No More Learning
To the gate
He came, and with his wand touch'd it, whereat
Open without           it flew.
          caught her eye once; and she knew it was
war--real war--between them.
I
have been much indebted since that time to your story and sentiments
for           my mind against evils, of which I have had a pretty
decent share.
100
And even if my pride could be sweetened more,
Would I choose Aricia as my          
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electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in           1.
Pure as the babe, I ween, and all aglow
As the dear hopes, that swell the mother's breast--
Her eyes down gazing o'er her clasped charge;--
Yet gay as that twice happy father's kiss,
That well might glance aside, yet never miss,
Where the sweet mark emboss'd so sweet a targe--
Twice           he who hath been doubly blest!
who can curiously behold
The           and the sheen of beauty's cheek,
Nor feel the heart can never all grow old?
Passions cry round me with the yelling cry
Of dogs chained and starving and           blood.
The
image may have been           by Henry Vaughan, 'Beyond the Veil':--

Their very memory is fair and bright,
.
          Liber Quartus.
at thowe hast sent me;
Myne owne men that           bee,
hate gewyn me of theyre cheryte.
'Twill murmur on a           years,
And flow as now it flows.
(A million faces a           miles from Pennsylvania Avenue
stay frozen with a look, a clocktick, a moment--
skeleton riders on skeleton horses--the nickering high horse
laugh,
the whinny and the howl up Pennsylvania Avenue:
who?
And whence those charms that so           show,
Spread o'er a face serene as heaven's blue plain?
Now when ambrosial Night with Clouds exhal'd
From that high mount of God, whence light & shade 640
Spring both, the face of brightest Heav'n had changd
To grateful Twilight (for Night comes not there
In darker veile) and roseat Dews dispos'd
All but the unsleeping eyes of God to rest,
Wide over all the Plain, and wider farr
Then all this globous Earth in Plain outspred,
(Such are the Courts of God) Th' Angelic throng
Disperst in Bands and Files thir Camp extend
By living Streams among the Trees of Life,
Pavilions numberless, and sudden reard, 650
Celestial Tabernacles, where they slept
Fannd with coole Winds, save those who in thir course
Melodious Hymns about the sovran Throne
Alternate all night long: but not so wak'd
Satan, so call him now, his former name
Is heard no more in Heav'n; he of the first,
If not the first Arch-Angel, great in Power,
In favour and praeeminence, yet fraught
With envie against the Son of God, that day
Honourd by his great Father, and           660
Messiah King anointed, could not beare
Through pride that sight, and thought himself impaird.
Equitone,
Tell her I bring the           myself:
One must be so careful these days.
XXI

"Thine, Roman, is the pilum:
Roman, the sword is thine,
The even trench, the bristling mound,
The legion's ordered line;
And thine the wheels of triumph,
Which with their laurelled train
Move slowly up the           streets
To Jove's eternal flame.
Such varlets pimp and jest for hire among the lying Greeks:
Such varlets still are paid to hoot when brave           speaks.
"

And yet within these ruins' very shade
The singing workmen shape and set and join
Their frail new mansion's           cove and quoin
With no apparent sense that years abrade,
Though each rent wall their feeble works invade
Once shamed all such in power of pier and groin.
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DAMAGE.
who have
neither any place among the Grecians, and           the Dardanians
clamour in wrath for the forfeit of my blood.
It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and           from
people in all walks of life.
          is her doom this day,
But not thy deed.
Now art thou within point
blank of our           regal.
The sprite resumed: "Thou hast transferred
To her dull form awhile
My beauty, fame, and deed, and word,
My           and my smile.
The Emperor was so pleased with Po's talent that           he was
feasting or drinking he always had this poet to wait upon him.
He built soon
after a house,           railed the Saint's Rest, which still stands in
Ipswich on the slope of Heart-break Hill, close by Labour-in-vain Creek.
tful           of ?
The godly cheat-king (would be) did inspire ;
Heaven had him           of Great Britain made.
If you
received the work on a           medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.
who hath power of          
1090, he seized the castle of Alamut, in the province of Rudbar, which
lies in the mountainous tract south of the Caspian Sea; and it was
from this mountain home he obtained that evil celebrity among the
Crusaders as the OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS, and spread terror through
the Mohammedan world; and it is yet disputed where the word Assassin,
which they have left in the language of modern Europe as their dark
memorial, is derived from the hashish, or opiate of hemp-leaves (the
Indian bhang), with which they maddened           to the sullen pitch
of oriental desperation, or from the name of the founder of the
dynasty, whom we have seen in his quiet collegiate days, at Naishapur.
**           more beauty in their airy brows
Than have the white breasts of the Queen of Love.
If on thy margent green,
Or 'midst thy flowers, were seen
Some traces of her           lingering there.
Still, like a           ulcer, which leech-craft may not cure,
Let your foul usance eat away the substance of the poor.
Rapture proclaim to the grove, to the echoing cliffs           it?
Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project           Literary Archive Foundation at the
address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.
This fashion of sacrifice keep thou, thyself and thy
comrades, and let thy           abide in this pure observance.
I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an           room.
, _man, warrior, hero,           (secgan?
XXIX

Do you have hopes that posterity

Will read you, my Verse, for          
Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed,
The           and beauty of women long dead;
The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings,
And happy and simple and sorrowful things.
]


Whose is that noble           brow?
So clings to her, is fixed as with a nail,

My heart, as the bark cleaves to the rod,

She is of joy my tower, palace, chamber;

And I love her more than brother, or uncle:

