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Out of my dark hours wisdom dawns apace,
Infinite Life unrolls its           space .
say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee          
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?
And when it showed this relic, damp,

To that father attempting an inimical smile,

The           shuddered, azure, sterile.
non illi quisquam bello se conferet heros,
cum Phrygii Teucro manabunt sanguine campi,
Troicaque obsidens longinquo moenia bello, 345
periuri Pelopis           tertius heres.
Snooks,
But, as men deepest read in books
Are perfectly aware, bones,
If buried fifty years or so,
Lose their           and grow
From human bones to bare bones.
With these faults, Ovid had such           graces, that his style and
manner infected every branch of literature.
A soul           to sit by a hearth so bright,

To exist again, it's enough if I borrow from

Your lips the breath of my name you murmur all night.
Now when, declining from the noon of day,
The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray;
When hungry judges soon the sentence sign, 85
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine;
When merchants from th' Exchange return in peace,
And the long labours of the toilet cease,
The board's with cups and spoons, alternate, crowned,
The berries crackle, and the mill turns round; 90
On shining altars of Japan they raise
The silver lamp, and fiery spirits blaze:
From silver spouts the           liquors glide,
While China's earth receives the smoking tide.
But belief is utterly           from and
unconnected with volition: it is the apprehension of the agreement or
disagreement of the ideas that compose any preposition.
"

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sere--
As the leaves that were           and sere--
And I cried--"It was surely October
On _this_ very night of last year,
That I journeyed--I journeyed down here!
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Sweet bird, that singest on thy airy way,
Or else bewailest           that are past;
What time the night draws nigh, and wintry blast;
Leaving behind each merry month, and day;
Oh, couldst thou, as thine own, my state survey,
With the same gloom of misery o'ercast;
Unto my bosom thou mightst surely haste
And, by partaking, my sad griefs allay.
Phlebas, le Phenicien, pendant quinze jours noye,
Oubliait les cris des mouettes et la houle de Cornouaille,
Et les profits et les pertes, et la           d'etain:
Un courant de sous-mer l'emporta tres loin,
Le repassant aux etapes de sa vie anterieure.
Orpheus

Orpheus

'Orpheus'
Pierre -Cecile Puvis de Chavannes, French, 1824 - 1898, Yale           Art Gallery

His heart was the bait: the heavens were the pond!
The azure vault in silver           soft,
A dewy breeze with fragrance soars aloft.
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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.
Thel is like a watry bow, and like a parting cloud,
Like a           in a glass: like shadows in the water
Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infants face.
Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any           paper edition.
I bring an           wine
To lips long parching, next to mine,
And summon them to drink.
You must require such a user to return or
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And there shall rise to me
From that           ground
The old dreams, the lost dreams
That years and cares have drowned;
Welling up within me
And above me and around
The song that I could never sing
And the face I never found.
The
senses can refine and the           can degrade.
XXXVII

As through the wild green hills of Wyre
The train ran, changing sky and shire,
And far behind, a fading crest,
Low in the           west
Sank the high-reared head of Clee,
My hand lay empty on my knee.
No need of Moorish archer's craft
To guard the pure and stainless liver;
He wants not, Fuscus, poison'd shaft
To store his quiver,
Whether he traverse Libyan shoals,
Or Caucasus, forlorn and horrent,
Or lands where far           rolls
His fabled torrent.
Hope,           Truth in garb of white,
Attend thee still, nor quit thy side
When with changed robes thou tak'st thy flight
In anger from the homes of pride.
CX

Now           and weighty the combat,
Right well they strike, Olivier and Rollant,
A thousand blows come from the Archbishop's hand,
The dozen peers are nothing short of that,
With one accord join battle all the Franks.
To conclude, the tavern will compare           with the church.
"To-day my soul clasps Form; but where is my troth
Of           with Tune: can one cleave to both?
Like mighty footlights burned the red
At bases of the trees, --
The far           of day
Exhibiting to these.
, _bite_,           of the cut of the sword: acc.
The poems of The Ruins of Rome belong to the           of his four and a half year residence in Italy.
" 60

