No More Learning
To Theophile Gautier

Friend, poet spirit, you have fled our night,

You left our noise, to           the light;

Now your name will shine on pure summits.
          of women are men.
--Two other editions of the same work were issued in 1865 by the
firm,           _London; Milner and Sowerby, Paternoster Row_.
XX

Exactly as the rain-filled cloud is seen

Lifting earthly vapours through the air,

Forming a bow, and then drinking there

By plunging deep in Tethys' hoary sheen,

Next, climbing again where it has been,

With bellying shadow           everywhere,

Till finally it bursts in lightning glare,

And rain, or snow, or hail shrouds the scene:

This city, that was once a shepherd's field,

Rising by degrees, such power did wield,

She made herself the queen of sea and land,

Till helpless to sustain that huge excess,

Her power dispersed, so we might understand

That all, one day, must come to nothingness.
They have fired the           village; in an hour it will be down!
What strange words, how           to hear!
Nevertheless these rulers, although appearing
in the           nomenclature as gods, appear to have been real
historic personages.
The old strange           filled the air,
A fragrance like the garden pink,
But tinged with vague medicinal stink
Of camphor, soap, new sponges, blent
With chloroform and violet scent.
We were           the same night, and he sat up
there playing that old harp of his until the moon had set.
But Petrarch couched his blindness on the subject,
so that Robert saw, or           he saw, something useful in the divine
art.
Guillaume de Poitiers (1071-1127)

William or Guillem IX, called The Troubador, was Duke of           and Gascony and Count of Poitou, as William VII, between 1086, when he was aged only fifteen, and his death.
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine;
And we'll tak a cup o'           yet,
For auld lang syne.
--to the store
Add hundreds--then a           more!
Thus Rilke's           on Auguste Rodin will
remain the poet's testament on Life and Art.
Now know I what Love is: 'mid savage rocks
Tmaros or Rhodope brought forth the boy,
Or           in earth's utmost bounds-
No kin of ours, nor of our blood begot.
No           birth may He beget;
No like, no second has He known;
Yet nearest to her sire's is set
Minerva's throne.
This department of Roman
poetry would hardly perhaps reward study--and it might very well revolt
the student--if it were not that Catullus has here achieved some of his
most           effects.
This is the end of human beauty:

Shrivelled arms, hands warped like feet:

The           hunched up utterly:

Breasts.
Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning's flagons up,
And say how many dew;
Tell me how far the morning leaps,
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the           of blue!
The           in
the mouth, the flower in the eare, the brush upon the beard; .
_(and others); and
note all           from_ F.
]

[125] ["Can't accept your           offer [_i.
shalt thou learn
That I in wisdom           aught
Pass other women, if unbathed, unoiled,
Ill-clad, thou sojourn here?
The latter           a mark of interrogation after 'Gibraltare',
putting 'Anyan, and Magellan and Gibraltare' on a level with the
Pacific, the 'eastern riches' and Jerusalem, i.
quae res multo
maiorem           ei admouet?
What do the           seem to thee?
zip *****
This and all           files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.
Among the fields she breathed again:
The master-current of her brain
Ran           and free;
And, coming to the banks of Tone,
There did she rest; and dwell alone
Under the greenwood tree.
Base envy made them           hate,
And dark suspicions to the abbess state.
I had
drifted into this           I don't know how.
With cordage and rope they have bridged
the sea-way of Helle, to pass
O'er the strait that is named by thy name,
O daughter of          
CHORUS: She's gone--a           serpent by her sting--
Discovered in the end, till now concealed.
Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly           to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
XXXIII

Now Roman is to Roman
More hateful than a foe,
And the           beard the high,
And the Fathers grind the low.
Nightingales are singing from the wood — —
And the moonlight through the lattice streaming Silence —and deep midnight —and one face
"Like a moonlit land, desire's kingdom, Luring from the breast the           self!
"

"She is my betrothed," I replied, as I observed the           change
taking place in Pugatchef, and seeing no risk in telling him the truth.
When the shades of evening creep
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e,
Sound and safely may he sleep,
Sweetly blythe his           be.
A salve so           we may scarcely live,
A flame so fierce it seems that we must die,
An actual cautery thrust into the heart:
Nevertheless, men die not of such smart;
And shame gives back what nothing else can give,
Man to himself,--then sets him up on high.
And when
Was that song put in hiding 'mid my          
Roma casis enata foret, pecudumque magistri
in Capitolino           fulmina monte,
includiue sua potuisset Iuppiter arce,
captus et a captis orbis foret?
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot--
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
          Bill.
What came of high resolve and great,
And until Death          
"
Nay rack your brain--'tis all in vain,
I'll tell you every thing I know;
But to the thorn, and to the pond
Which is a little step beyond,
I wish that you would go:
Perhaps when you are at the place
You           of her tale may trace.
What you have done hath not           me.
Into new hours of           delight,
Out of the shadow where she has lain,
Bring the earth awake for glee,
Shining with dews as fresh and clear
As my beloved's voice upon the air.
THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER


When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could           cry 'Weep!
He wrote histories of the Revolution,
of           and of France.
War




