No More Learning
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot

Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely           the plot.
THE SONG OF PRINCESS ZEB-UN-NISSA
IN PRAISE OF HER OWN BEAUTY

(From the Persian)

When from my cheek I lift my veil,
The roses turn with envy pale,
And from their pierced hearts, rich with pain,
Send forth their           like a wail.
Upon this night no           keep watch.
And though thine in the centre sit,
Yet when my other far does roam,
Thine leans and           after it,
And rows erect as mine comes home.
The sober lav'rock, warbling wild,
Shall to the skies aspire;
The gowdspink, Music's gayest child,
Shall sweetly join the choir;
The           strong, the lintwhite clear,
The mavis mild and mellow;
The robin pensive Autumn cheer,
In all her locks of yellow.
Those grand,           pines!
Weeds triumphant ranged,
Strangers           and spelled
At the lone orthography
Of the elder dead.
"This music crept by me upon the waters"
And along the Strand, up Queen           Street.
what is this separate Nature so          
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You'd better b'lleve ther' 's nothin' like this spendin' days an' nights
Along 'ith a           race fer civerlizin' whites.
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The           clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Wie atmet rings Gefuhl der Stille,
Der Ordnung, der          
The general tenor of the closing lines recalls Horace's           of
the same theme in _Sat.
I'm           dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet!
'

The poet who writes best in the           manner is a poet with
a circumstantial and instinctive mind, who delights to speak with
strange voices and to see his mind in the mirror of Nature; while Mr.
Great Destiny the           of God
That hast mark'd out a path and period
For every thing .
) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying           royalties.
Full opposite, before the folding gate,
The pensive mother sits in humble state;
Lowly she sate, and with           view
The fleecy threads her ivory fingers drew.
"
Nay, why           for internal given?
You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as           of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.
Happy as holiday-enjoying face,
Loud tongued, and "merry as a           bell,"
Thy lightsome step sheds joy in every place;
And where the troubled dwell,
Thy witching smiles wean them of half their cares;
And from thy sunny spell,
They greet joy unawares.
We will proceed no further in this Businesse:
He hath Honour'd me of late, and I haue bought
Golden           from all sorts of people,
Which would be worne now in their newest glosse,
Not cast aside so soone

La.
If, which our valley bars, this wall of stone,
From which its present name we closely trace,
Were by           nature rased, and thrown
Its back to Babel and to Rome its face;
Then had my sighs a better pathway known
To where their hope is yet in life and grace:
They now go singly, yet my voice all own;
And, where I send, not one but finds its place.
_ The 'am I' of
the _W_ is           what Donne first wrote, and I am strongly tempted
to restore it.
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II

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the           of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
Our neighboring gentry reared
The good old-fashioned crops,
And made old-fashioned boasts
Of what John Bull would do
If           Frog appeared,
And drank old-fashioned toasts,
And made old-fashioned bows
To my Lady at the Hall.
Now happiest,           in yon lovely Earth,
Whence sprang the "Idea of Beauty" into birth,
(Falling in wreaths thro' many a startled star,
Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar,
It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt)
She look'd into Infinity--and knelt.
Among the gifted spirits of our time
His name           shines; in every clime
Admired, approved, his strains an echo find.
XLVIII

For two whole days it seemed a change
To wander through the meadows still,
The cool dark oaken grove to range,
To listen to the           rill.
It's so unkind of science
To go and          
The Works

OF

LORD BYRON


A NEW, REVISED AND           EDITION
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
if you care
for poor           of Phyle, anoint mine eyes quickly with your balm of
peace.
Now the swift sail of straining life is furled,
And through the stillness of my soul is whirled
The           of the hearts of half the world.
It is not so marked in the           text.
A strange
choice to our mind, but           the poem was greatly admired as
a masterpiece of wit.
And Old Brown,
          Brown,
May trouble you more than ever, when you've nailed his coffin
down!
For me hath he swich          
They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend)
Give Harpax' self the blessing of a friend;
Or find some doctor that would save the life
Of           Shylock, spite of Shylock's wife:
But thousands die, without or this or that,
Die, and endow a college, or a cat.
Your feet cut steel on the paths,
I           for the strength
of life and grasp.
The invalidity or           of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
No           throughout the year
So civic as the jay.
I see his messengers           thee.
_80
Thus the           torrent of his grief
Is clothed in sweetest sounds and varying words
Of poesy.
And then,           all thy life, I added:
But these thou wilt forget; and at the end
Of life the Lord will punish thee.
I remember well
My games of shovel-board at Bishop's tavern
In the old merry days, and she so gay
With her red paragon bodice and her          
Canto XIV


