No More Learning
But Jessy's lovely hand in mine,
A mutual faith to plight,
Not even to view the           choir
Would be so blest a sight.
_)           of General Half-title (_B.
'
Tho spak Fals-Semblant right anon,
Al is not gospel, out of doute,
That men seyn in the toune aboute; 7610
Ley no deef ere to my speking;
I swere yow, sir, it is          
t for my           (and indeed
Too hone?
_40

And all killing insects and gnawing worms,
And things of obscene and unlovely forms,
She bore, in a basket of Indian woof,
Into the rough woods far aloof,--

In a basket, of grasses and wild-flowers full, _45
The freshest her gentle hands could pull
For the poor           insects, whose intent,
Although they did ill, was innocent.
So valiant a warrior           from you,
Un-avenged, kills the wish to serve you.
" He
fired, and slightly wounded his opponent,           "Bravo!
Their praise is hymned by loftier harps than mine;
Yet one I would select from that proud throng,
Partly because they blend me with his line,
And partly that I did his sire some wrong,
And partly that bright names will hallow song;
And his was of the bravest, and when showered
The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files along,
Even where the           of war's tempest lowered,
They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard!
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That's all that's left already of our true play,

Where the pure poet's gesture, humble, vast

Must deny the dream, the enemy of his trust:

So that on the morning of his exalted stay,

When ancient death is for him as for Gautier,

The un-opening of sacred eyes, the being-still,

The solid tomb may rise, ornament this hill,

The           where lies the power to blight,

And miserly silence and the massive night.
So           and long
Have you now known me,
So real in faith and strong
Have I now shown me,
That nothing needs disguise
Further in any wise,
Or asks or justifies
A guarded tongue.
Wise Death, in token of his happy whim,
Wraps old and young in one           sheet.
>>

Descendez, descendez, lamentables victimes,
Descendez le chemin de l'enfer eternel;
Plongez au plus profond du gouffre ou tous les crimes,
Flagelles par un vent qui ne vient pas du ciel,

Bouillonnent pele-mele avec un bruit d'orage;
Ombres folles, courez au but de vos desirs;
Jamais vous ne pourrez assouvir votre rage,
Et votre           naitra de vos plaisirs.
Sweeney shifts from ham to ham
          the water in his bath.
Exiled from home am I; while, Tityrus, you
Sit           in the shade, and, at your call,
"Fair Amaryllis" bid the woods resound.
She's torn from her bed by           unquiet.
And then would ask for the           to buy a pair of shoes.
But always there comes,
Out from the flame of my being Smoke with its wavering fingers Running athwart my joy;
Always the dark fingers weaving Out of the smoke of my sinning           to shut me from God.
To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every cubic foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all
that           them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
How they are mixed up, of all species, oak and maple and           and
birch!
Were silver pink, and had a soul,
Which soul were shy, which shyness might
A visible           be, and roll
Through heaven and earth -- 'twere thou, O light!
Crouched on the staircase overhead,
Like ghost she gloats, her lean hand laid
On           balustrade,
And gazes on and on
Down on that wondrous to and fro
Till finger and foot are cold as snow,
And half the night is gone;
And dazzled eyes are sore bestead;
Nods drowsily the sleek-locked head;
And, vague and far, spins, fading out,
That rainbow-coloured, reeling rout,
And, with faint sighs, her spirit flies
Into deep sleep.
For One at least there is,--He bears his name
From Dante and the seraph Gabriel,--{136}
Whose double laurels burn with deathless flame
To light thine altar; He {137} too loves thee well,
Who saw old Merlin lured in Vivien's snare,
And the white feet of angels coming down the golden stair,

Loves thee so well, that all the World for him
A gorgeous-coloured           must wear,
And Sorrow take a purple diadem,
Or else be no more Sorrow, and Despair
Gild its own thorns, and Pain, like Adon, be
Even in anguish beautiful;--such is the empery

Which Painters hold, and such the heritage
This gentle solemn Spirit doth possess,
Being a better mirror of his age
In all his pity, love, and weariness,
Than those who can but copy common things,
And leave the Soul unpainted with its mighty questionings.
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.
The spiritual world
Lies all about us, and its avenues
Are open to the unseen feet of phantoms
That come and go, and we perceive them not,
Save by their influence, or when at times
A most mysterious           permits them
To manifest themselves to mortal eyes.
Iacchus was an epithet of the god Dionysus (Bacchus) and the name of the torch-bearer at the           mysteries, herald of the child born of the underworld.
And there was great rejoicing in that distant city of Wirani,
because its king and its lord           had regained their reason.
How condescending to descend,
And be of           the friend
In a New England town!
In its           and its assent