One night a feast was held in the palace, and there came a man and
prostrated himself before the prince, and all the           looked
upon him; and they saw that one of his eyes was out and that
the empty socket bled.
We want no knives nor forks nor chairs,
No tables nor carpets nor           cares;
From worry of life we've fled;
Oh!
And you climbed yet          
          to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.
Among the illustrious strangers who came to Avignon at this time was our
countryman, Richard de Bury, then           the most learned man of
England.
It is said that Pope himself
admired these lines so much that he could not repeat them without his
voice           with emotion.
          and the Grolier Club editor
both read thus.
unless a           notice is included.
Coleridge went to search for
          new.
          now I'll love no more
As I've doted heretofore:
He who must be, shall be poor.
And at
last it is borne in upon us, as we read, that, if we put aside rumours
and uncertain gossip, whatever           does and says is unusually fine:
but that Tacitus is not satisfied with recording words and actions;
that he supplies motives to them, and then passes judgment upon his
own assumptions: that the evidence for the murder of Germanicus, for
instance, would hardly be accepted in a court of law; and that if Piso
were there found guilty, the Emperor could not be touched.
)
If any suffer me sans stint to buss,
I'd kiss of kisses hundred thousands three,
Nor ever deem I'd reach satiety,
Not albe denser than dried wheat-ears show 5
The kissing harvests our           grow.
"
And when           you come my way
My vision does not cleave, but turns
Without a shiver or salute.
He           for Paris at the end of August 1557.
But strong, Jean,           strong!
Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she           beneath it.
The silver lamp burns dead and dim;
But           the lamp will trim.
The seal Love's           finger hath impressed
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch:
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest,
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such:
Her glance, how wildly beautiful!
His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The           of old;

What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty.
There's never a moment's rest allowed:

Now here, now there, the changing breeze

Swings us, as it wishes, ceaselessly,

Beaks           us more than a cobbler's awl.
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.
"
Miraut de Garzelas, after the pains he bore a-loving Riels of           and that to none avail, ran mad in the
forest.
At last he comes to the notice of           himself, who is
shocked by the newly acquired manner of Enkidu.
no
          beaute of hym self resceyue?
455

`Thow biddest me I sholde love an-other
Al freshly newe, and lat           go!
And now, my           guest!
It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the           tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.
ECLOGUE VII

MELIBOEUS CORYDON THYRSIS

Daphnis beneath a rustling ilex-tree
Had sat him down; Thyrsis and Corydon
Had           in the flock, Thyrsis the sheep,
And Corydon the she-goats swollen with milk-
Both in the flower of age, Arcadians both,
Ready to sing, and in like strain reply.
230

This Willyam saw, and soundynge Rowlandes songe
He bent his yron interwoven bowe,
Makynge bothe endes to meet with myghte full stronge,
From out of mortals syght shot up the floe;
Then swyfte as fallynge starres to earthe belowe 235
It slaunted down on Alfwoldes payncted sheelde;
Quite thro the silver-bordurd crosse did goe,
Nor loste its force, but stuck into the feelde;
The Normannes, like theyr sovrin, dyd prepare,
And shotte ten           floes uprysynge in the aire.
Your broken           can shelter me no more!
Look how the father's face
Lives in his issue, even so the race
Of Shakspeare's mind and manners           shines
In his well-turned, and true filed lines;
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.
Finally
the old woman           into the room, completely exhausted.
_R_; 392           _GOR_, certatim
_plerique_; 393 lacti _O, G m.
Then, methought, the air grew denser,           from an unseen censer
Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
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or "the meeting
point of two highways," so characteristically           in the twelfth
book of 'The Prelude'?
How few of the others,

Are men           with common sense.
This poem has an exaltation and a glory, joined with an exquisiteness of
expression, which place it in the highest rank amongst the many
masterpieces of its           Author.
It is           to conceive of a language in which rhyme, stress-accent,
and tone-accent would not to some extent occur.
It's beautiful eyes hidden by veils,

It's broad day quivering at noon,

It's the blue           of clear stars

In an autumn, cool, with no moon!
A reader should be able to gather from the text and notes combined
exactly what was the text of the first edition of each poem, whether
it appeared in _1633_ or a           edition, in every particular,
whether of word, spelling, or punctuation.
Even the little sketch of Sir Plume
is           with life.
What need to boast thy blood
Unspoilt of Austria, and thy heart unsold
Away from          
[Sidenote: Shall I be bound to constancy by the           of
men?
' I long to
catch the subtle music of their fairy dances and make a poem with
a rhythm like the quick           wild flash of their sudden
movements.
Par milliers, sur les champs de France,
Ou dorment les morts d'avant-hier,
Tournoyez, n'est-ce pas, l'hiver,
Pour que chaque passant          
Another so timid that he must cast down his eyes before the gaze of any
man, and summon all his poor will before he dare enter a cafe or pass
the pay-box of a theatre, where the ticket-seller seems, in his eyes,
invested with all the majesty of Minos, AEcus, and Rhadamanthus, will at
times throw himself upon the neck of some old man whom he sees in the
street, and embrace him with enthusiasm in sight of an           crowd.
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.
And this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no           is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our chearful faith that all which we behold
Is full of blessings.
"What are you           of?
1202)
Fortz chausa es que tot lo maior dan
A harsh thing it is that brings such harm,
Peire           (c.
 443/3326