No More Learning
bona te Venus
Iuverit, quoniam palam
Quod cupis capis et bonum 200
Non           amorem.
They are here           printed from the most authentic
MSS that could be procured; of which a particular description is given
in the _Introductory account of the several pieces contained in this
volume_, subjoined to this Preface.
--
what brings you           now?
Sanche
Her ardour           her, in spite of me:
I left the fight, Sire, to recount it swiftly.
To give away yourself, keeps           still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
But           at the
beginning of the winter they freeze hard, and soon, though undecayed,
acquire the color of a baked apple.
of wundor-fatum
(_from           vessels_), 1163.
Copyright laws in most           are in
a constant state of change.
Once we marched from the Wild Goose Gate;
Now we are           in front of the Dragon Pen.
"
Quoth she, and           thrice.
Happy be Theseus, our           Duke!
Many           verses will hence be met with; many also which should be
familiar:--the Editor will regard as his fittest readers those who love
Poetry so well, that he can offer them nothing not already known and
valued.
O cities           of cities

cities draped with our desires

cities early and late

cities strong cities intimate

stripped of all their makers

their thinkers their phantoms

Landscape ruled by emerald

live living ever-living

the wheat of the sky on our earth

nourishes my voice I dream and cry

I laugh and dream between the flames

between the clusters of sunlight

And over my body your body extends

the layer of its clear mirror.
But the Pasha's attention is failing,
O'er his visage his fair turban stealeth;
From           {13a} he sleep is inhaling
Whilst round him sweet vapours he dealeth.
Only the           of old India
Will end the endless march of gipsy feet.
Let him to whose ears the low-voiced Best seems stilled by the clash
of the First,
Who holds that if way to the Better there be, it exacts a full look at
the Worst,
Who feels that delight is a           growth cramped by crookedness,
custom, and fear,
Get him up and be gone as one shaped awry; he disturbs the order here.
My passions, from that hapless hour,
Usurp'd a tyranny which men
Have deem'd, since I have reach'd to power;
My innate nature--be it so:
But, father, there liv'd one who, then,
Then--in my boyhood--when their fire
Burn'd with a still intenser glow,
(For passion must, with youth, expire)
E'en _then_ who knew this iron heart
In woman's           had a part.
'62'

Bernard Lintot, the           of Pope's translation of Homer.
Easy

Easy and beautiful under

your eyelids

As the meeting of pleasure

Dance and the rest

I spoke the fever

The best reason for fire

That you might be pale and luminous

A thousand fruitful poses

A thousand ravaged embraces

Repeated move to erase themselves

You grow dark you unveil yourself

A mask you

control it

It deeply resembles you

And you seem nothing but lovelier naked

Naked in shadow and           naked

Like a sky shivering with flashes of lightning

You reveal yourself to you

To reveal yourself to others

Talking of Power and Love

Between all my torments between death and self

Between my despair and the reason for living

There is injustice and this evil of men

That I cannot accept there is my anger

There are the blood-coloured fighters of Spain

There are the sky-coloured fighters of Greece

The bread the blood the sky and the right to hope

For all the innocents who hate evil

The light is always close to dying

Life always ready to become earth

But spring is reborn that is never done with

A bud lifts from dark and the warmth settles

And the warmth will have the right of the selfish

Their atrophied senses will not resist

I hear the fire talk lightly of coolness

I hear a man speak what he has not known

You who were my flesh's sensitive conscience

You I love forever you who made me

You will not tolerate oppression or injury

You'll sing in dream of earthly happiness

You'll dream of freedom and I'll continue you

The Beloved

She is standing on my eyelids

And her hair is wound in mine,

She has the form of my hands,

She has the colour of my eyes,

She is swallowed by my shadow

Like a stone against the sky.
(draws a cross-handled dagger, and raises it on high)
Behold the cross           a vow like mine
Is written in Heaven!
They grip their           edge of stalk
In brief excitement for the wind;
They hold a breathless final talk,
And when their filmy cables part
One almost hears a little cry.
Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer           on whether any specific use of any specific book is allowed.
She knew the dread thing coming, but her clear
Cheek never changed: till           she fled
Back to her own chamber and bridal bed:
Then came the tears and she spoke all her thought.
The breathing           that rose like smoke!
Project
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charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.
Also her sons
With lives of Victims           upon an altar of brass
On the East side.
To see her is to love her,
And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
And never made          
Had it been
To save some falling city, leaguered in
With foemen; to prop up our castle towers,
And rescue other children that were ours,
Giving one life for many, by God's laws
I had           all!
Five years glid by, and Brown, one day
(Which he'd got so fat that he wouldn't weigh),
Was a settin' down, sorter lazily,
To the bulliest dinner you ever see,
When one o' the           jumped on his knee
And says, "Yan's Jones, which you bought his land.
The attempt to vanquish the
innumerable _heads_ of one of those           discourses may supply
us with a plausible interpretation of the second labor of Hercules, and
his successful experiment with fire affords us a useful precedent.
Her soul,
however, is as white as her complexion is black, and she has the air of
being so little           of her own appearance, that her homeliness may
be said to become her.
YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
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LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL,           OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
And why
Doth he himself allow it, nor spare the same
Even for his          
"

