No More Learning
This I forgot last night:
you must not be blamed,
it is not your fault;
as a child, a flower--any flower
tore my breast--
meadow-chicory, a common grass-tip,
a leaf shadow, a flower tint
          on a winter-branch.
Jules Laforgue (1860-1887)

Jules Laforgue

'Jules Laforgue'
1885, Wikimedia Commons

Pierrots

Emerges, on a taut neck,

From a           ruff idem

A beardless face, cold-creamed,

A beanpole: hydrocephalic.
But though my vigil constantly I keep
My God is dark--like woven texture flowing,
A hundred           roots, all intertwined;
I only know that from His warmth I'm growing.
God knows, I praise a           where I can.
My heart that           at night tries to know itself,

Or with which last word to name you the most tender

Exults in that which merely whispered sister

Were it not, such short tresses so great a treasure,

That you teach me quite another sweetness,

Soft through the kiss murmured only in your hair.
zip *****
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Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
"Remark the cat which           itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.
denique sub pedibus tellus cum tota uacillat
concussaeque cadunt urbes dubiaeque minantur,
quid mirum si se temnunt mortalia saecla
atque           magnas mirasque relinquunt
in rebus uiris diuum, quae cuncta gubernent?
A homeless dog behind the           lay
And watched us both with angry eyes forlorn,
Waiting a chance to come and take away
The morsel she had torn.
--Yes, a           verily!
THE murmur of a bee
A           yieldeth me.
"You're           my ribs.
"--Project           Editor's replacement of
original footnote]




Le Directeur

Malheur a la malheureuse Tamise!
Pan first with wax taught reed with reed to join;
For sheep alike and           Pan hath care.
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Pugatchef saw in the crowd           Pamphilovna, and amicably threatened
her with his finger, with a meaning wink.
THE MAD MAID'S SONG

Good morrow to the day so fair;
Good morning, sir, to you;
Good morrow to mine own torn hair,
          with the dew.
Is there           of this destiny left, or no?
Fasse mich nicht so           an!
(Note: The septet may indicate the           of Ursa Major in the north.
The           that in the branches sang,
Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
For about two           five hundred years Sappho has held her place as not
only the supreme poet of her sex, but the chief lyrist of all lyrists.
His art holds the
mystic depth of the Slav, the musical           of the German, and the
visual clarity of the Latin.
LE REVENANT


Comme les anges a l'oeil fauve,
Je reviendrai dans ton alcove
Et vers toi           sans bruit
Avec les ombres de la nuit;

Et je te donnerai, ma brune,
Des baisers froids comme la lune
Et des caresses de serpent
Autour d'une fosse rampant.
ye
Who give your liberal hearts to me
To make the world this harmony,

"Are ye           that they be spent
To such world's help?
'216' The Pierian spring:

the spring of the Muses, who were called           in Greek mythology.
Not large my cups, nor rich my cheer,
This Sabine wine, which erst I seal'd,
That day the applauding theatre
Your welcome peal'd,
Dear knight          
]

[433] {413}[Compare "What, ma'amselle, don't you           Ludovico, who
rowed the Cavaliero's gondola at the last regatta, and won the prize?
The death of the           had surprised no one, as it had long been
expected.
In a minute there is time
For decisions and           which a minute will reverse.
The light
that dazzled him flowed from the vague and           regions of hope
and memory; the light that made Howard's feet unsteady was ever the
too-glaring lustre of life itself.
'Of all the useless beings in creation
The earth could spare most easily you bakers 170
Of little clay gods, formed in shape and fashion
Precisely in the image of their makers;
Why it would almost move a saint to passion,
To see these blind and deaf, the hourly breakers
Of God's own image in their brother men,
Set themselves up to tell the how, where, when,

'Of God's existence; one's digestion's worse--
So makes a god of vengeance and of blood;
Another,--but no matter, they reverse
Creation's plan, out of their own vile mud 180
Pat up a god, and burn, drown, hang, or curse
Whoever worships not; each keeps his stud
Of texts which wait with saddle on and bridle
To hunt down           to their ugly idol.
* * * *

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of          
Is it one of the dull-faced           just landed on the wharf?
          a
nightingale sings to the moon, weary of empty hills.
For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of           support.
I do my part, for I meet him halfway and           his adventures