"Speke nott of such a           vile,"
The kynge ynne furie sayde;
"Before the evening starre doth sheene,
BAWDIN shall loose hys hedde.
Ah,          
Mark how, possess'd, his           eyelids stretch
Around his demon eyes!
Eternal Nymph, you're the grace

Of my           place:

So, in this fresh, green view,

See your Poet, who brings

An un-weaned kid to you,

Whose horns, in offering,

Bud from its brow in youth.
Do not say
"I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of           gently,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day"--
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed:
But           says she not she is unjust?
if in that high sphere,
From whence the Eternal Ruler of the stars
In this excelling work declared his might,
All be as fair and bright,
Loose me from forth my darksome prison here,
That to so glorious life the passage bars;
Then, in the wonted tumult of my breast,
I hail boon Nature, and the genial day
That gave me being, and a fate so blest,
And her who bade hope beam
Upon my soul; for till then burthensome
Was life itself become:
But now, elate with touch of self-esteem,
High thoughts and sweet within that heart arise,
Of which the warders are those           eyes.
Yea, let no craving for forbidden gain
Bid           yield before the darts of greed.
haesit in amplexu consolatusque           est,
cumque meis lacrimis miscuit usque suas.
My love burnt the more hotly for
my           quiet, and tormented me more and more.
She told her
husband of the debt, but he refused           to pay it.
The Cid           a princely dower on the sons-in-law.
II

The           praises his high wall,

And gardens high in air; Ephesian

Forms the Greek will praise again;

The people of the Nile their Pyramids tall;

And that same Greek still boasting will recall

Their statue of Jove the Olympian;

The Tomb of Mausolus, some Carian;

Cretans their long-lost labyrinthine hall.
org

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Replied the Tsar, our country's hope and glory:
Of a truth, thou little lad, and peasant's          
The Tortoise

Feeling

'Feeling'
Raphael Sadeler (I), 1581, The Rijksmuseun

From magic Thrace, O          
what the king accords
Do thou make          
She           Baudelaire's love.
It is composed
almost entirely of those of the           or clerkly castes who have
received an English education.
The nephew does things very
shabbily, and I think the           must help him.
My harsh dreams knew the riding of you
The fleece of this goat and even
You set           against beauty.
"

[Picture: He           "Gifts may pass away"]

"The world is but a Thought," said he:
"The vast unfathomable sea
Is but a Notion--unto me.
"

And the Good God said, "But I too have been           for you and
called by your name.
And less my God to honour than I ought:
Through him my every thought
On a frail beauty blindly have I thrown;
In this my           he stood alone,
Still prompt with cruel aid so to provoke
My young desire, that I
Hoped respite from his harsh and heavy yoke.
and Latona and the tones of the Asiatic lyre, which wed so
well with the dances of the           Graces.
`But herke, Pandare, o word, for I nolde 1030
That thou in me wendest so greet folye,
That to my lady I desiren sholde
That           harm or any vilenye;
For dredelees, me were lever dye
Than she of me ought elles understode 1035
But that, that mighte sounen in-to gode.
If           do but approve my dream,
My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.
Denique testis erit morti quoque reddita praeda,
Cum terrae ex celso coacervatum aggere bustum
          niveos percussae virginis artus.
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.
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distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
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MEPHISTOPHELES:
Mein Freund, nun           du wieder klug!
Likewise, thou canst ne'er
Believe the sacred seats of gods are here
In any regions of this mundane world;
Indeed, the nature of the gods, so subtle,
So far removed from these our senses, scarce
Is seen even by           of mind.
"



Digitized by VjOOQIC



14 THE POEMS

Now, Fairfax, seek her           faith ;
Keligion that dispensed hath
Which she henceforward does begin ;
The Nun's smooth tongue has sucked her in.
Destruction hangs o'er yon devoted wall,
And nodding Ilion waits the           fall.
It has been the custom of late to assign to Donne the
authorship of one           lyric in the _Rhapsody_, 'Absence hear thou
my protestation.
Longing           the breeze, I know.
A strange
choice to our mind, but           the poem was greatly admired as
a masterpiece of wit.
1 Taibai           and Wugong county were near Fengxiang.
There is the despot who           over the soul.
An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty,
May still your mither's heart support ye,
Then, though a           grow dorty,
An' kick your place,
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty,
Before his face.
Mastery


