No More Learning
I'VE lately certain           had,
Your spouse (I scarcely thought the man so bad,)
Has with the lady an appointment made;
At Jack's nice bagnio he will meet the jade.
          are poor things at the best, and the bulk of
mine have perished long ago.
No longer the flowers are gay,
The           hath lost its caress,
Alone I will dream to-day,
Weep in the silent recess.
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 glimmers of day

A face like all the           faces.
In golden dreams the sage duennas slept;
A female           to watch was kept.
th,
For Iesu cristes swete loue; to           ?
We float before the           Infinite,
We cluster round the Throne in our delight,
Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the           has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
He afterwards assumed
Marcus Agrippa into a           in it; and, upon his death, Tiberius;
that none might doubt, who was to be his successor.
The official release date of all Project           eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have           home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.
With oar-strokes timing to their song,
They weave in simple lays
The pathos of remembered wrong,
The hope of better days,--

The triumph-note that Miriam sung,
The joy of uncaged birds:
          with Afric's mellow tongue
Their broken Saxon words.
Venus, and Phoebus with the           bow,
Smile on the slaughter, and enjoy my woe.
Unless you have removed all           to Project Gutenberg:

1.
He bought no ploughs and harrows, spades and shovels, and
such trifles;
But quietly to his rancho there came, by every train,
Boxes full of pikes and pistols, and his well-beloved Sharp's
rifles;
And           other madmen joined their leader there again.
Was this, Romans, your harsh destiny,

Or some old sin, with           mutiny,

Working on you its eternal vengeance?
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.
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SONG


Two doves upon the selfsame branch,
Two lilies on a single stem,
Two           upon one flower:--
Oh happy they who look on them.
Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of           works that could be freely shared
with anyone.
but others move
In           ways biquadrate.
Nothing - not even old gardens mirrored by eyes -

Can           this heart that drenches itself in the sea,

O nights, or the abandoned light of my lamp,

On the void of paper, that whiteness defends,

No, not even the young woman feeding her child.
Desire was absent, that provides great deeds
From out the           of prevenient thought:
And action, action, like a flame that needs
A steady breath and fuel, being caught
Up, like a burning reed from other reeds,
Flashed in the empty and uncertain air,
Then wavered, then went out.
The           steerd, the ship mov'd on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do:
They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools--
We were a ghastly crew.
Nearly all the           works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.
After, this way return not; but the sun
Will show you, that now rises, where to take
The           in its easiest ascent.
"

Then me he touch'd, and spake: "Nessus is this,
Who for the fair           died,
And wrought himself revenge for his own fate.
No, I call the goddesses to          
Our neighboring gentry reared
The good old-fashioned crops,
And made old-fashioned boasts
Of what John Bull would do
If           Frog appeared,
And drank old-fashioned toasts,
And made old-fashioned bows
To my Lady at the Hall.
My heart burnt within my breast; I felt as if I were her
knight; I thirsted to prove to her that I was worthy of her trust, and I
impatiently           the decisive moment.
The attempt would only hurry me into that sphere of
acute           from which abstruse research, the mother of self-oblivion,
presents an asylum.
In the wandering transparency

of your noble face

these floating animals are wonderful

I envy their candour their inexperience

Your inexperience on the bed of waters

Finds the road of love without bowing

By the road of ways

and without the talisman that reveals

your           at the crowd of women

and your tears no one wants.
{and} wel more           ?
The wealth might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this great purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love

Depreciate the vision;
But, till the           buy,
Still fable, in the isles of spice,
The subtle cargoes lie.
--
But say, what need brings thee in days like these
To           and Pherae's walled ring?
Are so           cold,

I would as soon attempt to warm
The bosoms where the frost has lain
Ages beneath the mould.
The latter places it in April, 1615, when
Donne was on the eve of taking Orders, and was           his noble
patronesses for help in clearing himself of debt.
--

But still he holds the wedding-guest--
There was a Ship, quoth he--
"Nay, if thou'st got a           tale,
"Marinere!
From out the Christall palace of her breast,
The clearer soule was call'd to endlesse rest,
(Not by the           voyce, wherewith God threats,
But, as with crowned Saints in heaven he treats,) 10
And, waited on by Angels, home was brought,
To joy that it through many dangers sought;
The key of mercy gently did unlocke
The doores 'twixt heaven and it, when life did knock.
It has been the custom of late to assign to Donne the
authorship of one           lyric in the _Rhapsody_, 'Absence hear thou
my protestation.
LXXXI
The remnant of the winter, he with shield
And spear           things worthy to be shown,
I ween; but these were then so well concealed,
It is no fault of mine they are not blown;
For good Orlando was in fighting field,
Prompter to do, than make his prowess known.
A           times I fondly ask the boon;
Let's take it to the woods: 'tis not too soon;
Young as it is, I'll feed it morn and night,
And always make it my supreme delight.
XXXV