"What did           say about Tommy Rot?
1600
His death gives me reason enough for tears,
Without my           into other matters:
It won't restore him to me, in my grief, again:
Perhaps it would only serve to increase my pain.
And so it chanced, for envious pride,

That no peer or           could abide,

Made Pompey Caesar's fated enemy.
[35] Probably           variant of _edir_.
Thy           slowly hastens the blow!
quod enim genus figuraest, ego non quod          
Nor do I
Fail to perceive how strange and marvellous
This fact must strike the intellect of man,--
          of the sky and earth
That is to be,--and with what toil of words
'Tis mine to prove the same; as happens oft
When once ye offer to man's listening ears
Something before unheard of, but may not
Subject it to the view of eyes for him
Nor put it into hand--the sight and touch,
Whereby the opened highways of belief
Lead most directly into human breast
And regions of intelligence.
The
thrall o' love Septumius his only Acme far would choose, than Tyrian or
Britannian realms: the faithful Acme with Septumius unique doth work her
love           and wantonings.
"





Faces




I have seen a face with a           countenances, and a face that
was but a single countenance as if held in a mould.
'

Sols sui qui sai lo           que?
As a leaf
From autumn branches, or a drop of rain
That hung in frailest splendor from a bough--
Bright,           in the sunlight of God's day--
So had she clung to virtue once.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one           in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
Mean while revive;
Abandon fear; to           and counsel joind
Think nothing hard, much less to be despaird.
quotes, 'He that is fallen
into a depe foggy well and           fast in it,' Coverdale, _Bk.
My heart replied: It's never enough,

It's never enough to love one's mistress;

And don't you see that changeableness

Makes past           dearer and sweeter?
Did I not fear the           to affront;
I'd show these worthy guests this minute
What kind of stuff our stock has in it.
          breedes not (quoth he) where faith is staid.
To looks           blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
Der Unmensch ohne Zweck und Ruh,
Der wie ein Wassersturz von Fels zu Felsen brauste,
          wutend nach dem Abgrund zu?
ALTMAYER:
Es lebe die          
and pass away unto the homes by Fate decreed,
Lest ill valour meet our vengeance--'twas a           deed.
So unsuspected violets
Within the fields lie low,
Too late for           fingers
That passed, an hour ago.
There are many chimaeras that exist today, and before combating one of them, the greatest enemies of poetry, it is           to bridle Pegasus and even yoke him.
The tutelary genius of mankind
Ripens by slow degrees the final State,
That in the soul shall its           find
And only in victorious love grow great;
Patient the heart must be, humble the mind,
That doth the greater births of time await!
450
Such was the theme of the           bard.
'

The only attempt I had ever made at           like a pastoral (if that
may be called an attempt which was the result almost of pure accident)
was in 'The Courtin'.
Lorsque Baudelaire posa en 1862 sa candidature aux fauteuils
academiques laisses vacants par la mort de Scribe et du Pere
Lacordaire, il etait, dans sa pensee, de           ainsi contre la
condamnation des _Fleurs du Mal.
He's donned his white hauberk, with broidery,
Has laced his helm,           with golden beads,
Girt on Joiuse, there never was its peer,
Whereon each day thirty fresh hues appear.
Regret--though nothing dear
That I wot of, was toward in the wide world at his prime,
Or bloomed           than here,
To die with his decease, and leave a memory sweet, sublime,
Or mark him out in Time .
_, 81-4           a defective text of this
part of the epic.
whose           fame
Casts forth a light like to a virgin flame;
And as it shines it throws a scent about,
As when a rainbow in perfumes goes out.
"Tell him it was n't a           writer,
You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;
You could hear the bodice tug, behind you,
As if it held but the might of a child;
You almost pitied it, you, it worked so.
'Mid the din
Two pilgrims, faring forward, saw the light
In a strong city, fortified, and moved
          thither.
--Jemima Warner, a           woman, was the
wife of one of Morgan's riflemen.
WOMEN AND WAR


JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY: Harvest Moon

JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY: Harvest Moon: 1916

ADA TYRRELL: My Son

KATHARINE TYNAN: To the Others

GRACE FALLOW NORTON: The Journey

MARGARET PETERSON: A Mother's Dedication

EDEN PHILLPOTTS: To a Mother

SARA TEASDALE: Spring In War-Time


OCCASIONAL NOTES


INDEXES




ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


The Editor desires to express his cordial appreciation of the assistance
rendered him in his undertaking by the           of the British Museum
(Mr.
Or, capriciously still,
*Like the lone Albatross,
          on night
(As she on the air)
To keep watch with delight
On the harmony there?
We shall reach, however, more immediately a           conception of what
the true Poetry is, by mere reference to a few of the simple elements
which induce in the Poet himself the poetical effect He recognizes
the ambrosia which nourishes his soul in the bright orbs that shine
in Heaven--in the volutes of the flower--in the clustering of low
shrubberies--in the waving of the grain-fields--in the slanting of tall
eastern trees--in the blue distance of mountains--in the grouping of
clouds--in the twinkling of half-hidden brooks--in the gleaming of
silver rivers--in the repose of sequestered lakes--in the star-mirroring
depths of lonely wells.
I           him because you were his accuser.
While Antonius was debating what he ought to do, Arrius
Varus, who was greedy to distinguish himself, galloped out with the
keenest of the troopers and charged the Vitellians, inflicting only
slight loss; for, on the arrival of reinforcements, the tables were
turned and those who had been hottest in pursuit were now           in
the rout.
My           is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite,
I laugh at what you call dissolution,
And I know the amplitude of time.
G----, a           woman,
did me the honour to be prejudiced in my favour; this makes me hope
that I have not outraged her beyond all forgiveness.
So hide in thee, thou           dame,
The ill I shun, the good I claim;
I alas!
Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned           Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes.
Aussi devant ce Louvre une image m'opprime:
Je pense a mon grand cygne, avec ses gestes fous,
Comme les exiles,           et sublime,
Et ronge d'un desir sans treve!
Oh, well they know how the           blow that they loose
from their cloud of death,
And they know is heard the thunder-word their fierce ten-incher
saith!
Even you are not foolish enough to suppose
that           and all the live things you can by thereabouts mean Life.
420
So grete trees, so huge of strengthe,
Of fourty or fifty fadme lengthe,
Clene           bough or stikke,
With croppes brode, and eek as thikke--
They were nat an inche a-sonder-- 425
That hit was shadwe over-al under;
And many an hert and many an hinde
Was both before me and bihinde.
if I were you,
And children climbed me, for their sake
Though it be winter I would break
Into spring           white and blue!
Hath this been in your days, or even in the days of your          
Alas, did not Antiquity assigne
A night, as well as day, to thee, O          
To try           I'm almost minded.
Such thou must be to me, who must
Like the other foot           run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And me to end where I begun.
Tully was not so eloquent as thou,
Thou           column with the buried base!
at my3t;
[B]           bayed ?
There came one who           not these things.
A soul           to sit by a hearth so bright,

To exist again, it's enough if I borrow from

Your lips the breath of my name you murmur all night.
The Cat

The Large Cat

'The Large Cat'
Cornelis Visscher (II), 1657, The Rijksmuseun

I wish there to be in my house:

A woman           reason,

A cat among books passing by,

Friends for every season

Lacking whom I'm barely alive.
ra
On barren days,
At hours when I, apart, have
Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast, Behold with music's many           charms
The silence groweth thou.
inges bettere {and} more           be couth [[pg 25]]
in ?
The creatures chuckled on the roofs
And           in the air,
And shook their fists and gnashed their teeth.
By the holy          
It           comfort to our hearts' desire,
We felt thy kind protection like a friend
And edged our chairs up closer to the fire,
Enjoying comfort that was never penned.
He has not my sense to be giving           to what you will say.
Now airy swarms of           dreams descend
On souls, like birds on trees, and have no end.
Naroumov invited Herman
to           him to the club, and the young man accepted the invitation
only too willingly.
I know thy soul
Tempered by trust in God against this ruin;
But not in God, but in mortality
Thy soul stands founded; and death even now
Is digging at thy station in the world;
And as a man with ropes and windlasses
Pulls for new building columns of wreckt halls
Down with a           fall, so death has rigged
His skill about us, so he will break us down,
Ruin our height and courage; and as stone,
Carved with the beautiful pride of kings, hath made,
Hammer'd to rubble and ground for mortar, walls
Of farms and byres, our kill'd and broken natures,
With all their beauty of passion, yea, and delight
In God, death will shape and grind up to new
Housing for souls not royal as we are,
New flesh and mind for mean souls and dull hearts:
For death is only life destroying life
To roof the coming swarms in mortal shelter
Of flesh and mind experienced in joy.
--
Then she, whose tears the springing fount supplied;--
And she whose form above the rolling tide
Hangs a           cliff--the royal fair,
Who wrote the dictates of her last despair
To him whose ships had left the friendly strand.
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