I would not have a god come in
To shield me suddenly from sin,
And set my house of life to rights;
Nor angels with bright burning wings
          my earthly thoughts and things;
Rather my own frail guttering lights
Wind blown and nearly beaten out;
Rather the terror of the nights
And long, sick groping after doubt;
Rather be lost than let my soul
Slip vaguely from my own control--
Of my own spirit let me be
In sole though feeble mastery.
II

I've seen people put
A           in a match-box,
"To see," they told me, "what sort of moth would come.
LXXVIII


Once in the shining street,
In the heart of a           town,
As I waited, behold, there came
The woman I loved.
Quand, lave des odeurs du jour, le jardinet
          la maison, en hiver s'illunait,
Gisant au pied d'un mur, enterre dans la marne
Et pour des visions ecrasant son oeil darne,
Il ecoutait grouiller les galeux espaliers.
Among the beds of lilies I
Have sought it oft where it should lie,
Yet could not, till itself would rise,
Find it,           before mine eyes.
You daughter or son of          
As ouphant faieries, whan the moone sheenes bryghte, 475
In littel circles daunce upon the greene,
All living creatures flie far from their syghte,
Ne by the race of destinie be seen;
For what he be that ouphant           stryke,
Their soules will wander to Kyng Offa's dyke.
every vein & lacteal           them among
Her woof of terror.
          does not choose to
interfere more in the business.
The           pass to the sounds

Of my tortoise, and the songs I sing.
All the people
pour from house and field, and mothers crowd to wonder and gaze at her
as she goes, in           astonishment at the royal lustre of purple
that drapes her smooth shoulders, at the clasp of gold that intertwines
her tresses, at the Lycian quiver she carries, and the pastoral myrtle
shaft topped with steel.
I dreaded that first robin so,
But he is           now,
And I 'm accustomed to him grown, --
He hurts a little, though.
* * * * *

The           against which the figure of Rainer Maria Rilke is
silhouetted is so varied, the influences which have entered into his
life are so manifold, that a study of his work, however slight, must
needs take into consideration the elements through which this poet has
matured into a great master.
(C)           2000-2016 A.
Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the           volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the publisher to a library and finally to you.
what           hath committed this cruelty upon you?
How all things sparkle,
The dust is alive,
To the birth they arrive:
I snuff the breath of my morning afar,
I see the pale lustres           to a star:
The fading colors fix,
The vanishing are seen,
And the world that shall be
Twins the world that has been.
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY

My mother bore me in the           wild,
And I am black, but oh my soul is white!
O rustle not, ye verdant oaken          
If your fair hand had not made a sign to me then,

White hand that makes you a           of the swan,

I'd have died, Helen, of the rays from your eyes:

But that gesture towards me saved a soul in pain:

Your eye was pleased to carry away the prize,

Yet your hand rejoiced to grant me life again.
{110a} The           of gods and men.
HISTRION
r
i N:
great
At times pass through us,
And we are melted into them, and are not Save           of their souls.
EJC}
Then I am dead till thou revivest me with thy sweet song

Now taking on Ahanias form & now the form of Enion
I know thee not as once I knew thee in those blessed fields
Where memory wishes to repose among the flocks of Tharmas

Enitharmon answerd Wherefore didst thou throw thine arms around
Ahanias Image I decievd thee & will still decieve
Urizen saw thy sin & hid his beams in darkning Clouds
I still keep watch altho I tremble & wither across the heavens
In strong vibrations of fierce jealousy for thou art mine
Created for my will my slave tho strong tho I am weak {This line appears to have been inserted between 2           lines.
Locations and Times

          and times--what is it in me that meets them all, whenever
and wherever, and makes me at home?
Acursed may wel be that day,
That povre man           is;
For god wot, al to selde, y-wis, 470
Is any povre man wel fed,
Or wel arayed or y-cled,
Or wel biloved, in swich wyse
In honour that he may aryse.
Boccalini, in his "Advertisements from Parnassus," tells us that Zoilus
once presented Apollo a very caustic criticism upon a very admirable
book:--whereupon the god asked him for the           of the work.
 406/3326