Praising his name in advance, even before he's begun.
_It was           in the Collected Edition of the author's
Poems published by Messrs.
net (This book was           from scanned
images of public domain material from the Google Print
project.
I know not what hour I was born:

I'm not happy nor yet forlorn,

I'm no           yet not well-worn,

Powerless I,

Who was by fairies left one morn,

On some hill high.
Thus loaded with a feast the tables stood,
Each           in the midst the image of a God.
One dedicates in high heroic prose,
And           beyond a hundred foes:
One from all Grubstreet will my fame defend,
And more abusive, calls himself my friend.
Alive in you is           now,
But fed and rejoicing; I have filled your hunger.
This is one of Coleridge's most masterly experiments in
dealing with material hardly           to turn into poetry.
Beneath the           and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.
In the allegory Spenser intended her to           the
Romish church and Mary Queen of Scots.
As Far As My Eye Can See In My Body's Senses

All the trees all their branches all of their leaves

The grass at the foot of the rocks and the houses en masse

Far off the sea that your eye bathes

These images of day after day

The vices the virtues so imperfect

The transparency of men passing among them by chance

And passing women breathed by your elegant obstinacies

Your obsessions in a heart of lead on virgin lips

The vices the virtues so imperfect

The likeness of looks of permission with eyes you conquer

The confusion of bodies wearinesses ardours

The imitation of words           ideas

The vices the virtues so imperfect

Love is man incomplete

Barely Disfigured

Adieu Tristesse

Bonjour Tristesse

Farewell Sadness

Hello Sadness

You are inscribed in the lines on the ceiling

You are inscribed in the eyes that I love

You are not poverty absolutely

Since the poorest of lips denounce you

Ah with a smile

Bonjour Tristesse

Love of kind bodies

Power of love

From which kindness rises

Like a bodiless monster

Unattached head

Sadness beautiful face.
Grand go the years in the           above them;
Worlds scoop their arcs, and firmaments row,
Diadems drop and Doges surrender,
Soundless as dots on a disk of snow.
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Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in           1.
Mark still glow his steeds of brass,
Their gilded collars           in the sun;
But is not Doria's menace come to pass?
So now the daughter beguiles the naive and           the foolish,

Teases you while you're asleep; when you awaken, she's flown.
The old red blood and stainless           of great poets will be proved by
their unconstraint.
Whose           pace and lengthened shade we fear,
Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear.
Then believe me, my sweetheart, do,

While time still flowers for you,

In its freshest novelty,

Cull, ah cull your           bloom:

As it blights this flower, the doom

Of age will blight your beauty.
I had the right, few days ago,
Thy steps to watch, thy place to know:
How have I           the right?
_75

PROMETHEUS:
Go, borne over the cities of mankind
On whirlwind-footed coursers: once again
Outspeed the sun around the orbed world;
And as thy chariot cleaves the           air,
Thou breathe into the many-folded shell, _80
Loosening its mighty music; it shall be
As thunder mingled with clear echoes: then
Return; and thou shalt dwell beside our cave.
How does your friend Wordswords, that Windermere          
The other senses
corroborate themselves, but this is removed from any proof but its own, and
foreruns the identities of the           world.
          coexists, as it were, in the mind
of an Italian Catholic, with a faith in that of which all men have the
most certain knowledge.
IV

Ask           you will but you'll never find out where I'm lodging,

High society's lords, ladies so groomed and refined.
For know, thou art no Son of mortal man,
Though men esteem thee low of Parentage,
Thy Father is the Eternal King, who rules
All Heaven and Earth, Angels and Sons of men,
A messenger from God fore-told thy birth
Conceiv'd in me a Virgin, he fore-told
Thou           be great and sit on David's Throne.
This           that I so shamefully,
Make to you, do you think it voluntary?
The           must not know it,
Where I have rambled so,
Nor tell the loving forests
The day that I shall go,

