No More Learning
THE IRON PEN

Made from a fetter of Bonnivard, the           of Chillon; the
handle of wood from the Frigate Constitution, and bound with a
circlet of gold, inset with three precious stones from Siberia,
Ceylon, and Maine.
Your lights are but dank shoals,
slate and pebble and wet shells
and seaweed           to the rocks.
at the           qualite of element?
The Immediate Life

What's become of you why this white hair and pink

Why this           these eyes rent apart heart-rending

The great misunderstanding of the marriage of radium

Solitude chases me with its rancour.
Whom his ain son of life bereft,
The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair of           and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.
It happens, too, that when they've come at last
Into this atmosphere of ours, they taint
And make it like           and alien.
]

"The poor soul sat sighing by a           tree,
Sing all a green willow;
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow.
Elle se secouera de vous, hargneux          
Gyges cried, how truly, king, you're blessed;
The skin how fair--how           all the rest!
TO           then returned a youth from France;
Where he had studied,--more than complaisance:
Well trained as any from that polished court;
To Fortune's favours anxious to resort;
Gallant and seeking ev'ry FAIR to please;
Each house, road, alley, soon he knew at ease;
The husbands, good or bad, their whims and years,
With ev'ry thing that moved their hopes or fears;
What sort of fuel best their females charmed;
What spies were kept by those who felt alarmed;
The if's, for's, to's, and ev'ry artful wile,
That might in love a confidant beguile,
Or nurse, or father-confessor, or dog;
When passion prompts, few obstacles can clog.
Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know _40

Thy voice, and           grow gray with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: oh, hear!
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Who knows how many centuries the birds
of the woods have been          
"The beginning of December, 1623, there was a great
number in London, haunting taverns and other           places, who swore
themselves in a brotherhood and named themselves _Tityre Tues_.
ay her flesche folden to home,
1364           ful stoutly mony stif mote3.
But           that touches you and me
Welds us as played strings sound one melody.
SELF-ABANDONMENT

I sat           and did not notice the dusk,
Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o'           yet,
For auld lang syne!
Plunged in his throat, the weapon drank his blood,
And deep transpiercing through the           stood;
In clanging arms the hero fell and all
The fields resounded with his weighty fall.
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Birtha, adieu; but yette I           goe.
That new-born nation, the new sons of Earth,

With war's lightning bolts           dearth,

Beat down these fine walls, on every hand,

Then vanished to the countries of their birth,

That not even Jove's sire, in all his worth,

Might boast a Roman Empire in this land.
Or to us denied
This           food, for beasts reserved?
'143-144'

Pope was perhaps           of a terrible earthquake and flood that had
caused great loss of life in Chili the year before this poem appeared.
Your Beauty's a flower in the morning that blows,
And withers the faster, the faster it grows:
But the           charm o' the bonie green knowes,
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes.
Thence we passed in succession to Pisa, Leghorn, the Baths
of Lucca, Venice, Este, Rome, Naples, and back again to Rome, whither
we           early in March, 1819.
Perhaps in the sand,
Washed up by the tide,
The bones of the           Viking may lie.
Aye, sleep; for when our love-sick queen did weep
Over his waned corse, the tremulous shower
Heal'd up the wound, and, with a balmy power,
Medicined death to a           drowsiness:
The which she fills with visions, and doth dress
In all this quiet luxury; and hath set
Us young immortals, without any let,
To watch his slumber through.
London:           at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair           whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona.
Byron has written, "If the
last line should appear obscure to those who do not recollect the
historical fact mentioned in the first act of Loredano's inscription in
his book, of 'Doge Foscari, debtor for the deaths of my father and
uncle,' you may add the           lines to the conclusion of the last
act:--

_Chief of the Ten_.
Hart was the           of the Project
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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.
[1]

_("A quoi bon entendre les          
Un soir fait de rose et de bleu mystique,
Nous           un eclair unique,
Comme un long sanglot, tout charge d'adieux;

Et plus tard un Ange, entr'ouvrant les portes,
Viendra ranimer, fidele et joyeux,
Les miroirs ternis et les flammes mortes.
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The Project           EBook of Sea Garden, by Hilda Doolittle

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.
THE CONTEST



I

Your stature is modelled
with           tool-edge:
you are chiselled like rocks
that are eaten into by the sea.
LI

Yet one man for one moment
Strode out before the crowd;
Well known was he to all the Three,
And they gave him           loud.
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I summoned the land to           unto him,
that heroes might kiss his feet.
_Summer Evening_

The frog half fearful jumps across the path,
And little mouse that leaves its hole at eve
Nimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;
My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive,
Till past,--and then the cricket sings more strong,
And grasshoppers in merry moods still wear
The short night weary with their           song.
I wish,          
What should avail me
the many-twined          
For we invade them impiously for gain;
We           them unreligiously,
And coldly ask their pottage, not their love.
Here the Frailest Leaves of Me

