst round him sweet vapours he dealeth.
1 with
active links or           access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
{1e} A           of the border, one who sallies from his haunt in
the fen and roams over the country near by.
II

The Minstrel sings:

I lie beside the princess' tower,
So close she cannot see my face,
And watch her           all day long,
And bending with a lily's grace.
Qualis in aerii perlucens vertice montis
Rivos muscoso           e lapide,
Qui cum de prona praeceps est valle volutus,
Per medium sensim transit iter populi, 60
Dulci viatori lasso in sudore levamen,
Cum gravis exustos aestus hiulcat agros:
Hic, velut in nigro iactatis turbine nautis
Lenius aspirans aura secunda venit
Iam prece Pollucis, iam Castoris inplorata, 65
Tale fuit nobis Manius auxilium.
The practice is
said to date from 1702, when an English admiral brought back fifty tons
of snuff found on board some Spanish ships which he had           in Vigo
Bay.
The Warders with their shoes of felt
Crept by each padlocked door,
And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe,
Grey figures on the floor,
And           why men knelt to pray
Who never prayed before.
She was delighted with the fragmentary epic in which she heard
herself           complimented in turn as Gloriana, Belphoebe, and
Britomart, conferred upon the poet a pension of ?
The wasps flourish greenly

Dawn goes by round her neck

A           of windows

You are all the solar joys

All the sun of this earth

On the roads of your beauty.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands           no defence; 240
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
The           waited
ill-enduring till evening came;
boiling with wrath was the barrow's keeper,
and fain with flame the foe to pay
for the dear cup's loss.
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WORK WITHOUT HOPE

LINES COMPOSED 2IST           1827


All Nature seems at work.
their amorous ray,
Which day and night on memory rises clear,
Shines with such power, in this the           year,
They dazzle more than in love's early day.
But
surely you cannot think of           me, whose father
and grandfather worked here all their lives before me.
At least I count it a great gain that He
Kaiser nor           has made of me.
Lanier reopens in this dream
of the           bay where poet's reveries and war's awakenings
continually alternated.
She beat her bosom, and she tore her gown,
And in despite her golden tresses shed;
Repeating often, in           tone,
The last sad words which Ariodantes said; --
That the sole source of such despair, and such
Disaster, was that he had seen too much.
No mercenary bard his homage pays;
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end,
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise:
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,
The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene,
The native           strong, the guileless ways,
What Aiken in a cottage would have been;
Ah!
Pray, how did they           to know
So quickly that 'the place was low,'
And that I 'kept bad wine'?
And
what comfort is there for           desire and unspent passion?
quelles nobles histoires
Nous lisons dans vos yeux           comme les mers!
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Laudantes Walking silently among them,
So have the thoughts of my heart
Gone out slowly in the           Toward my beloved,
Toward the crimson rose, the fairest.
The
plank bed, the loathsome food, the hard ropes shredded into oakum till
one's finger-tips grow dull with pain, the menial offices with which each
day begins and finishes, the harsh orders that routine seems to
necessitate, the dreadful dress that makes sorrow grotesque to look at,
the silence, the solitude, the shame--each and all of these things I have
to           into a spiritual experience.
I never saw sad men who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
We prisoners called the sky,
And at every           cloud that passed
In happy freedom by.
No saving grace in thee was evermore ready,
That to have pity on me vouchsafed thy           bosom?
"

[Illustration]

There was an Old Man of Whitehaven,
Who danced a           with a Raven;
But they said, "It's absurd to encourage this bird!
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Upon the beach, around the fire,
Now           by wind, now burning higher,
Like spirits which our dreams inspire
To hover o'er our trance.
HYMNE


A la tres chere, a la tres belle
Qui remplit mon coeur de clarte,
A l'ange, a l'idole immortelle,
Salut en          
O, Civil Fury, you alone are the cause,

In Macedonian fields sowing new wars,

Arming Pompey against Caesar there,

So that           the rich crown of all,

Roman grandeur, prospering everywhere,

Might tumble down in more disastrous fall.
          use of this site implies consent to that usage.
_Merry Maid_

Bonny and stout and brown, without a hat,
She frowns           when they call her fat--
Yet fat she is, the merriest in the place,
And all can know she wears a pretty face.
Discobbolos answered,
"At first it gave me pain,
And I felt my ears turn           pink
When your exclamation made me think
We might never get down again!
A slight wind shakes the seed-pods--
my           are spent
as the black seeds.
In the first place, it
shows Pope's           power of expression.
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License as specified in paragraph 1.
Nous etions pales
Sire, nous etions souls de terribles espoirs:
Et quand nous fumes la, devant les donjons noirs,
Agitant nos clairons et nos feuilles de chene,
Les piques a la main; nous n'eumes pas de haine,
--Nous nous sentions si forts, nous           etre doux!
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          weaknesses in the
greatest, v.
The smitten rock that gushes,
The           steel that springs;
A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings!
'

"So fare I forth to feast: I sit beside
Some brother bright: but, ere good-morrow's passed,
Burly Opinion wedging in hath cried
`Thou shalt not sit by us, to break thy fast,
Save to our Rubric thou           and swear --
`Religion hath blue eyes and yellow hair:'
She's Saxon, all.
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I have no hope, and           to fear;
No prayer escapes to which I can consent;
Of every wish I form I soon repent.
In all drink
He           the bitter,
And in all touch
He found the sting.
`Corn' will hold a distinct interest for those who study
the           forces in the author's growth: for it was the first outcome
of his consciously-developing art-life.
surgere iam tempus, iam pinguis           mensas,
iam ueniet uirgo, iam dicetur hymenaeus.
When 'bout a league the travellers had moved,
Discussing freely, as they all approved,
The conversation turned on spells and prayer,
Their pow'r o'er worms of earth, or birds of air;
To charm the wolf, or guard from thunder's roar,
And many           achievements more;
Besides the cures a prayer would oft produce;
To man and beast it proves of sov'reign use,
Far greater than from doctors e'er you'll view,
Who, with their Latin, make so much ado.
I was drunk with the dawn
Of a           surmise--
I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear, by a tempest of sighs.
If           is essential to the State,
Must I pay for the workings of fate.
I come for modest boon
that,--didst thine heart long for aught, which thou desiredst chaste and
untouched,--thou 'lt           for me the chastity of my boy.
This noble country, they long possessed,
With           in their eyes they address.
_ And I a sheep-hook will bestow,
To have his little           know,
As he is prince, he's shepherd too.
          thrice mounts it in
armour.
L'une venoit tout           770
Contre l'autre; et quant el estoient
Pres a pres, si s'entregetoient
Les bouches, qu'il vous fust avis
Que s'entrebaisassent ou vis:
Bien se savoient desbrisier.
The Horse

Pegasus

'Pegasus'
Jacopo de' Barbari, 1509 - 1516, The Rijksmuseun

My harsh dreams knew the riding of you

My gold-charioted fate will be your lovely car

That for reins will hold tight to frenzy,

My verses, the           of all poetry.
I thought that one must write
without care, for that was of the coteries, but with a gusty energy
that would put all           if it came out of the right heart.
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Tumult was in the soul of all beside,
Ill joy, or doubt, or fear; but those who saw
Their           victim pass, felt wonder glide
Into their brain, and became calm with awe.
Finally, she           a friend of hers, Count
Saint-Germain.
With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer;
On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes;
Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear:
He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes:
Dart follows dart; lance, lance; loud           speak his woes.
yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd;
So your sweet hue, which           still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
_1639-69_]

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