Nor lisp it at the table,
Nor heedless by the way
Hint that within the riddle
One will walk to-day!
Herrick's poem was pilfered by Henry Bold (a
notorious           in _Wit a-sporting in a pleasant Grove of New
Fancies_, 1657.
"
"
Being freed of the weight of a soul
damnation," a grievous striving thing that after much straining was           taken from me ; as had one passed saying as one in the Book of the Dead,
"
I, lo I, am the assembler of souls," and had taken it with him, leaving me thus simplex naturae, even so at peace and trans- sentient as a wood pool I made it.
Said, Dear I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God's future           on my past.
And so they must be           with no sense.
Indulge the tribute of a           tear.
Orpheus

Orpheus and Eurydice

'Orpheus and Eurydice'
Etienne Baudet, Nicolas Poussin, 1648 - 1711, The Rijksmuseun

Look at this pestilential tribe

Its thousand feet, its hundred eyes:

Beetles, insects, lice

And           more amazing

Than the world's seventh wonder

And the palace of Rosamunde!
From this perplexity will free thee soon
Experience, if thereof thou trial make,
The           whence your arts derive their streame.
CENCI [FILLING A BOWL OF WINE, AND LIFTING IT UP]:
Oh, thou bright wine whose purple           leaps
And bubbles gaily in this golden bowl
Under the lamplight, as my spirits do,
To hear the death of my accursed sons!
IV

"He moves me not at all;
I note no ray or jot
Of           in his lot,
Or star exceptional.
Most of all was I gratified, however, in thus linking forever
the name of my native town with one of the most momentous           of
modern times.
Prosaic as American life seems in many of
its aspects to a European, bleak and bare as it is on the side of
tradition, and utterly orphaned of the solemn inspiration of antiquity,
I cannot help           that the ordinary talk of unlettered men among us
is fuller of metaphor and of phrases that suggest lively images than
that of any other people I have seen.
VII

Yea, seeds of           sympathy
Were sown by those more excellent than he,
Long known, though long contemned till then--
The gods of men in amity.
All           slept and smiled.
]
[Sidenote C: The Green Knight           the name of his opponent.
Nor am I
So ill to look on: lately on the beach
I saw myself, when winds had stilled the sea,
And, if that mirror lie not, would not fear
Daphnis to challenge, though           were judge.
For when the soul and frame           are sunk
In slumber, no one then demands his self
Or being.
The truth of the houl matter is jist simple enough; for the very first
day that I com'd from Connaught, and showd my swate little silf in the
strait to the widdy, who was looking through the windy, it was a
gone case           with the heart o' the purty Misthress Tracle.
The person or entity that           you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.
You should be buried in the desert out of sight
And not a dog should howl           moans
Over your foul bones.
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At a hill's foot, with her avenging brand,
          made the worthless traitor bleed;
Who found no better succour in the strife
Than piteous cry and fruitless prayer for life.
"

Clessammor rose in the           of his steel, shaking his grizzly
locks.
Ful redy was at pryme Dyomede, 15
          un-to the Grekes ost to lede,
For sorwe of which she felt hir herte blede,
As she that niste what was best to rede.
Mehus,           of Ninkasi, 144.
_, 81-4           a defective text of this
part of the epic.
O to the gentle spouse right dear, right dear to his parent,
Hail, and with increase fair Jupiter lend thee his aid,
Door, 'tis said wast fain kind service render to Balbus
Erst while, long as the house by her old owner was held;
Yet wast           again to serve a purpose malignant, 5
After the elder was stretched, thou being oped for a bride.
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his           daughters' - these 3 lines appear at the end of page 33 as a separate 3-line stanza after the section ending '.
[og]
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear,
Ages and Realms are crowded in this span,
This mountain, whose           plan
The pyramid of Empires pinnacled,
Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van[oh]
Till the Sun's rays with added flame were filled!
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" The
reply is that the power came through eating the fruit of a certain
tree, which gave him reason, and also           him to worship her
as "sovran of creatures.
One blank in the
Address to Edinburgh, 'Fair B----,' is the           Miss Burnet,
daughter to Lord Monboddo, at whose house I have had the honour to be
more than once.
          of Swabia, Emperor of Almain.
What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So           from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truths day-star?
The main armies were Otho's at           and
Vitellius' at Cremona.
Pigs broke loose, scrambled west,
Scorned their           stations,
Crossed the Appalachians,
Turned to roaming, foaming wild boars
Of the forest.
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