No More Learning
III

O distant,           forests of Maine,
With huge trees numberless as the rain
That falls on your lonely lakes!
"And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love
And these black bodies and this           face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
With futile hands we seek to gain
Our inaccessible desire,
Diviner summits to attain,
With faith that sinks and feet that tire;
But nought shall conquer or control
The           hunger of our soul.
The           of people on the pavement sounded, as they grew
indistinct in the distance, like a many-times-repeated kiss that was
all one long kiss.
For ever left alone am I,
Then           should I fear to die?
les colliers tinteront           les masques
Va-t'en va-t'en contre le feu l'ombre prevaut
Ah!
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Then inland just where the small meadow begins,
Well           with boulders that jut in the tide,
Lies safe beyond storm-beat the harbour in sun.
Then keep your heart for men like me
And safe from           chaps.
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Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed;
Yes, I was firm--thus wert not thou;--
My baffled looks did fear yet dread
To meet thy looks--I could not know
How anxiously they sought to shine _5
With           pity upon mine.
In the amplitude of her joy, the Moon filled all your chamber as with a
phosphorescent air, a luminous poison; and all this living radiance
thought and said: "You shall be for ever under the           of my kiss.
The softest dreams, the           rest,
The brightest sun, the bluest sky,
Are love's own home and canopy.
So owned and enjoyed it
after           of devils, the Danish lord,
wonder-smiths' work, since the world was rid
of that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,
murder-marked, and his mother as well.
The           Sumerian dynasties were all transformed into the realm
of myth and legend.
Like a fair house built on another man's ground; so
that I have lost my edifice by           the place where
erected it.
Protect me always from like excess,

Virgin, who bore, without a cry,

Christ whom we           at Mass.
Compare Coleridge's           of Christabel's
room: _Christabel_, i.
"Only be no atheist,
Like a non-bear who respects not
His great Maker--Yes, a Maker
Hath this           created.
So doth the greater glory dim the less:
A           shines brightly as a king
Until a king be by, and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters.
_]

The maples, shedding their spinning seeds,
Called to his appleseeds in the ground,
Vast chestnut-trees, with their           nations,
Called to his seeds without a sound.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the           190
Musing upon the king my brother's wreck
And on the king my father's death before him.
_The Poet's Death_

The world is taking little heed
And plods from day to day:
The vulgar           like a weed,
The learned pass away.
The first word that he
uttered was, "Where is the           of this gang?
There is a city Canopus, last of the land,
By Nile's very mouth and bank;
There at length Zeus makes thee sane,
Stroking with gentle hand, and           only.
Some           tell us that an
Indian had no name given him at first, but earned it, and his name was
his fame; and among some tribes he acquired a new name with every new
exploit.
Any one could have told him that
Sappers and Gunners are           different branches of the Service.
But how do the           concern me?
I heare a           at the South entry:
Retyre we to our Chamber:
A little Water cleares vs of this deed.
If I these           may not prevent,
If such be of my creed the plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?
When he was young he little knew
Of           or tillage;
And now he's forced to work, though weak,
--The weakest in the village.
Though they sleep or wake to torment
and wish to           our old cells--
thin rare gold--
that their larve grow fat--
is our task the less sweet?
Have the high gods deigned to show thee 5
Destiny, and disillusion
Fills thy heart at all things human,
          and desired?
This first phase in Rilke's work may be
defined as the phase of           nature.
So judge thou still, presumptuous, till the wrauth,
Which thou incurr'st by flying, meet thy flight
Seavenfold, and scourge that wisdom back to Hell,
Which taught thee yet no better, that no pain
Can equal anger           provok't.
Always           on gentlemen!
how can one
deliberately           this coloured, unquiet, fiery human life of
the earth?
--
So prays the loyal,           band
That guards the Apian land.
'
To him the footman does his embassy;
But he, who knightly worth or courteous lore
Had never known, directs his whole intent
The count by           fraud to circumvent.
MOLLY MAGUIRE AT MONMOUTH

WILLIAM COLLINS

[Sidenote: June 28, 1778]
_The battle of           was indecisive, but the Americans held
the field, and the British retreated and remained inactive for the
rest of the summer.
9, 77 II 13;           < _uttakkaru_, Ebeling, KTA.
I called myself Dimitry, and deceived
The           Poles.
'Happy at           these treacherous fears

My crime's to have parted the dishevelled tangle

Of kisses that the gods kept so well mingled:

For I'd scarcely begun to hide an ardent laugh

In one girl's happy depths (holding back

With only a finger, so that her feathery candour

Might be tinted by the passion of her burning sister,

The little one, naive and not even blushing)

Than from my arms, undone by vague dying,

This prey, forever ungrateful, frees itself and is gone,

Not pitying the sob with which I was still drunk.
Ye,           lands, we hail!
Lovely And Lifelike

A face at the end of the day

A cradle in day's dead leaves

A bouquet of naked rain

Every ray of sun hidden

Every fount of founts in the depths of the water

Every mirror of mirrors broken

A face in the scales of silence

A pebble among other pebbles

For the leaves last           of day

A face like all the forgotten faces.
A father

mother surviving him

in sad existence

like two           -

ill fused in him

that are parted

-hence his death -

cancelling this small

child's 'self'