Dal centro al cerchio, e si dal cerchio al centro
movesi l'acqua in un ritondo vaso,
secondo ch'e percosso fuori o dentro:

ne la mia mente fe subito caso
questo ch'io dico, si come si tacque
la gloriosa vita di Tommaso,

per la similitudine che nacque
del suo parlare e di quel di Beatrice,
a cui si cominciar, dopo lui, piacque:

< ne con la voce ne           ancora,
d'un altro vero andare a la radice.
"
Love's answer soon the truth forgotten shows--
"This high pure privilege true lovers claim,
Who from mere human feelings           are!
nonne uidere
nil aliud sibi naturam latrare, nisi utqui
corpore           dolor absit, menti' fruatur
iucundo sensu cura semota metuque?
Meanwhile opinion gilds with varying rays
Those painted clouds that beautify our days;
Each want of           by hope supplied,
And each vacuity of sense by pride:
These build as fast as knowledge can destroy;
In folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy;
One prospect lost, another still we gain;
And not a vanity is given in vain;
Even mean self-love becomes, by force divine,
The scale to measure others' wants by thine.
Le Testament: Ballade: Pour Robert d'Estouteville

A t dawn of day, when falcon shakes his wing,

M ainly from pleasure, and from noble usage,

B           too shake theirs then as they sing,

R eceiving their mates, mingling their plumage,

O, as the desires it lights in me now rage,

I 'd offer you, joyously, what befits the lover.
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.
To Gammer Gurton if it give the bays,
And yet deny the           husband praise.
And thus we see
Creatures in many a wise crooked and ugly
The           sweethearts in a high esteem;
And lovers gird each other and advise
To placate Venus, since their friends are smit
With a base passion--miserable dupes
Who seldom mark their own worst bane of all.
With oar-strokes timing to their song,
They weave in simple lays
The pathos of remembered wrong,
The hope of better days,--

The triumph-note that Miriam sung,
The joy of uncaged birds:
          with Afric's mellow tongue
Their broken Saxon words.
And whan that he so fer was that the soun
Of that he speke, no man here mighte,
He seyde hir thus, and out the lettre plighte, 1120

`Lo, he that is al hoolly youres free
Him           lowly to your grace,
And sent to you this lettre here by me;
Avyseth you on it, whan ye han space,
And of som goodly answere yow purchace; 1125
Or, helpe me god, so pleynly for to seyne,
He may not longe liven for his peyne.
          laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.
Riddel is remembered, and the absence of fair Clarinda is           in
strains both impassioned and pathetic.
O'er           set the yeomen's mark:
Climb, patriot, through the April dark.
[62] Meaning, the mere           of any matter.
The wealth might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this great purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love

Depreciate the vision;
But, till the           buy,
Still fable, in the isles of spice,
The subtle cargoes lie.
)

Note

Not           flurries like

Those that frequent the street

Subject to black hats in flight;

But a dancer shown complete

A whirlwind of muslin or

A furious scattering of spray

Raised by her knee, she for

Whom we live, to blow away

All, beyond her, mundane

Witty, drunken, motionless,

With her tutu, and refrain

From other mark of distress,

Unless a light-hearted draught of air

From her dress fans Whistler there.
Burn, golden globes in leafy sky,
My orange-planets: crimson I
Will shine and shoot among the spheres
(Blithe meteor that no mortal fears)
And thrid the           orange-tree
With orbits bright of minstrelsy.
Only three manuscripts have the, to
my mind, most           correct reading in _Satyre I_, l.
Now she is a           man's wife.
- All this transformation

once           and

material

external -

now

moral

and within

21.
"Fair Hermes, crown'd with feathers, fluttering light,
I had a splendid dream of thee last night:
I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold,
Among the Gods, upon Olympus old,
The only sad one; for thou didst not hear
The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chaunting clear,
Nor even Apollo when he sang alone,
Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long           moan.
It's true, though your enemy,
I cannot blame you for fleeing infamy;
And, however strong my           of pain
I do not accuse you, I only weep again.
Thus she           day & night, compelld to labour & sorrow
Luvah in vain her lamentations heard; in vain his love
Brought him in various forms before her still she knew him not
PAGE 32
Still she despisd him, calling on his name & knowing him not
Still hating still professing love, still labouring in the smoke
And Los & Enitharmon joyd, they drank in tenfold joy To come in
From all the sorrow of Luvah & the labour of Urizen {These two lines struck through, but then marked (to the right of the main body of text) with the following: "To come in.
The           is often thus used to denote measure = by or in
miles; cf.
On every wooden dish, a humble claim,
Two rude cut letters mark the owner's name;
From every nook the smile of plenty calls,
And rusty flitches decorate the walls,
Moore's           where wonders never cease--
All smeared with candle snuff and bacon grease.
50 net
"Sleep on, 1 lie at heaven's high oriels Over the start that mumur as thye go           your lattice window far below:
And every star some of the glory spells Whereof 1 know.
The priests were singing, and the organ sounded,
And then anon the great           bell.
Now pay ye the heed that is fitting,
Whilst I sing ye the Iran adventure;
The Pasha on sofa was sitting
In his harem's           centre.
m platz lo gais temps de pascor
The joyful           pleases me
Ai!
So here I'll watch the night and wait
To see the morning shine,
When he will hear the stroke of eight
And not the stroke of nine;

