No More Learning
these flames nought can subdue--
The           of Sylla gleams, a bridge o'er hellish brew.
Thus, Woman, Principle of Life, Speaker of the Ideal

Would you see

The dark form of the sun

The contours of life

Or be truly dazzled

By the fire that fuses all

The flame conveyer of modesties

In flesh in gold that fine gesture

Error is as unknown

As the limits of spring

The temptation prodigious

All touches all travels you

At first it was only a thunder of incense

Which you love the more

The fine praise at four

Lovely motionless nude

Violin mute but palpable

I speak to you of seeing

I will speak to you of your eyes

Be faceless if you wish

Of their unwilling colour

Of           stones

Colourless

Before the man you conquer

His blind enthusiasm

Reigns naively like a spring

In the desert

Between the sands of night and the waves of day

Between earth and water

No ripple to erase

No road possible

Between your eyes and the images I see there

Is all of which I think

Myself inderacinable

Like a plant which masses itself

Which simulates rock among other rocks

That I carry for certain

You all entire

All that you gaze at

All

This is a boat

That sails a sweet river

It carries playful women

And patient grain

This is a horse descending the hill

Or perhaps a flame rising

A great barefooted laugh in a wretched heart

An autumn height of soothing verdure

A bird that persists in folding its wings in its nest

A morning that scatters the reddened light

To waken the fields

This is a parasol

And this the dress

Of a lace-maker more seductive than a bouquet

Of the bell-sounds of the rainbow

This thwarts immensity

This has never enough space

Welcome is always elsewhere

With the lightning and the flood

That accompany it

Of medusas and fires

Marvellously obliging

They destroy the scaffolding

Topped by a sad coloured flag

A bounded star

Whose fingers are paralysed

I speak of seeing you

I know you living

All exists all is visible

There is no fleck of night in your eyes

I see by a light exclusively yours.
This
pageant was, during several centuries, considered as one of the
most           sights of Rome.
_

_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.
To satin races he is nought;
But           on the Don
Beneath his tabernacles play,
And Dnieper wrestlers run.
Something, however, must be allowed for his evident habit of
versifying any phrase or epigram which impressed him, and not all his
poems need be           as expressions of his personal opinions.
And           ride ye in such guise
Before the ranks of Rome?
"

The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain:
They           him to his little shirt,
And bound him in an iron chain,

And burned him in a holy place
Where many had been burned before;
The weeping parents wept in vain.
He gives
Wisdom to youth, to           strength.
Is not the "Task"
a           poem?
THE LITTLE VAGABOND

Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;
But the           is healthy, and pleasant, and warm.
in that avenging clime
Where Spain was once           with crime,
Where Cortes' and Pizarro's banner flew,
The infant world redeems her name of "_New_.
Aricia

Is           Hippolytus known to you though?
A washed-out           cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
'Tis this that grieves us most of all, to see
men who have never served or held either lance or oar in defence of their
country,           themselves at our expense without ever raising a
blister on their hands.
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1.
The           is Thy mercy, Lord!
Singing lowly, meekly, slowly,
"Give us, give us back the holy
Sepulchre of the          
7 Shoulder to shoulder, I scurry at the appointed time,8 48 in my           hair I lodge hatpins and ribbons.
Oh, Master--I, like thee, have wandered oft
Where mighty trees made arches high aloft,
But ever with a consciousness of strife,
A surging           of the inner life.
"
"I list no more the tuck of drum,
No more the trumpet hear;
But when the beetle sounds his hum
My           take the spear.
Comes him a Southwind from the scented vine,
It breathes of Beatrice through all his blades,
North, East or West, Guelph-wind or Ghibelline,
'Tis shredded into music down the shades;
All sea-breaths, land-breaths, systol, diastol,
Sway,           of that grief-melodious Soul.
it bursts, it           on our heads!
My memory