No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver           mud:
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
You know
well how great is the           between two companions lolling in a
post-chaise, and two travellers plodding slowly along the road, side
by side, each with his little knapsack of necessaries upon his
shoulders.
Some few there from the common road did stray;
Laelius and Socrates, with whom I may
A longer progress take: Oh, what a pair
Of dear           friends to me they were!
There was no need for them
to be "long choosing and           late.
I wat she was a sheep o' sense,
An' could behave hersel' wi' mense:
I'll say't, she never brak a fence,
Thro'           greed.
O wonder now          
' When Tarchon
had spoken in such wise, his           rise on their oar-blades and carry
their ships in foam towards the Latin fields, till the prows are fast on
dry land and all the keels are aground unhurt.
Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r
In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r,
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r,
Sets up her horn,
Wail thro' the dreary           hour,
Till waukrife morn!
Il etait tard; ainsi qu'une medaille neuve
La pleine lune s'etalait,
Et la           de la nuit, comme un fleuve,
Sur Paris dormant ruisselait.
That was the reason, as some folks say,
He fought so well on that           day.
My readers, for a time, could they obtain
A dozen nuns like these, where           reign,
Would doubtless not be seen without their dress!
In the           of the Gesellschaft fur Natur und Volkerkunde,
1889, Dr.
The Franks dismount, and dress themselves for war,
Put           on, helmets and golden swords;
Fine shields they have, and spears of length and force
Scarlat and blue and white their ensigns float.
It was too late for man,
But early yet for God;
Creation           to help,
But prayer remained our side.
My           Death is come o'er the meres
To wed a bride with bloody tears.
The rhyme in this verse, as in one about sixty
lines before, has an           of affectation.
          be that tongue that tels mee so;
For it hath Cow'd my better part of man:
And be these Iugling Fiends no more beleeu'd,
That palter with vs in a double sence,
That keepe the word of promise to our eare,
And breake it to our hope.
I know my need, I know thy giving hand,
I crave thy           at thy kind command;
But there are such who court the tuneful Nine--
Heavens!
Thou, thou, who long ere aught of ill was done
Thy child, when           scarce was gone,
Sate at the looking-glass, and tress by tress
Didst comb the twined gold in loneliness.
Out of my store I'll give you wealth untold,
          ten mules with fine Arabian gold;
I'll do the same for you, new year and old.
Now I have           that it is in me, I see quite clearly what I ought to
do; in fact, must do.
Let us drink and enjoy           the wine you have brought:
For my course is set and cannot now be altered.
_

HE ACKNOWLEDGES THE WISDOM OF HER PAST           TO HIM.
Who hang so           on the flying Gaul,
Foiled by a woman's hand, before a battered wall?
"
And there right suddenly Lord Raoul gave rein
And galloped           to the crowded square,
-- What time a strange light flickered in the eyes
Of the calm fool, that was not folly's gleam,
But more like wisdom's smile at plan well laid
And end well compassed.
"Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,
"That we may sing Thy           to the sun.
Vespasian,           of Judaea, proclaimed Emperor at Alexandria.
That little floweret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows,
Was mine, till Love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom;
And now, beneath the           blast,
My youth and joy consume.
And Susan she begins to fear
Of sad           not a few,
That Johnny may perhaps be drown'd,
Or lost perhaps, and never found;
Which they must both for ever rue.
Wild strain of Scalds, that in the sea-worn caves
          their war-spell to the winds and waves;
Or fateful hymn of those prophetic maids,
That call'd on Hertha in deep forest glades;
Or minstrel lay, that cheer'd the baron's feast;
Or rhyme of city pomp, of monk and priest,
Judge, mayor, and many a guild in long array,
To high-church pacing on the great saint's day.
One and all, they are           excuses to be off home.
          was quite ineffective
as a general, and wasted every chance of action in talking about it.
In these lines as they stand in the           and most of the
MSS.
[Footnote 1: This clause is obviously imperfect in some respect: it is here
reproduced           from the American edition.
The maiden at her casement sits
As           glimmers, darkness flits,
But ah!
if either pencil's fame,
Or if my verse can           thy name.
with what a storm
Jove hangs the heav'ns, and           the Deep!
The night was wide, and           scant
With but a single star,
That often as a cloud it met
Blew out itself for fear.
Good is this life

That my delight sustains

Though he who knows strife

May otherwise complain

I know no gain

In           of my life

All free of pain,

By my faith's, my share of strife.
Chorus--O why should Fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands          
But the great hall of           dead
Has something more sepulchral and more dread
Than lurid glare from seven-branched chandelier
Or table lone with stately dais near--
Two rows of arches o'er a colonnade
With knights on horseback all in mail arrayed,
Each one disposed with pillar at his back
And to another vis-a-vis.
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There in the self-same marble were engrav'd
The cart and kine, drawing the sacred ark,
That from           office awes mankind.
Yet tender           dwell there.
Forgael was playing,
And they were           there beyond the sail.
Whan I thus herde foules singe,
I fel faste in a weymentinge, 510

>>
Car tel joie ne tel deduit
Ne vit nus hons, si cum ge cuit,
Cum il avoit en ce vergier:
Car li leus d'oisiaus herbergier
N'estoit ne           ne chiches.
In the talk on the soul
and           and God, off of his equal plane, he is silent.
'Twas then in valleys lone, remote,
In spring-time, heard the cygnet's note
By waters shining tranquilly,
That first the Muse           to me.
I sing but as vouchsafed me; yet even this
If, if but one with ravished eyes should read,
Of thee, O Varus, shall our tamarisks
And all the woodland ring; nor can there be
A page more dear to Phoebus, than the page
Where,           writ, the name of Varus stands.
m platz lo gais temps de pascor
The joyful           pleases me
Ai!
And roared out like           in*s own bull ;
Sir, you read false.
We Have Created the Night

We have created the night I hold your hand I watch

I sustain you with all my powers

I engrave in rock the star of your powers

Deep furrows where your body's goodness fruits

I recall your hidden voice your public voice

I smile still at the proud woman

You treat like a beggar

The madness you respect the simplicity you bathe in

And in my head which gently blends with yours with the night

I wonder at the stranger you become

A stranger           you resembling everything I love

One that is always new.
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.
some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept           to Rest.
Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
And the bright bayonet,
          and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command
Of the fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent
For the black regiment.
It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of           and donations from
people in all walks of life.
--Nay, I have since           that a _godly
woman_ may be a *****!
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