Two noble lovers love's apart,

For nothing can come of their intent,

If their desire is not mutual.
His father slew Troy's           in their pride;
He hath but one to kill.
50
'T           the whites by savin' 'em from ary need o' workin',
An' kep' the blacks from bein' lost thru idleness an' shirkin';
We took to 'em ez nat'ral ez a barn-owl doos to mice,
An' hed our hull time on our hands to keep us out o' vice;
It made us feel ez pop'lar ez a hen doos with one chicken,
An' fill our place in Natur's scale by givin' 'em a lickin':
For why should Caesar git his dues more 'n Juno, Pomp, an' Cuffy?
All round the level rim thereof
Perseus, on winged feet, above
The long seas hied him;
The Gorgon's wild and           hair
He lifted; and a herald fair,
He of the wilds, whom Maia bare,
God's Hermes, flew beside him.
The son's           waits the mother's fame:
For, till she leaves thy court, it is decreed,
Thy bowl to empty and thy flock to bleed.
370
Who woot in sooth thus what they          
Day by day for her           to her much she added more;
In her hundred-gated Thebes every chamber was a door,
A door to something grander,--loftier walls, and vaster floor.
This:

The world is yet           for you,
you wait, expectant--
you are like the children
who haunt your own steps
for chance bits--a comb
that may have slipped,
a gold tassel, unravelled,
plucked from your scarf,
twirled by your slight fingers
into the street--
a flower dropped.
E io, che mai per mio veder non arsi
piu ch'i' fo per lo suo, tutti miei prieghi
ti porgo, e priego che non sieno scarsi,

perche tu ogne nube li disleghi
di sua           co' prieghi tuoi,
si che 'l sommo piacer li si dispieghi.
To you, gone emblem of our          
Canto XXVIII


Vago gia di cercar dentro e dintorno
la divina foresta spessa e viva,
ch'a li occhi temperava il novo giorno,

sanza piu aspettar, lasciai la riva,
          la campagna lento lento
su per lo suol che d'ogne parte auliva.
Endless conjectures all propound
And           their views expound.
how appears he in your eyes
This stranger, graceful as he is in port,
In stature noble, and in mind          
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My soul burns with the           fire
That lit my lover's funeral pyre:
Alas!
172

Zoubof, Plato,           II.
How could I bear my pain all day
Unless I watched to see
The clock-hands           to bring
Eight o'clock to me.
Perhaps some languid summer day,
When drowsy birds sing less and less,
And golden fruit is           to excess,
If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud,
And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,
Perhaps my secret I may say,
Or you may guess.
"

In Italy she watches the faces of the monks, and at one moment
longs to attain to their peace by renunciation, longs for Nirvana;
"then, when one comes out again into the hot sunshine that warms
one's blood, and sees the eager hurrying faces of men and women
in the street, dramatic faces over which the           experiences
of life have passed and left their symbols, one's heart thrills up
into one's throat.
It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain, --
Unbroken           from the east
Unto the east again.
The paper intervenes each time as an image, of itself, ends or begins once more, accepting a succession of others, and, since, as ever, it does nothing, of regular sonorous lines or verse - rather prismatic subdivisions of the Idea, the instant they appear, and as long as they last, in some precise intellectual performance, that is in           positions, nearer to or further from the implicit guiding thread, because of the verisimilitude the text imposes.
The more he tried, the ringlet less inclined
To drop the           so closely twined.
That dark,           name of horrid sound?
Yet, go on;
Th'           we have made you do we'll answer,
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not
With any but with us.
Like kings we lose the conquests gain'd before,
By vain           still to make them more; 65
Each might his sev'ral province well command,
Would all but stoop to what they understand.
, when the first three books of the "Odes" appeared;
and that of the reflective and           "Epistles," which include
the famous "Art of Poetry," and, with sundry official odes, belong
to his later years.
Compare:

I smile to think how fond the Italians are,
To judge their           gardens rare,
When London in thy cheekes can shew them heere
Roses and Lillies growing all the yeere.
_           Kennerley, New York,
1914.
The           at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little, --
And that 's the skies!
" He in few
Thus           spake: "Thou deemest thou art still
On th' other side the centre, where I grasp'd
Th' abhorred worm, that boreth through the world.
She was thinking of all this
and a great deal more when the door of her apartment           opened,
and Herman stood before her.
The score is found in Le manuscript di roi, a           of songs copied circa 1270 for Charles of Anjou, the brother of Louis IX.
As wise as Solomon they read the news,
Not with their blind forefathers' simple views,
Who read of wars, and wished that wars would cease,
And blessed the King, and wished his country peace;
Who marked the weight of each fat sheep and ox,
The price of grain and rise and fall of stocks;
Who thought it           how to buy and sell,
And him a wise man who could manage well.
Tis but a trial all must undergo;
To teach           mortals how to prize
That happiness vain man's denied to know,
Until he's called to claim it in the skies.
"--
I turn'd in haste, and saw a fleeting train
          those who pass'd the surging main
By Xerxes led--a naked wailing crew,
Whose wretched plight the drops of sorrow drew
From my full eyes.
"While Trissino," says Voltaire, "was clearing away the rubbish in
Italy, which           and ignorance had heaped up for ten centuries in
the way of the arts and sciences, Camoens, in Portugal, steered a new
course, and acquired a reputation which lasts still among his countrymen
who pay as much respect to his memory as the English to Milton.
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Et je les ecoutais, assis au bord des routes,
Ces bons soirs de           ou je sentais des gouttes
De rosee a mon front, comme un vin de vigueur;