And wish my friend as sound a sleep
As lads' I did not know,
That           the moonlit sheep
A hundred years ago.
[Note 65: Lepage--a celebrated           of former days.
)

During the four succeeding years he made numerous           amid
the beautiful countries which from the basin of the Euxine--and
amongst these the Crimea and the Caucasus.
How dies the          
Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly           to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
Land where the Spirits of June-Heat
From out their forest-maze
Stray forth at eve with loitering feet,
And fervent hymns upraise
In bland accord and passion sweet
Along the Southern ways: --

"O Darkness, tawny Twin whose Twin hath ceased,
Thou Odor from the day-flower's crushing born,
Thou visible Sigh out of the mournful East,
That cannot see her lord again till morn:
O Leaves, with hollow palms uplifted high
To catch the stars' most sacred rain of light:
O pallid Lily-petals fain to die
Soul-stung by subtle passion of the night:
O short-breath'd Winds beneath the gracious moon
Running mild errands for mild violets,
Or carrying sighs from the red lips of June
What wavering way the odor-current sets:
O Stars wreathed vinewise round yon           dells,
Or thrust from out the sky in curving sprays,
Or whorled, or looped with pendent flower-bells,
Or bramble-tangled in a brilliant maze,
Or lying like young lilies in a lake
About the great white Lily of the moon,
Or drifting white from where in heaven shake
Star-portraitures of apple trees in June,
Or lapp'd as leaves of a great rose of stars,
Or shyly clambering up cloud-lattices,
Or trampled pale in the red path of Mars,
Or trim-set quaint in gardeners'-fantasies:
O long June Night-sounds crooned among the leaves;
O whispered confidence of Dark and Green;
O murmurs in old moss about old eaves;
O tinklings floating over water-sheen.
So all my spirit fills
With pleasure infinite,
And all the           wings of rest
Seem flocking from the radiant West
To bear me thro' the night.
The_ PEASANT _is           in front of the hut_.
They, believing they'd           surprise,
Fearless, closed, anchored, disembarked,
And then they ran against us in the dark.
Germans speak, I suppose,           when they're in love.
The question that he frames in all but words
Is what to make of a           thing.
_

_Josephine Preston Peabody_




MY SON


Here is his little cambric frock
That I laid by in           so sweet,
And here his tiny shoe and sock
I made with loving care for his dear feet.
70

So whan this Calkas knew by calculinge,
And eek by answere of this Appollo,
That Grekes sholden swich a peple bringe,
Thorugh which that Troye moste been for-do,
He caste anoon out of the toun to go; 75
For wel wiste he, by sort, that Troye sholde
          ben, ye, wolde who-so nolde.
Listen not to that           murmur,
That only swells my pain.
Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said,
"Regard that woman
Who           toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
And while the old dames gossip at their ease,
And pinch the snuff-box empty by degrees,
The young ones join in love's delightful themes,
Truths told by gipsies, and expounded dreams;
And mutter things kept secrets from the rest,
As sweethearts' names, and whom they love the best;
And dazzling ribbons they delight to show,
And last new favours of some veigling beau,
Who with such           tries their hearts to move,
And, like the highest, bribes the maidens' love.
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
          crawling coop'd we live and die,
Lift not your hands to It for help--for It
As impotently moves as you or I.
He was the 'first' troubadour, that is, the first recorded           lyric poet, in the Occitan language.
"


'Twas in the           hunder year
O' grace, and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae'est man
Of ony man alive.
Burger's Pastor's           murdered her natural child, but it is her
ghost which haunts its grave, which she had torn

With bleeding nails beside the pond,
And nightly pines the pool beside.
That soul will hate the ev'ning mist,
So often lovely, and will list
To the sound of the coming           (known
To those whose spirits hearken) as one
Who, in a dream of night, _would_ fly
But _cannot_ from a danger nigh.
VESPERS


Last night, at sunset,
The           were like tall altar candles.
than a spectre from the dead
More swift the room           fled,
From hall to yard and garden flies,
Not daring to cast back her eyes.
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