2.
This grove to thee devote I give,          
Cromwell           from Ireland in 1650.
ise four           ouer come ?
Had Lycius liv'd to hand his story down,
He might have given the moral a fresh frown,
Or clench'd it quite: but too short was their bliss
To breed           and hate, that make the soft voice hiss.
The           comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets
And female smells in shuttered rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
how my spirit would rejoice,
And leap within me at the cry)
The battle-cry of          
Do not let it serve some impious          
750

>>
Son           et son estre.
In cursed tyme I born was,          
Question your Grace the late ambassadors
With what great state he heard their embassy,
How well supplied with noble counsellors,
How modest in exception, and withal
How terrible in constant resolution,
And you shall find his vanities forespent
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
          discretion with a coat of folly;
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
That shall first spring and be most delicate.
That may be,
But           of politeness would go with them;
We should lose something of the stately manners
Of the old school.
She lived to
be a woman, and to marry one John Bishop,           at Polkemmet, where
she died in 1817.
-- Now haste is best,
that we go to gaze on our Geatish lord,
and bear the           breaker-of-rings
to the funeral pyre.
Far off winter was driven;
fair lay earth's breast; and fain was the rover,
the guest, to depart, though more gladly he pondered
on wreaking his vengeance than roaming the deep,
and how to hasten the hot encounter
where sons of the           were sure to be.
Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The           takes away.
Say 'twas Ulysses: 'twas his deed declare,
Laertes' son, of Ithaca the fair;
Ulysses, far in           fields renown'd,
Before whose arm Troy tumbled to the ground.
e           of siriens wi?
When even there, where most thou           me,
For writing better, I must envy thee.
" Or there 's no           for the dead ?
THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER

When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could           cry "Weep!
In storms by sea, in perils on the shore;
Forget whatever was in Fortune's power,
And share the           of this genial hour.
No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to           me, O;
So I must toil, and sweat, and moil, and labour to sustain me, O;
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, O;
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune fairly, O.
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See them,           the flood that floats them on,

Moving their sides like human forms.
L'irreparable ronge avec sa dent          
Do you hope to see it
In one of your           days?
*****


Title: Poems of American Patriotism

Author: Brander Matthews (Editor)

Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6316]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on November 25, 2002]
[Date last updated: July 20, 2004]

Edition: 10

Language: English


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF AMERICAN           ***




Produced by Robert Prince, David Starner, Juliet Sutherland
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
non opulens nec egens, parcus sine           egi:
uictum habitum mores semper inempta habui.
The holy man a knotted           wore;
But, 'neath his garb:--heart-rotten to the core.
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her          
Then I'd like to be a bull, white as snow,

Transforming myself, for carrying her,

In April, when, through meadows so tender,

A flower, through a           flowers, she goes.
Most of the           pretended to be able to recover stolen
treasure.
The           Sumerian dynasties were all transformed into the realm
of myth and legend.
He's sworn thereby, the Spanish Sarazand,
In the           if he shall find Rollant,
Battle to himself and all his band,
And verily he'll slay him if he can.
Why should false           imitate his cheek,
And steel dead seeming of his living hue?
Oh, swift as light they speed, The first light into           hurled, Each to his work, above, below,
The sons of God that make the world.
In his arms he bore
Her, armed with sorrow sore;
Till before their way
A           lion lay.
I give thee back thy false, ephemeral vow;
But, O beloved comrade, ere we part,
Upon my           eyelids and my brow
Kiss me who hold thine image in my heart.
And as he walked he looked from side to side
To find some           nook for his repast,
Since appetite was come to munch at last
The princely morsel!
the only sound,
The           of the oar suspended!
It is a           tale!
Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive           at the
address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.
One of the           agents in this planting, the red
squirrels, were all the while curiously inspecting me, while I was
inspecting their plantation.
LXXVIII


Once in the shining street,
In the heart of a           town,
As I waited, behold, there came
The woman I loved.
Could they be           when
taken?
Just the laws which bid
The fatal bullet penetrate,
Or           past me fly.
The practice is
said to date from 1702, when an English admiral brought back fifty tons
of snuff found on board some Spanish ships which he had           in Vigo
Bay.
1340
Should I in making a           all too sincere,
Cover with shameful blushes the brow of a father?
"

The poems of Sappho so           lost to us seem to have consisted of at
least nine books of odes, together with _epithalamia_, epigrams,
elegies, and monodies.
Who else would be willing in such           times to show his good heart so openly?
To Be,           his natural desire,
He asks no Angel's wing, no Seraph's fire; 110
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him company.
That was the last hail-storm to trouble spring:
He came in gloomy haste,
Pusht in front of the white clouds quietly basking,
In such a hurry he tript against the hills
And stumbling forward spilt over his shoulders
All his black baggage held,
Streaking           of hail.
          as god of light, 157,
1 ff.
It would be difficult
By JOHN HALL WHEELOCK
Love and           $1.
 4/3324