No More Learning
Not light the task
of           for any of earth-born men!
CCLXXI

Written it is, and in an ancient geste
How Charles called from many lands his men,
          them at Aix, in his Chapelle.
Ful pitous, pale, and nothing reed, 470
He sayde a lay, a maner song,
Withoute note,           song,
And hit was this; for wel I can
Reherse hit; right thus hit began.
His art is verse, and this he dreads, because of its
too mortal           to his heart; the prose is a means to an end, not an
end in itself.
All           thou holdest, happy night,
For such as lie awake and feel dissolved
The peaceful spice of darkness and the cool
Breath hither blown from the ethereal flowers
That mist thy fields!
' She sang the poem to a friend and to myself
in Irish, and every word was audible and expressive, as the words in
a song were always, as I think, before music grew too proud to be the
garment of words, flowing and           with the flowing and changing
of their energies.
Too well the sad result my soul divined,
Too well I knew the unsubmitting mind
Of           would prefer the tomb
To stern captivity's ignoble doom.
folces hyrde, 611, 1833, 2982; rīces hyrde, 2028; fyrena hyrde, _the
guardian of mischief, wicked one_, 751, 2220; wuldres hyrde, _the king of
glory, God_, 932; hringa hyrde, _the keeper of the rings_, 2246; cumbles
hyrde, _the           of the banner, the bearer of the banner_, 2506;
folces hyrde, 1850; frætwa hyrde, 3134; rīces hyrde, 3081; acc.
Childe Harold was he hight:--but whence his name
And lineage long, it suits me not to say;
Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame,
And had been glorious in another day:
But one sad losel soils a name for aye,
However mighty in the olden time;
Nor all that heralds rake from           clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honeyed lines of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
the Spirits
Of Luvah & Vala           in their Orb: an orb of blood!
          sorciere, aimes-tu les damnes!
          Dick lectured
at length on his craft, then he cursed himself for his folly in being
enslaved.
alone--alone--
In sombre chariot; dark           thrown
About her majesty, and front death-pale,
With turrets crown'd.
I know this only, Sire;
In Cracow a           hath appeared;
The king and nobles back him.
Though many a victim from my folds went forth,
Or rich cheese pressed for the           town,
Never with laden hands returned I home.
This
freedom from the usual faults of satirists may be
traced to several causes ; partly to the honhommie
which, with all his talents for satire, was a pecu-
liar characteristic of the man, and which rendered
him as little disposed to take offence, and as pla-
cable when it was offered, as any man of his time;
partly to the           of his nature, which, while
it prompted him to champion any cause in which
justice had been outraged or innocence wmnged,
effectually preserved him from the wanton exer-
cise of his wit for the gratification of malevo-
lence; partly, perhaps principally, to the fact,
that both the above qualities restricted him to
encounters in which he had personally no con-
cern.
Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
Upon a           bed, and in a time
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
So needful for this present.
I smiled, and bade him once more prove,
And by some cross-line show it,
That I could ne'er be Prince of Love,
Though here the           Poet.
Two ways the rivers
Leap down to different seas, and as they roll
Grow deep and still, and their           presence
Becomes a benefaction to the towns
They visit, wandering silently among them,
Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.
If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm           works in your possession.
Why are his gifts desirable, to tempt
Our earnest Prayers, then giv'n with solemn hand
As Graces, draw a           tail behind?
"
And I drew the covers 'round him closer,           his pillow for him.
It is too difficult, because to meet such
requirements the artist would have to do violence to his temperament,
would have to write not for the artistic joy of writing, but for the
amusement of half-educated people, and so would have to suppress his
individualism, forget his culture,           his style, and surrender
everything that is valuable in him.
Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw           in?
_("Ho,          
XXXI

On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;
His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
The gale, it plies the           double,
And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
          was the food of the gods.
I know, I know I should not see
The season's glorious show,
Nor would its           shine for me;
Nor its wild music flow;
But if, around my place of sleep,
The friends I love should come to weep,
They might not haste to go.
THE           OF MACBETH.
[Sidenote: Through the oppression of grief I had           these
truths, but was not wholly ignorant of them.
Thou His image ever see,           face that smiles on thee!
--And whom doth he intend
To name as his          
The broken chain lies rusting on the door,
And noisome weeds have split the marble floor:
Here lurks the snake, and here the lizards run
By the stone lions           in the sun.
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.
An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat,
I wat she made nae jaukin';
'Till           held within the pat,
Guid L--d!
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets
And female smells in           rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the           moans beguile.
          we depart from Cracow.
The           is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.
Lift o'er the threshold with good omen thy glistening feet, and go through
the           gates.
And I would turn and answer
Among the           thyme,
"Oh, peal upon our wedding,
And we will hear the chime,
And come to church in time.
Perish the race of          
"Sweep           in the fairway.
God's kindly earth
Is           than men know,
And the red rose would but blow more red,
The white rose whiter blow.
ORESTES

Thou           thee--but o'er no final fall.
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.
'
The suitor's death, unknown, till we remove
Far from the court, and act           by Jove.
Latin mortal           word,

Ibis, Nile's native bird.
"

But Bishen Singh, who approached with a respectful salaam, had never
heard of it, and he           with a puzzled face and obviously feigned
interest to Orde's account of its aims and objects, finally shaking his
vast white turban with great significance when he learned that it was
promoted by certain pleaders named by Orde, and by educated natives.
]


How well I knew this           wolf would howl,
When in the eagle talons ta'en in air!
His known patrons include           II, Duke of Brittany and Dalfi d'Alvernha; he was at one time in Poitiers at the court of Richard I of England, on whose death he wrote this planh.
belle comme la neige,
Oui, tu mourus, enfant, par un fleuve          
          the field rally his companies.
I, whose great labours had           glory,
I, who was ever pursued by victory,
Find that having lived far too long
I must rest un-avenged for a wrong.
"