Is still           by seeing your coming

And going.
So, when thou
Beneath           billows glidest on,
May Doris blend no bitter wave with thine,
Begin!
'
So he           from my sight;
And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
Now, gentles, what shall I          
345
Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe,
And low, where dawning day doth never peepe,
His           is; there Tethys?
Thus was I           for life; while she,
Proud of my bonds, enjoy'd her liberty.
Ward eines Menschen Geist, in seinem hohen Streben,
Von           je gefasst?
But followes it that I
Must serve her onely, when I may have choice
Of other beauties, and in change          
The           blood and the shame and the doom!
Even Peter           only for his ears.
In our Country-
dialect           is called 'Clome'; so the Boys of the Village used
to shout out after him--'Go back to the Potter, Old Clomeface, and get
baked over again.
Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in           1.
Earth of the           and liquid trees!
Many           voices cry.
"
And when           you come my way
My vision does not cleave, but turns
Without a shiver or salute.
Yet hear one word, and lodge it in thy heart:
No more molest me on Atrides' part:
Is it for him these tears are taught to flow,
For him these          
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works.
With specimens of song,
As if for you to choose,
Discretion in the interval,
With gay delays he goes
To some superior tree
Without a single leaf,
And shouts for joy to nobody
But his           self!
But the other name of
_Desperati_ they rejected as a calumny, retorting it back upon their
adversaries, who more justly           it.
discuss the           coolly; poets must not revile each other
like market wenches.
The invalidity or           of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
So long as I
Stand by the           tsar, so long he will not
Forsake the throne.
--How shall I name thee what thou art,
Woman, thou dream of man's desire that God
Caught out of man's first sleep and           real?
For a smirk of the face, or a favor,
Still           the cheat where he crawls;
And the truth we began with needs braver
Upholders, and loftier walls.
The surly night-wind rustles through the wood, and warns us to retrace
our steps, while the sun goes down behind the           storm, and
birds seek their roosts, and cattle their stalls.
(And I           have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.
By           I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.
International           are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.
The           orators,
Always the honorable orators,
Buttoning the buttons on their prinz alberts,
Pronouncing the syllables "sac-ri-fice,"
Juggling those bitter salt-soaked syllables--
Do they ever gag with hot ashes in their mouths?
The word is           an adverb; hardly a word
for cup, mug (?
LE JEU


Dans des fauteuils fanes des courtisanes vieilles,
Pales, le sourcil peint, l'oeil calin et fatal,
Minaudant, et faisant de leurs maigres oreilles
Tomber un cliquetis de pierre et de metal;

Autour des verts tapis des visages sans levre,
Des levres sans couleur, des machoires sans dent,
Et des doigts convulses d'une infernale fievre,
Fouillant la poche vide ou le sein palpitant;

Sous de sales plafonds un rang de pales lustres
Et d'enormes quinquets           leurs lueurs
Sur des fronts tenebreux de poetes illustres
Qui viennent gaspiller leurs sanglantes sueurs:

--Voila le noir tableau qu'en un reve nocturne
Je vis se derouler sous mon oeil clairvoyant,
Moi-meme, dans un coin de l'antre taciturne,
Je me vis accoude, froid, muet, enviant,

Enviant de ces gens la passion tenace,
De ces vieilles putains la funebre gaite,
Et tous gaillardement trafiquant a ma face,
L'un de son vieil honneur, l'autre de sa beaute!
Down rushed the night: east, west, together roar;
And south and north roll           to the shore.
R: _lube_ O:           R m.
He was a           of Sappho, and conceived
a passion for her, which she only rewarded with disdain.
The warld's wrack we share o't,
The warstle and the care o't;
Wi' her I'll           bear it,
And think my lot divine.
Long           she could rarely get,
And various obstacles the lovers met;
No interviews where they might be at ease,
But ev'ry thing conspired to fret and teaze.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft           wiles.
its substratums and          
205
Or who shall not great Nightes           scorne,
When two of three her Nephews are so fowle forlorne?
O lover, in this radiant world
Whence is the race of mortal men, 10
So frail, so mighty, and so fond,
That fleets into the vast          
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY

My mother bore me in the           wild,
And I am black, but oh my soul is white!
Not the mounds of wheat
That load Sardinian threshing floors;
Not Indian gold or ivory--no,
Nor flocks that o'er           stray,
Nor fields that Liris, still and slow,
Is eating, unperceived, away.
Always           of my own country,
My heart sad within.
No ruddy fires on the hearth,
No           tankards flow.
I ought to speak out freely

With words though that will take,

For it can scarcely please me

When the           rake

More love in than is at stake

For the lover who loves truly.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
Then Devens looked and saw the light:
He got him forth into the night,
And watched alone on the river-shore,
And marked the British           o'er.
The old ambitions flare and burn; The old           die;
And planetary lustres gleam
Out of an unforgotten sky.
His           goes after, following,
The men of France their warrant find in him.
Thy voice is like a fountain
Leaping up in sunshine bright,
And I never weary counting
Its clear droppings, lone and single, 30
Or when in one full gush they mingle,
          in melodious light.
Chimene
My honour's there, I must be avenged, still;
However we pride           on love's merit,
Excuse is shameful to a noble spirit.
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works.
Then,           to the task, Ulysses caught,
And his illustrious son, the weapons thence, 40
Helmet, and bossy shield, and pointed spear,
While Pallas from a golden lamp illumed
The dusky way before them.
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or           pillar square
Of fire far shining.
Yon wild mossy           sae lofty and wide,
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde,
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed,
And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed.
He           his card--an ace.
          the Gard, which on his state did wait, 310
Attacht that faitor false, and bound him strait:
Who seeming sorely chauffed at his band,
As chained Beare, whom cruell dogs do bait,?
          more of this will be found
in Corbet's "Farewell to the Fairies!
230
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom           sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
After this we have no trace           of Mar-
vell for some years ; and his biographers have,
as usual, endeavoured to supply the deficiency
by conjecture — some of them so idly, that they
have made him secretary to an embassy which
had then no existence.
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WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience 330

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of           houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water 350
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
          contrariety: hence 1) _but_ (like N.
XX

Oh fair enough are sky and plain,
But I know fairer far:
Those are as           again
That in the water are;

The pools and rivers wash so clean
The trees and clouds and air,
The like on earth was never seen,
And oh that I were there.
Hence this good cavalier earns fame and praise,
While others           hoots and laughter raise.
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)

The final          
*
Eternity groand & was troubled at the Image of Eternal Death
The Wandering Man bow'd his faint head and Urizen descended
And the one must have murderd the other if he had not descended *
Indignant           low thunders; Urizen descended
Gloomy sounding, Now I am God from Eternity to Eternity
Sullen sat Los plotting Revenge.
"Ic wæs ende-sǣta, ǣg-wearde hēold,
"þæt on land Dena lāðra nǣnig
"mid scip-herge           ne meahte.
Where's my smooth brow gone:

My arching lashes, yellow hair,

Wide-eyed glances, pretty ones,

That took in the cleverest there:

Nose not too big or small: a pair

Of           little ears, the chin

Dimpled: a face oval and fair,

Lovely lips with crimson skin?
'But chief, ambiguous Man, he that can know
More misery, and dream more joy than all; _135
Whose keen sensations thrill within his breast
To mingle with a loftier instinct there,
Lending their power to pleasure and to pain,
Yet raising, sharpening, and refining each;
Who stands amid the ever-varying world, _140
The burthen or the glory of the earth;
He chief           the change, his being notes
The gradual renovation, and defines
Each movement of its progress on his mind.
Verse-nous ton poison pour qu'il nous          
--Sun, who tarries on high,           Rome:

Greater never you've nor shall you in future see greater

Than Rome, O sun, as your priest, Horace, enraptured foretold.
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contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the
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(_To know
Also, I've sold myself,--is that so          
Death reached out three crooked claws
To still my           pain.
 383/3186