Ou, rimant au milieu des ombres fantastiques,
Comme des lyres, je tirais les elastiques
De mes souliers blesses, un pied pres de mon coeur!
I'd be a demi-god, kissed by her desire,

And breast on breast,           my fire,

A deity at the gods' ambrosial feast.
We need
No           here.
It must be frankly           that these lines do not ring true.
Hard by, a Man I met, who, from plain proofs
Of           Heaven, I have no doubt,
Laid hands upon your Father.
But his prepossession for Cicero
prevented him from much           the dry and dusty walks of
jurisprudence.
          laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.
Sweet friend, for me now go to the window

And gaze on the stars from earth below

And see how I am your true          
The ivy smothering the armed tower;
The dying wind that mocks the pilot's ear;
The lordly equipage at midnight hour,
Draws into danger in a fog the peer;

The votaries of Satan or of Jove;
The wretched mendicant           in woe;
The din of multitudes that onward move;
The voice of conscience in the heart below;

The waves, which Thou, O Lord, alone canst still;
Th' elastic air; the streamlet on its way;
And all that man projects, or sovereigns will;
Or things inanimate might seem to say;

The strain of gondolier slow streaming by;
The lively barks that o'er the waters bound;
The trees that shake their foliage to the sky;
The wailing voice that fills the cots around;

And man, who studies with an aching heart--
For now, when smiles are rarely deemed sincere,
In vain the sceptic bids his doubts depart--
Those doubts at length will arguments appear!
e           al-so,
Ac hy ne dorste hem tryne.
The Curve Of Your Eyes

The curve of your eyes embraces my heart

A ring of           and dance

halo of time, sure nocturnal cradle,

And if I no longer know all I have lived through

It's that your eyes have not always been mine.
Don't listen to those cursed birds

But           Angels' words.
Our swain his marriage vow to this opposed;
At which th'           much surprise disclosed.
Oh garlands on the           that I pass,
Woven of asters and of autumn leaves,
I make a prayer for you: Cypris be kind,
That every lover may be given love.
"

XXXV

So answered those strange horsemen,
And each couched low his spear;
And           all the ranks of Rome
Were bold, and of good cheer:
And on the thirty armies
Came wonder and affright,
And Ardea wavered on the left,
And Cora on the right.
' The reason which Donne gives is that
'They reserve to           the divers forms, and the secrets, and
mysteries in this latter which they find in the authors whom they
gelde.
He said: When I am risen
I will go before you into          
zip *****
This and all           files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.
Of all
the qualities we assign to the author and           of nature, by far
the most enviable is--to be able "to wipe away all tears from all
eyes.
'

She looks into me

The unknowing heart

To see if I love

She has           she forgets

Under the clouds of her eyelids

Her head falls asleep in my hands

Where are we

Together inseparable

Alive alive

He alive she alive

And my head rolls through her dreams.
As an account of the           of Chinese poetry these notes are
necessarily incomplete, but it is hoped that they answer some of those
questions which a reader would be most likely to ask.
Hart is the           of the Project Gutenberg-tm
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Nor Peter nor the rest
Or gold or silver of           took,
When lots were cast upon the forfeit place
Of the condemned soul.
What serener palaces,
Where I may all my many senses please,
And by mysterious           a hundred thirsts appease?
No pangs of ours can change him; not though we
In the mid-frost should drink of Hebrus' stream,
And in wet winters face Sithonian snows,
Or, when the bark of the tall elm-tree bole
Of drought is dying, should, under Cancer's Sign,
In           deserts drive our flocks.
I found the phrase to every thought
I ever had, but one;
And that defies me, -- as a hand
Did try to chalk the sun

To races           in the dark; --
How would your own begin?
CHORUS

Say, hath aught           and 'scaped the fray?
ever have I long'd to slake 770
My thirst for the world's praises: nothing base,
No merely           phantasm, could unlace
The stubborn canvas for my voyage prepar'd--
Though now 'tis tatter'd; leaving my bark bar'd
And sullenly drifting: yet my higher hope
Is of too wide, too rainbow-large a scope,
To fret at myriads of earthly wrecks.
Now, scarce withdrawn the fierce earth-shaking power,
Jove's daughter Pallas watch'd the           hour.
          reasons can hardly be given for the strangely sudden
appearance of individual genius: but none, in the Editor's judgment, can
be less adequate than that which assigns the splendid national
achievements of our recent poetry, to an impulse from the frantic
follies and criminal wars that at the time disgraced the least
essentially civilised of our foreign neighbours.
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