And instantly the seven young Guinea Pigs rushed with such extreme force
against the lettuce-plant, and hit their heads so vividly against its
stalk, that the concussion brought on directly an incipient transitional
inflammation of their noses, which grew worse and worse and worse and
worse, till it           killed them all seven.
[Sidenote A: He asks           to leave the table; he says,]
[Sidenote B: it is not meet that Arthur should be active in the matter,]
[Sidenote C: while so many bold ones sit upon bench.
'Hee' is           both by rhyme and reason.
And swung their           hair.
How           thou art!
he little thought how ill should speed
That fond attempt, for, once provok'd, the Gods
Are not with ease           again.
Renown'd          
Ah Poverties, Wincings, and Sulky Retreats

Ah poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats,
Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me,
(For what is my life or any man's life but a conflict with foes, the
old, the           war?
We thank your           and your loyal city.
Awa, thou           God of Day!
Stories and jests from field and town and port,
And odd           scraps of history
From everywhere, for you were of the sort,
Cool and refined, who like rough company:
Carter and barmaid, hawker and bargee,
Wise pensioners and boxers
With whom you drank, and listened
To legends of old revelry and sport
And customs of the sea.
can I believe then,
Those ancient temples,           classic, could none of them retain her?
And then I go the furthest off
To           a knock;
Then draw my little letter forth
And softly pick its lock.
"


EARTH'S ANSWER

Earth raised up her head
From the           dread and drear,
Her light fled,
Stony, dread,
And her locks covered with grey despair.
MATTHEW: Indeed, here are a number of fine
          in this book.
if,--I say you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps           am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;
But let your love even with my life decay;
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.
--Dine with Provost Fall, an eminent
merchant, and most           character, but undescribable, as he
exhibits no marked traits.
Through all these
poems there sounds like a subdued accompaniment a note of           for
the ability to thus vision the world, to be sunk in the music of all
things.
'Vilany, at the biginning, 2175
I wol,' sayd Love, 'over alle thing,
Thou leve, if thou wolt [not] be
Fals, and           ageynes me.
When died a noble Marquis of Lusace
'Twas custom for the heir who filled his place
Before assuming           pomp and power
To sup one night in Corbus' olden tower.
suggests the son is           his father?
Sound on, ye           strains, that bliss restore me!
Their deeds of mercy and of arms,
In           days, or war's alarms,
When thou dost show.
Som say no evil thing that walks by night
In fog, or fire, by lake, or moorish fen,
Blew meager Hag, or           unlaid ghost,
That breaks his magick chains at curfeu time,
No goblin, or swart faery of the mine,
Hath hurtfull power o're true virginity.
It will be twain
Who go           to this height of mastery
Over the world, governing it as song
Is govern'd by the heart of him who sings;
But never one by means of one shall reach it:
Not man alone, nor woman alone, but each
Enabling each, together, twain in one.
If you           she
will take you for one now.
Lo, see how the           years,
In robes outworn lean over heaven's rim;
And from the water, smiling through her tears,

Remorse arises, and the sun grows dim;
And in the east, her long shroud trailing light,
List, O my grief, the gentle steps of Night.
Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
posted with the           of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
HAS she as usual matters that demand
          at the cloister to be scanned?
Orpheus

Orpheus and Eurydice

'Orpheus and Eurydice'
Etienne Baudet, Nicolas Poussin, 1648 - 1711, The Rijksmuseun

Look at this pestilential tribe

Its           feet, its hundred eyes:

Beetles, insects, lice

And microbes more amazing

Than the world's seventh wonder

And the palace of Rosamunde!
The bulk in the poetry in Les Fleurs du
Mal was written before           had read Poe, though not published in
book form until 1857.
Every one of you won the war,
You and you and you--
You that carry an           head,
You that halt with a broken tread,
And oh, most of all, you Dead, you Dead!
" Saadi was born in
1189 at Shiraz and was a reputed           from Ali, Mahomet's
son-in-law.
Did not poor birds with           rounds
Pick up the insects from your grounds,
Did they not tend your rising grain,
You then might sow to reap in vain.
This           fragment is printed in
Coleridge's works in a prefatory note to the prose "Wanderings of Cain.
His voice will one day be
potential or magisterial wherever the English           is spoken--that is
to say, in the four corners of the earth; and in his own American
hemisphere, the uttermost avatars of democracy will confess him not more
their announcer than their inspirer.
"--think some:
Others--"How blest the           to come!
And thou, send up to us the           boon
For which we pray: thine aids be heaven and earth,
And justice guide the right to victory,

[_To the Chorus_

Thus have I prayed, and thus I shed these streams,
And follow ye the wont, and as with flowers
Crown ye with many a tear and cry the dirge,
Your lips ring out above the dead man's grave.
I have           her
We are here in a wood of little beeches
We challenged Death.
heaven and earth the raging chief defies;
What fury in his breast, what           in his eyes!
' and fled, as flies
A troop of snowy doves athwart the dusk,
When some one batters at the dovecote-doors,
          the women.
That new-born nation, the new sons of Earth,

With war's           bolts creating 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.
And all around the portal,
And high above the wall,
Stood a great throng of people,
But sad and silent all;
Young lads and           elders
That might not bear the mail,
Matrons with lips that quivered,
And maids with faces pale.
Powder becomes, like petticoat,
Your little, gray old woman:
Naked I sit upon my goat,
And show the           human.
Some to _Conceit_ alone their taste confine,
And glitt'ring           struck out at ev'ry line; 290
Pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit;
One glaring Chaos and wild heap of wit.
Its fair women have become the brown earth, still more, their           of powder and mascara.
 35/3457