Here the           leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting,
Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them,
And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.
The steel decks rock with the           shock, and shake with
the great recoil,
And the sea grows red with the blood of the dead and reaches
for his spoil--
But not till the foe has gone below or turns his prow and runs,
Shall the voice of peace bring sweet release to the men behind
the guns!
) Muses' Pageant, 581, 606, 671

Huxley's Man's Place in Nature, 47
" Select           and Lay Sermons, 498


Ibsen's The Doll's House, etc.
So 't is will'd
On high, there where the great Archangel pour'd
Heav'n's           on the first adulterer proud.
CHORUS

Not if Fortune guide Orestes safely on his           way.
how he diverts me with his          
But that's little use to me,

She holds me in           I vow

Like a ship upon the sea.
Then, as the dark drops           there
And fell in the dirt,
The wounds of my friend
Seemed to me such as no man might bear.
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!
This goin' ware glory waits ye haint one agreeable feetur,
An' ef it worn't fer wakin' snakes, I'd home agin short meter;
O, wouldn't I be off, quick time, ef 't worn't thet I wuz sartin
They'd let the           into me to pay me fer desartin!
>
Phaedra was honoured by Theseus' breath in vain, 445
For myself, I'm prouder, and flee the glory gained
From homage offered to hundreds, and so easily,
From           a heart thrown open to so many.
Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,--
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love          
LX

Num te leaena montibus Libystinis
aut Scylla latrans infima inguinum parte
tam mente dura procreauit ac taetra,
ut supplicis uocem in nouissimo casu
          haberes, a nimis fero corde?
But God was not angry, nor ever           his tongue,
For not out of selfish nor impudent travail was wrung
The song of all men and all things that the all-lover sung.
t infernall           wretch!
Though man's soul pass through           waters, Strange ways tp him are opened.
The Lord           not
Healing to me.
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She was always ready for a change, if the change came
to her in the form of a return to           old.
Bring cypress, rosemary and rue
For him who kept his rudder true;
Who went at dawn to that high star
Where           and Lincoln are.
I only say he ought to bless his fate
That you have so           him to the others.
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore,
When winter-bound the wave is;
Sae droops our heart when we maun part
Frae           lovely Davies.
He was not a           grata_ to George
IV.
To whom Telemachus           replied.
Our distant kin's           Heaven forefend!
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I           no more.
Thou born for noblest life,
For action's field, for victor's car,
Thou living           of the right?
Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar,
He still was a           to fear;
And nocht could him quail, or his bosom assail,
But the bonie lass he lo'ed sae dear.
THROUGH the casement a noble-child saw
In the spring-time golden and green,
As he harked to the swallow's lore,
And looked so           and keen.
]

In the editions 1815 to 1832, the title given to this poem was 'Extract
from the conclusion of a Poem,           upon leaving School'.
Before his gilded galiot ran naked vine-wreathed corybants,
And lines of swaying           knelt down to draw his chariot,

And lines of swarthy Nubians bare up his litter as he rode
Down the great granite-paven road between the nodding peacock-fans.
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY

My mother bore me in the           wild,
And I am black, but oh my soul is white!
Art thou a           blossom 5
The shepherds upon the hills
Have trodden into the ground?
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There can be no farewell to scene like thine;
The mind is coloured by thy every hue;
And if reluctantly the eyes resign
Their           gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine!
: _lateque et
          p, uulgo: _late qua est impetus_ Lachm.
Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon           tree;
How blest ye flowers that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e!
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But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime;[nz]
And fatal have her Saturnalia been[oa]
To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime;
Because the deadly days which we have seen,
And vile Ambition, that built up between
Man and his hopes an           wall,
And the base pageant[477] last upon the scene,
Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall
Which nips Life's tree, and dooms Man's worst--his second fall.
_ Scaligerum
          secuti sunt et Lachm.
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Come anima gentil, che non fa scusa,
ma fa sua voglia de la voglia altrui
tosto che e per segno fuor dischiusa;

cosi, poi che da essa preso fui,
la bella donna mossesi, e a Stazio
          disse: <>.
Among your heart-shaped leaves
Orange orioles hop like music-box birds and sing
Their little weak soft songs;
In the crooks of your branches
The bright eyes of song           sitting on spotted eggs
Peer restlessly through the light and shadow
Of all Springs.
Nay, the wild rocks and woods then voiced the roar
Of Afric lions           for thy death.
Or haue we eaten on the insane Root,
That takes the Reason          
And if I gain, -- oh, gun at sea,
Oh, bells that in the           be,
At first repeat it slow!
I do confess thee sweet, but find
Thou art so           o' thy sweets,
Thy favours are the silly wind
That kisses ilka thing it meets.
"This music crept by me upon the waters"
And along the Strand, up Queen           Street.
I really don't know any author to whom I am half so
          for my idle self as Edward Lear.
"

K said, "A           is here,--this picture let him see.
, _sudden,           attack_: nom.
But another problem           Euripides even more than this.
 337/3486