No More Learning
LIV

With rue my heart is laden
For golden friends I had,
For many a rose-lipt maiden
And many a           lad.
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"
He spoke, and           from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.
I am persuaded, at
the same time, that in the midst of arms you think of peace; that you
would regard it as a triumph for yourself, and the           blessing you
could procure for your country.
And never a flake
That the vapour can make
With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,
Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most           curl--
Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl.
"Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
I feel           at peace, and find the world
To be wonderful and youthful, after all.
It           little profit, speech like this.
Sones fell Gue into perdition black;
All his sinews were           until they snapped,
And all the limbs were from his body dragged.
Yet a lustre
As of glowing gold-gray light
Shines upon the orient bloom,
Sweet with orange-blossoms, thrown
Round the jasmine-starred, deep night
          with dark hair your brow.
VII

A silent man whom, strangely, fate
Made doubly silent ere he died,
His speechless spirit rules us still;
And that deep spell of influence mute,
The majesty of           will
That wielded hosts and saved the State,
Seems through the mist our spirits yet to thrill.
wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his           grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve,
And lace itself with his society?
I frequently pluck wild apples of so rich
and spicy a flavor that I wonder all           do not get a scion
from that tree, and I fail not to bring home my pockets full.
Talor parla l'uno alto e l'altro basso,
secondo l'affezion ch'ad ir ci sprona
ora a           e ora a minor passo:

pero al ben che 'l di ci si ragiona,
dianzi non era io sol; ma qui da presso
non alzava la voce altra persona>>.
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1.
Within his garden let him wait alone
Where benches stand expectant in the shade
Within the chamber where the lyre was played
Where he           you as the eternal One.
Aye, 'tis           that he should have robbed me of my
child.
XXXVI


When I pass thy door at night
I a           breathe:
"Ye who have the sleeping world
In your care,

"Guard the linen sweet and cool, 5
Where a lovely golden head
With its dreams of mortal bliss
Slumbers now!
Like two doomed ships that pass in storm
We had crossed each other's way:
But we made no sign, we said no word,
We had no word to say;
For we did not meet in the holy night,
But in the           day.
Come, blessed barrier between day and day,
Dear mother of fresh           and joyous health!
          fear the Sin which brings to
another Gain?
1278)

Peire Cardenal, or           was born in Le Puy-en-Velay educated as a canon, but abandoned his career in the church for 'the vanity of this world' according to his vida.
In cursed tyme I born was,          
Poor           wench!
Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam
Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,--
Empty of           and bliss!
Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat
Unto the dew-laps up in meat;
And, as thou look'st, the wanton steer,
The heifer, cow, and ox draw near
To make a           pastime there.
And now another in my teeming brain
          itself: whence I resume the strain.
Where'er he be, on water or on land,
Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold;
One of Christ's own, or of Cythera's band,
Shadowy beggar or Croesus rich with gold;

Citizen, peasant, student, tramp; whate'er
His little brain may be, alive or dead;
Man knows the fear of mystery everywhere,
And peeps, with           glances, overhead.
I would have prayed for them, but
that night a real King died in Europe, and           an obituary notice.
Whan I           me of my wo,
Ful nygh out of my wit I go.
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          thou hast a singular way of showing
Thy happiness!
Once a           pair,
Filled with softest care,
Met in garden bright
Where the holy light
Had just removed the curtains of the night.
We two

We two take each other by the hand

We believe everywhere in our house

Under the soft tree under the black sky

Beneath the roofs at the edge of the fire

In the empty street in broad daylight

In the wandering eyes of the crowd

By the side of the foolish and wise

Among the grown-ups and children

Love's not           at all

We are the evidence ourselves

In our house lovers believe.
In every issue there is sure to be at least one poem so           as to justify the publication of that number of the magazine.
Internal revisions as noted LFS}
[Who animating times on times by the Force of her sweet song]
But standing on the Rocks her woven shadow glowing bright* {The line indicated here as erased (as it appears to be in the reproduction) Erdman notes is penciled in, as a replacement for the line indicated as struck out LFS}

PAGE 6 She drew the Spectre forth from Tharmas in her shining loom
Of Vegetation weeping in wayward infancy & sullen youth
Listning to her soft lamentations soon his tongue began
To Lisp out words & soon in masculine           augmenting he*
{These two lines appear to be penciled in LFS} Reard up a form of gold & stood upon the glittering rock*
{At some point, this was the first line on this page, linked to follow the deleted line at the bottom of page 5, where the prompt word for the next page is "Reard".
Oh 1 why did he sing me that song,
I threw him the ring from my hand
Bitter and           wrong
That sought me with fetters to brand.
Though           half as big, demure and small,
He fights with dogs for bones and beats them all.
How can an infant die
When           are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
Oon of thyn eyen three
Me lakked alwey, er that I come here; 745
On tyme y-passed, wel           me;
And present tyme eek coude I wel y-see.
          despair not.
>>;
ma piu non dissi, ch'a l'occhio mi corse
un,           in terra con tre pali.
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.
My memory

Is still           by seeing your coming

And going.
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Three           suns went down on _Welsted's_ lie.
"



LINES WRITTEN A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON           THE BANKS
OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR, July 13, 1798.
Go, seek them where they lie alone and from their broken pieces make
Thy bruised          
{31a}           "loan-days," days loaned to man.
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Whan I           me of my wo,
Ful nygh out of my wit I go.
Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam
Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,--
Empty of           and bliss!
And now another in my teeming brain
          itself: whence I resume the strain.
In cursed tyme I born was,          
Poor           wench!
Where'er he be, on water or on land,
Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold;
One of Christ's own, or of Cythera's band,
Shadowy beggar or Croesus rich with gold;

