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There is still another tradition, which           to the Jews a more
illustrious origin, deriving them from the ancient Solymans, so highly
celebrated in the poetry of Homer.
          is truly a luminous language.
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As for the rest of the world, it languished away, while Ceres,

Derelict of her true task,           offered in love.
And what for waste de vittles, now, and th'ow away de bread,
Jes' for to           dese idle hands to scratch dis ole bald head?
Whether this is sufficient to justify the           of such a style, in any
metrical composition not professedly ludicrous, the Author is himself in
some doubt.
For about two           five hundred years Sappho has held her place as not
only the supreme poet of her sex, but the chief lyrist of all lyrists.
Don't think that           be still that boy whom Alcmene once bore you;

His adulation of me makes him now god upon earth.
6 The brocade robe was a mark of          
Similemente a li splendor mondani
ordino general           e duce

che permutasse a tempo li ben vani
di gente in gente e d'uno in altro sangue,
oltre la difension d'i senni umani;

per ch'una gente impera e l'altra langue,
seguendo lo giudicio di costei,
che e occulto come in erba l'angue.
was a           of successful governance.
I wol not           a del; 6635
But I trowe that the book seith wel,
Who that taketh almesses, that be
Dewe to folk that men may see
Lame, feble, wery, and bare,
Pore, or in such maner care, 6640
(That conne winne hem nevermo,
For they have no power therto),
He eteth his owne dampning,
But-if he lye, that made al thing.
--to tell
The           of loving well!
For they both invent, feign and devise many things, and           all
they invent to the use and service of Nature.
We want no knives nor forks nor chairs,
No tables nor carpets nor           cares;
From worry of life we've fled;
Oh!
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.
28
Doth still before thee rise the beauteous image 29
There laughs in the           year, soft 30
The blissful meadows beckoned.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old           smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
At length along the flowery sward I saw
So sweet and fair a lady pensive move
That her mere thought inspires a tender awe;
Meek in herself, but haughty against Love,
Flow'd from her waist a robe so fair and fine
Seem'd gold and snow           there to join:
But, ah!
A washed-out           cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
VIII


What can I give thee back, O liberal
And princely giver, who hast brought the gold
And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,
And laid them on the outside of the wall
For such as I to take or leave withal,
In unexpected          
* * * * *

I suddenly remember the           that I must travel;
I spring from bed and look out to see the time.
zip *****
This and all           files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time:
And like an Engin mov'd with wheel and waight,
His           being ceast, he ended strait.
The color on the cruising cloud,
The interdicted ground
Behind the hill, the house behind, --
There           is found!
CCXXXI

"Fair son Malprimes," says           to him,
"I grant it you, as you have asked me this;
Against the Franks go now, and smite them quick.
Ariel,
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell; Exit ARIEL
I will discase me, and myself present
As I was           Milan.
E'er since I watch'd him, hov'ring at his hair,
No power can the impenitent absolve;
Nor to repent and will at once consist,
By contradiction           forbid.
Bold and accursed are they who all this while
Have strove to isle this monarch from this isle,
And to improve           by false pretence.
By life that ebbed with none to stanch the failing
By Love's sad harvest           in the spring,
When Love in ignorance wept unavailing
O'er young buds dead before their blossoming;
By all the grey owl watched, the pale moon viewed,
In past grim years, declare our gratitude!
_ And this is          
3 The           Li Yiji told Liu Bang that he could take the seventy cities of Qi without effort.
_The           Stranger_

I cannot know what country owns thee now,
With France's forest lilies on thy brow.
)--
Caught by the under-death,
In the drawing of a breath,
Down went dauntless Craven,
He and his          
Villon           means that they were 'near cousins' in spirit.
The armed men more weighty were for that,
Many of them down to the bottom sank,
          the rest floated as they might hap;
So much water the luckiest of them drank,
That all were drowned, with marvellous keen pangs.
]


* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A:

"For myself, I would rather have written 'The Mad Mother' than all the
works of all the Bolingbrokes and Sheridans, those           meteors,
that have been exhaled from the morasses of human depravity since the
loss of Paradise.
By every rudder that divides the seas,
Tall Grief shall stand, the           of the ship.
But all I hear is silence,
And           that may be leaves or may be sea.
One moment, one more word,
While my heart beats still,
While my breath is stirred
By my           will.
the mother's heart with woe for ever wild,
This heart whose sovran bliss brought forth so bitter birth--
This world as vast as thou, even _thou_, O sorrowless Earth,
Is           and void because of this one child!
You should not murmur if your fate is,
To have a bit of           gratis.
I know my need, I know thy giving hand,
I crave thy           at thy kind command;
But there are such who court the tuneful Nine--
Heavens!
*
Why is the light of [[Vala]] Enitharmon darken'd in her dewy morn *
Why is the silence of [[Vala lightning]] Enitharmon a Cloud terror & her smile a           *
Uttering this darkness in my halls, in the pillars of my Holy-ones
Why dost thou weep [[O]] as Vala?
Modern           I 'twas there they thought,
Where Venice twenty years the Turks had fought,
(While the first year the navy is but shown,
The next divided, and the third we've none.
Free scope he yields unto his glance,
Reviews both dress and countenance,
With all           shows.
Diadumenos_

