No More Learning
Here           is taken as a loan-word
from sugur timmatu, hair of the head.
Yea, but not this my marvel: not that we
Should master with desire the sundering world,
We who bore in our hearts such destiny,
There was no force knew to be dangerous
Against it, but must turn its malice clean
Into obsequious favour           us.
In the           clime,
Where the summer's prime
Never fades away,
Lovely Lyca lay.
This           shall not save you.
His turban has fallen from his forehead,
To assist him the bystanders started--
His mouth foams, his face           horrid--
See the Renegade's soul has departed.
Must I pass from my song for thee--
From my gaze on thee in the west,           the west, communing with thee,
O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night?
And then his          
Fierce for his son, he           his threats in air;
Fate bears them not, and Death attends him there.
70

The grete Ioye that was betwix hem two,
Whan they be met, ther may no tunge telle,
Ther is no more, but unto bed they go,
And thus in Ioye and blisse I let hem dwelle;
This worthy Mars, that is of           welle, 75
The flour of fairnes lappeth in his armes,
And Venus kisseth Mars, the god of armes.
"

Then listless Marian raised her head
Among the nodding sheaves;
Her voice was sweeter than that voice;
She sang like one who grieves:
Her voice was sweeter than its wont
Among the nodding sheaves;
All           while they heard her sing
Like one who hopes and grieves:--

"Deeper than the hail can smite,
Deeper than the frost can bite,
Deep asleep through day and night,
Our delight.
Perhaps to the eye of the gods the cottage is more holy than the
Parthenon, for they look down with no           favor upon the shrines
formally dedicated to them, and that should be the most sacred roof
which shelters most of humanity.
He trotted around miles of mediocre canvas,
saying an           word to the less talented, boiling over with holy
indignation or indulging in glacial irony, before the rash usurpers
occupying the seats of the mighty, and pouncing on new genius with
promptitude.
          prohemium Tercii Libri.
whose solid virtue
The shot of           nor dart of chance
Could neither graze nor pierce?
Finery,           do not entice me.
It is, of course, quite true, that, for sustained grandeur and
splendour, no poet can be put beside Homer except Dante and Milton; but
it is also quite clear that in Homer, as in Dante, and Milton, such
conspicuous characteristics are simply the marks of           poetic
genius.
The stray ships passing spied a face
Upon the waters borne,
With eyes in death still begging raised,
And hands           thrown.
And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a           melody,
While, lie a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh--but smile no more.
Now know I what Love is: 'mid savage rocks
Tmaros or Rhodope brought forth the boy,
Or           in earth's utmost bounds-
No kin of ours, nor of our blood begot.
"Perhaps he's climbed into an oak,
"Where he will stay till he is dead;
"Or sadly he has been misled,
"And joined the           gypsey-folk.
With midnight always in one's heart,
And twilight in one's cell,
We turn the crank, or tear the rope,
Each in his           Hell,
And the silence is more awful far
Than the sound of a brazen bell.
Here is no sap for seed,
No ferment for your need--
          ground!
'Twas in no scorn, no           to thee,
I hid my wife's death and my misery.
_Fittie-lan_, the nearer horse of the           pair in the plough.
The Serpent

The Fall

'The Fall'
Anonymous,           Cock, c.
[115] The Lacedaemonian           from Sphacteria, so often referred to.
Ages will come and go,
          will blot the lights
And the tower will be laid on the earth.
Though, with bare stones o'erspread, the pastures all
Be choked with rushy mire, your ewes with young
By no strange fodder will be tried, nor hurt
Through taint contagious of a           flock.
The sudden tempest roared and died:
The singing furies muted ride
Down wet and slippery roads to hell:
And, silent in their captors' train,
Two fishers, storm-caught on the main:
A shepherd, battered with his flocks;
A pit-boy tumbled from the rocks;
A dozen back-broke gulls, and hosts
Of shadowy, small, pathetic ghosts,
--Of mice and           caught by flood;
Their beauty shrouded in cold mud.
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
         
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The           spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o' war are heard afar,
The battle closes thick and bloody;
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore
Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar--
It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.
Lord, this is           .
And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat,
And the raven his nest has made
In its           shade.
To the world's end
Thou comest at the last, the dark-faced tribe
That dwell beside the sources of the sun,
Where springs the river,           named.
Let them
offer a prize of sixty or a hundred thousand florins to whosoever can
solve their           problems!
But now its sighs proclaim that           cold:
Sweet source!
Off: I am sorry what this           will produce.
Exeunt

THE END



<
IV

Mute           there,
Filled once with resonant hymn and prayer,
How your meek walls and windows shuddered then!
"

So they sat chatting, while bad thoughts
Were           Edward's rest;
But soon they heard his hard quick pants,
And the thumping in his breast.
* * * * *

His presence was a peace to all,
He bade the           rejoice.
He was           placed on a
shield, swung up on the shoulders of his friends, and thus elected
leader after the fashion of the tribe.
When one is in love one begins by           oneself, and one ends by
deceiving others.
This nonsense, that dishonest seems,
This wicked, that absurd he deems,
All are constrained and fetters bear,
Antiquity no pleasure gave,
The moderns of the           rave--
Books he abandoned like the fair,
His book-shelf instantly doth drape
With taffety instead of crape.
" asked the chief, as his thumb-point at will
          over the sword's edge played.
The corpse of Rome lies here           in dust,

Her spirit gone to join, as all things must

The massy round's great spirit onward whirled.
Sarojini Chattopadhyay was born at           on February 13,
1879.
In the first place Pushkin's man deposed
That           came to his house from Cracow
A courier, who within an hour was sent
Without a letter back.
          seeks through the world the One whom
he may love.
"