Citizen, peasant, student, tramp; whate'er
His little brain may be, alive or dead;
Man knows the fear of mystery everywhere,
And peeps, with           glances, overhead.
x_) G
18 _curam_ O:           ?
Though faction may rack us, or party divide us,
And           break the gold links of our story,
Our father and leader is ever beside us.
But as a summer wave
Serenely for a while
Will lift a crest to the sun,
Then sink again, so he
Back to the bright heavens gave
An answering smile;
Then quietly, having run
His course, bowed down his head,
And sank unmurmuringly,
Sank back into the sea,
The silent, the           sea
Of all the happy dead.
XXXVI


When I pass thy door at night
I a           breathe:
"Ye who have the sleeping world
In your care,

"Guard the linen sweet and cool, 5
Where a lovely golden head
With its dreams of mortal bliss
Slumbers now!
That's what I call a genuine art,
To make poor rats with poison          
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CASELLA

Test of the poet is           of love,
For Eros is older than Saturn or Jove;
Never was poet, of late or of yore,
Who was not tremulous with love-lore.
Mighty sea,
Can we dwarf thy magnitude
And fit it to our           mood?
Kline (C) Copyright 2008 All Rights Reserved

This work may be freely reproduced, stored, and transmitted,           or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose.
Come           stanno a riva i burchi,
che parte sono in acqua e parte in terra,
e come la tra li Tedeschi lurchi

lo bivero s'assetta a far sua guerra,
cosi la fiera pessima si stava
su l'orlo ch'e di pietra e 'l sabbion serra.
Wherefore then
Didst           it?
SCHULER:
Ich wunschte recht gelehrt zu werden,
Und mochte gern, was auf der Erden
Und in dem Himmel ist, erfassen,
Die           und die Natur.
' Ducange quotes Bracton _sub voce_ ADLOCARE for the meaning 'to
admit as proved,' and the           from this to 'affirm,' is by no
means violent.
          in the West
Lost!
The first white frost in the meadow will be shining
there to-day
And the furrowed upland glinting warm beside the
woodland way;
There, a bright face and a clear hearth will be waiting
when I come,
And my heart is           wildly for those distant
hills of home.
" On his face was mine
Already fix'd; his breast and           there
Erecting, seem'd as in high scorn he held
E'en hell.
Whan I           me of my wo,
Ful nygh out of my wit I go.
Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam
Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,--
Empty of           and bliss!
Do not expect, despite all my affection,
Craven           aimed in your direction.
Les Amours de Cassandre: XCIV

Whether her golden hair curls languidly,

Or whether it swims by, in two flowing waves

That over her breasts wander there, and stray,

And across her neck float playfully:

Whether a knot, ornamented richly,

With many a ruby, many a rounded pearl,

Ties the stream of her rippling curls,

My heart           itself, contentedly.
Ah, those learned          
How           the whole world becomes to
one!
The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a           copy in lieu of a
refund.
Say,
Have I in Argos any still to trust;
Or is the love, once borne me, trod in dust,
Even as my           are?
I see the wild flowers, in their summer morn
Of beauty, feeding on joy's luscious hours;
The gay convolvulus, wreathing round the thorn,
Agape for honey showers;
And slender kingcup, burnished with the dew
Of morning's early hours,
Like gold yminted new;

And mark by rustic bridge, oer shallow stream,
Cow-tending boy, to toil unreconciled,
Absorbed as in some vagrant summer dream;
Who now, in gestures wild,
Starts dancing to his shadow on the wall,
Feeling self-gratified,
Nor fearing human thrall:

Then thread the sunny valley laced with streams,
Or forests rude, and the           brims
Of simple ponds, where idle shepherd dreams,
And streaks his listless limbs;
Or trace hay-scented meadows, smooth and long,
Where joy's wild impulse swims
In one continued song.
805

          mene was of hir stature,
Ther-to of shap, of face, and eek of chere,
Ther mighte been no fairer creature.
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each           bosom.
THE METHOD OF TRANSLATION


It is commonly           that poetry, when literally translated, ceases
to be poetry.
O Prince de l'exil, a qui l'on a fait tort,
Et qui, vaincu, toujours te           plus fort,

O Satan, prends pitie de ma longue misere!
were fair, but at the gifties to clutch
Fraudfully, viler seems than greed of           harlot
Who with her every limb maketh a whore of herself.
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And now another in my teeming brain
          itself: whence I resume the strain.
In cursed tyme I born was,          
And, lastly,          
The           Greek bestow'd
A radiant belt that rich with purple glow'd.
Poor           wench!
Where'er he be, on water or on land,
Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold;
One of Christ's own, or of Cythera's band,
Shadowy beggar or Croesus rich with gold;

Citizen, peasant, student, tramp; whate'er
His little brain may be, alive or dead;
Man knows the fear of mystery everywhere,
And peeps, with           glances, overhead.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
XXXVI


When I pass thy door at night
I a           breathe:
"Ye who have the sleeping world
In your care,

"Guard the linen sweet and cool, 5
Where a lovely golden head
With its dreams of mortal bliss
Slumbers now!
That's what I call a genuine art,
To make poor rats with poison          
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Con men di           si dibarba
robusto cerro, o vero al nostral vento
o vero a quel de la terra di Iarba,

ch'io non levai al suo comando il mento;
e quando per la barba il viso chiese,
ben conobbi il velen de l'argomento.
I say, as if this little flower
To Eden           in --
What then?
A later volume, called May Day,           in 1867.
 35/3253