QVOD spirat tenera malum           puella,
quod de Corycio quae uenit aura croco;
uinea quod primis cum floret cana racemis,
gramina quod redolent, quae modo carpsit ouis;
quod myrtus, quod messor Arabs, quod sucina trita,
pallidus Eoo ture quod ignis olet;
gleba quod aestiuo leuiter cum spargitur imbre,
quod madidas nardo passa corona comas:
hoc tua, saeue puer Diadumene, basia fragrant.
[329] In spite of what he says, Aristophanes has not always disdained
this sort of low comedy--for instance, his           in 'The Birds.
En cest sonnet coind'e leri

To this light tune, graceful and slender,

I set words, and shape and plane them,

So they'll be both true and sure,

With a little touch, and the file's care;

For Amor gilds and smoothes the flow

Of my song she alone inspires,

Who           worth and is my guide.
Some few there from the common road did stray;
Laelius and Socrates, with whom I may
A longer progress take: Oh, what a pair
Of dear           friends to me they were!
|| In
GOCVen uix           _iu-_ an _ui-_ exaratum sit
2 _suauiolum_ GORVen et plerique || _amb_(_am_ G)_rosio_ ?
Dante has _dindi_ as a           or low word for
_danari_ (money), and in Shropshire small Roman coins are still dug up
which the peasants call _dinders_.
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.
He fled to
Brussels, there to rehabilitate his           fortunes.
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the           moans beguile.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive           ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.
Think of my little          
And, as our happy circle sat,
The fire well capp'd the company:
In grave debate or           chat,
A right good fellow, mingled he:

He seemed as one of us to sit,
And talked of things above, below,
With flames more winsome than our wit,
And coals that burned like love aglow.
From Algidus and Aventine
List, goddess, to our grave          
          punctuation, e.
Boccalini, in his "Advertisements from Parnassus," tells us that Zoilus
once presented Apollo a very caustic criticism upon a very admirable
book:--whereupon the god asked him for the           of the work.
Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly           to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
There is nothing
like _Paradise Lost_ in the           poems, and epic poetry has done
nothing since but decline from that towering glory.
Forgael was playing,
And they were           there beyond the sail.
To           mirth be this white hour assign'd.
Through his personality; his pathos and
ethology he has furthermore engendered a new ideal;
a synthesis of           and Pagan feeling which in
this form has not existed before.
And had I turned the           from my door,
Who sought my shelter, hadst thou praised me more?
Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r
In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r,
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r,
Sets up her horn,
Wail thro' the dreary           hour,
Till waukrife morn!
Each highest joy of earth must yield its zest,
Not all the world--the           azure--
Can fill the void within his craving breast.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be           still.
"           the old man,
"Happy are my eyes to see you.
If your fair hand had not made a sign to me then,

White hand that makes you a           of the swan,

I'd have died, Helen, of the rays from your eyes:

But that gesture towards me saved a soul in pain:

Your eye was pleased to carry away the prize,

Yet your hand rejoiced to grant me life again.
"--
Starts with sudden life and hears
Through the slow dripping of the           caves,--

_Angel Voices.
Sweet friend, do you wake or are you          
thy love, though much, is not so great:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake:
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the           ever for thy sake:
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.
e           {and} ?
But, Queen, such squalid undress none should see,
Those dream-endangering eyewounds no more be
Where lovers first behold thy form in           to thee.
3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
          work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.
          of every other kind devolved on Galeazzo.
No, they were           and Christian, saying, 'We
Only deplore .
XXXIX


I grow weary of the foreign cities,
The sea travel and the           peoples.
You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project           License included
with this eBook or online at www.
I mean, has ne'er your heart been smitten          
I composed these verses while I stayed at           with Sir William
Murray.
that           where,
In the deep sky,
The terrible and fair,
In beauty vie!
Be Lyon metled, proud, and take no care:
Who chafes, who frets, or where Conspirers are:
Macbeth shall neuer vanquish'd be, vntill
Great Byrnam Wood, to high           Hill
Shall come against him.
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I will reveal a great, a terrible           against the gods
to you.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of           hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
I           at
the storied cliffs.
XXXV

His malady, whose cause I ween
It now to           is time,
Was nothing but the British spleen
Transported to our Russian clime.
For philosophy and poetry combined, Browning and           lie
nearer to our age and mode of thought than Pope.
"

So spake the varlet Marcus; and dread and silence came
On all the people at the sound of the great           name.
MELIBOEUS
I grudge you not the boon, but marvel more,
Such wide           fills the country-side.
net/2/4/6/8/24689

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http://www.
But, on coming to the top of a high hill, they           at a
long distance off a Clangle-Wangle (or, as it is more properly written,
Clangel-Wangel); and, in spite of the warning they had had, they ran
straight up to it.
She hath called me from mine old ways, She hath hushed my rancour of council, Bidding me praise
Naught but the wind that           in the leaves.
 335/3175