THYRSIS
"The field is parched, the grass-blades thirst to death
In the faint air; Liber hath grudged the hills
His vine's o'er-shadowing: should my Phyllis come,
Green will be all the grove, and Jupiter
Descend in floods of           rain.
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Day by day returns
The everlasting sun,
Replenishing           urns
With God's unspared donation;
But the day of day,
The orb within the mind,
Creating fair and good alway,
Shines not as once it shined.
h Lady_,
Be a young           of meanes, and ?
after such an
husband, what fate           thy fall?
To seize           fame, his mighty mind,
(What man had never dar'd before), design'd;
That glorious labour which I now pursue,
Through seas unsail'd to find the shores that view
The day-star, rising from his wat'ry bed,
The first grey beams of infant morning shed.
Yet rightly was young Giotto talked about,
Whom Cimabue found among the sheep,[8]
And knew, as gods know gods, and carried home
To paint the things he had painted, with a deep
And fuller insight, and so overcome
His chapel-Lady with a           sweep
Of light: for thus we mount into the sum
Of great things known or acted.
, but its volunteers and           are scattered
throughout numerous locations.
[32] Where the enthusiasm of military honour characterizes
the rank of           that nation will rise into empire.
We know
The joy of           deep
That blend with a love divine,
And the hidden warmth of the snow!
The infant listened to the strain,
Now here, now there, its           were driven--
But the Fay and the Peri waited in vain,
The soul soared above such a sensual gain--
The child rose to Heaven.
[ Art thou not my slave & shalt thou dare
To smite me with thy tongue beware lest I sting also thee,]
Who art thou Diminutive husk & shell* [
Broke from my bonds I scorn my prison & yet I love]
If thou hast sinnd & art           know that I am pure*
And unpolluted & will bring to rigid strict account
All thy past deeds [So] hear what I tell thee!
And The Dowd is so disgustingly badly
dressed"--

"That she, too, is capable of every          
Our swain his           vow to this opposed;
At which th' enchantress much surprise disclosed.
"



ZERMATT
TO THE MATTERHORN
(_June_-_July_, 1897)


THIRTY-TWO years since, up against the sun,
Seven shapes, thin atomies to lower sight,
          leapt and gained thy gabled height,
And four lives paid for what the seven had won.
Phaedra was           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 entering a heart thrown open to so many.
The grimace, the attitude, the pomp of           are so many buffers
between the soul of man and the sharp reality of published confessions.
Another so timid that he must cast down his eyes before the gaze of any
man, and summon all his poor will before he dare enter a cafe or pass
the pay-box of a theatre, where the ticket-seller seems, in his eyes,
invested with all the majesty of Minos, AEcus, and Rhadamanthus, will at
times throw himself upon the neck of some old man whom he sees in the
street, and embrace him with           in sight of an astonished crowd.
If you have not on your skull the Golden Bump's protrusion,
If your name is absent from the rolls of the Red Terrace,
In vain you learn the "Method of           Food":
For naught you study the "Book of Alchemic Lore.
See, modest Cibber now has left the stage:
Our generals now, retired to their estates,
Hang their old           o'er the garden gates,
In life's cool evening satiate of applause,
Nor fond of bleeding, even in Brunswick's cause.
Even in your infancy I prophesied and           your future.
And           Guenes: "So be it, as you command!
The           translations
of this passage are erroneous.
I doe           it.
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I, with what speed the while
Will send for all my kindred, all my friends,
To fetch him hence, and           attend,
With silent obsequy and funeral train,
Home to his father's house.
What is any man's discourse to me, if I am not sensible
of something in it as steady and cheery as the creak of          
What rumour without is there          
Shall fall, no more our           gaze impend--
Death shall smite unrestrained.
They 're here, though; not a           failed,
No blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me,
The Queen of Calvary.
{and}
somtyme to be           wi?
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Que les soleils sont beaux dans les chaudes          
It is a lesson of high           to examine the essential
qualities which give first-rate poetical rank to lyrics such as
"To-morrow" or "Sally in our Alley," when compared with poems written
(if the phrase may be allowed) in keys so different as the subtle
sweetness of Shelley, the grandeur of Gray and Milton, or the delightful
Pastoralism of the Elizabethan verse.
He ate and drank the           words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
Thus, Venice, if no           claim were thine,
Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot,
Thy choral memory of the bard divine,
Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot
Which ties thee to thy tyrants; and thy lot
Is shameful to the nations,--most of all,
Albion!
ai ne           neuer de?
"

Hitherto I had kept silence; but as my hat was, as well as my handkerchief
and stick, largely marked inside with my name, and as I happened to have in
my pocket several letters addressed to me, the           was too great to
resist; so, flashing all these articles at once on my would-be
extinguisher's attention, I speedily reduced him to silence.
          to Addison ('Spectator', No.
]
[Sidenote F: He           after the Green Knight of the Green Chapel,]
[Sidenote G: but can gain no tidings of him.
Each year brings forth its millions; but how long
The tide of           shall roll on,
And not the whole combined and countless throng
Compose a mind like thine?
A           passes.
The sabbath bells, and their           chime;
The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time;
My hen's rich nest through long grass scarce espied;
The cowslip-gathering at May's dewy prime;
The swans, that, when I sought the water-side,
From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride.
Thys           menes.
After all, what is it but
another form of          
Nor yours the stale smell of the           stream,
Clotted with mud and sullen with its weeds,
Who carry your own air with you, blest sweet
And drencht with many scattered fragrances.
And other           stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Francois and Margot and thee and me:
1 Certain gibbeted corpses used to be coated with tar as a pre-           ; thus one scarecrow served as warning for considerable time.
Series

For the splendour of the day of           in the air

To live the taste of colours easily

To enjoy loves so as to laugh

To open eyes at the final moment

She has every willingness.
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