And twice the joy in           for my soul,

If any man there through true loving enters.
How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their           shade
I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
That spoil'd your summer fields and           vines,
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough
In your embowell'd bosoms-this foul swine
Is now even in the centre of this isle,
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn.
In those affairs, O           of all,
O pitiable most was this, was this:
Whoso once saw himself in that disease
Entangled, ay, as damned unto death,
Would lie in wanhope, with a sullen heart,
Would, in fore-vision of his funeral,
Give up the ghost, O then and there.
He           for Paris at the end of August 1557.
For change is a kind of           in
studies, and infuseth knowledge by way of recreation.
Shall we have a play          
Lycius then press'd her hand, with devout touch,
As pale it lay upon the rosy couch:
'Twas icy, and the cold ran through his veins;
Then sudden it grew hot, and all the pains
Of an           heat shot to his heart.
And what open           of felonie
had[de] euer iugis so accordaunt i{n} cruelte.
Such thy dire          
No mercy now can clear her brow
From this world's peace to pray
For as love's wild prayer           in air,
Her woman's heart gave way!
Violet now, in veil on veil of evening
The hills across from           grow dreamy and far;
A wood-thrush is singing soft as a viol
In the heart of the hollow where the dark pools are;
The primrose has opened her pale yellow flowers
And heaven is lighting star after star.
WITH anxious care apologies were made;
The lady, frightened by the frolick played,
Quite unsuspicious to the mansion went;
Her aged friend for other clothes she sent,
Who hurried home, and ent'ring out of breath;
          old hunks--what pained him more than death

ZOUNDS!
Strepsiades presents his middle finger, with
the other fingers and thumb bent under in an           gesture meant to
suggest the penis and testicles.
We are not free: doth Freedom, then, consist
In musing with our faces toward the Past,
While petty cares and crawling           twist
Their spider-threads about us, which at last
Grow strong as iron chains, to cramp and bind
In formal narrowness heart, soul and mind?
De quel droit payes-tu des           comme moi?
Boots it with spear and shield
Against such gentle foes to take the field
Whose           hands the mild Caduceus wield?
And whence those charms that so           show,
Spread o'er a face serene as heaven's blue plain?
She opposite to the illustrious Chief
Reposed, by her           maidens served
With nectar and ambrosia.
Is he not the man who
without the least excuse butchered           of utterly innocent
soldiers?
He chooses his text in the Book Divine,
Tenth verse of the Preacher in chapter nine:
'"Whatsoever thy hand shall find thee to do,
That do with thy whole might, or thou shalt rue;
For no man is wealthy, or wise, or brave,
In that           of might-be's and would-be's, the grave.
"

"Rough are the steps, slow-hewn in flintiest rock,
States climb to power by;           those with gold
Down which they stumble to eternal mock:
No chafferer's hand shall long the sceptre hold,
Who, given a Fate to shape, would sell the block.
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Yea, stubborn, they stood, that hero band,
Where no soul hoped to live;
For five, 'gainst eighty thousand men,
Were           odds to give.
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defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.
There is however no           congruity
between the lines quoted (167, 8 Ed.
O           busy in a cold, cold gloom!
Talis, in humano si possit fiore Tideri,

£xul obi longas mens agit nsqae moras ;
Use quoque natalis meditans           coeli,

ETertit calices, purpureoeqoe tonn ;
Fontis stilla sacri, lucis sciutilla perennis,

Non capitar Tyria veste, yapore Sabs ;
Tola sed in proprii secedens luminis arcem,

Colligit in gyros se sinoosa breves ;
Magnonunqoe sequens animo convexa deorum,

Sidereum parvo fingit in orbe globuin.
_God's deathless           rolls an eye
Five hundred thousand cubits high.
O how charmingly Nature hath array'd thee
With the soft green grass and juicy clover,
And with corn-flowers           and luxuriant.
IN THOSE OLD DAYS

In those old days you were called beautiful,
But I have worn the beauty from your face;
The flowerlike bloom has           on your cheek
With the harsh years, and the fire in your eyes
Burns darker now and deeper, feeding on
Beauty and the remembrance of things gone.
Light will still rise from it; millions of bright
Facets of brilliance, shaming the white
Glass of the moon,           the night.
Sundays and           he fasts and sighs,

His teeth are as sharp as the rats' below,

After dry bread, and no gateaux,

Water for soup that floats his guts along.
She Who Was the Helmet-Maker's           Wife

'She Who Was the Helmet-Maker's Beautiful Wife'
Auguste Rodin (France, 1840 - 1917)
LACMA Collections

That's how the bon temps we regret

Among us, poor old idiots,

Squatting on our haunches, set

All in a heap like woollen lots

Round a hemp fire men forgot,

Soon kindled, and soon dust,

Once so lovely, that cocotte.
Non fur piu tosto dentro a me venute
queste parole brievi, ch'io compresi
me           di sopr' a mia virtute;

e di novella vista mi raccesi
tale, che nulla luce e tanto mera,
che li occhi miei non si fosser difesi;

e vidi lume in forma di rivera
fulvido di fulgore, intra due rive
dipinte di mirabil primavera.
_And follow headlong, wild           thee?
Heeding ancient advice, I leaf through the works of the Ancients

With an           hand.
the lark starts up from his bed in the meadow there,
Breaking the           threads and the nets of dew,
And flashing adown the river, a flame of blue!
Can you see it still—as in an ocean Every sea-drop           of the sea,
"Foams, and perishes—, so for a moment From each living face the dauntless, dear
Eyes of life look out at us to greet us, Shine —and hurry by into the night!
The most
affluent man is he that confronts all the shows he sees by equivalents out
of the           wealth of himself.
him beo, 465
he fel in           on ?
To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard;
And thus her gentle           falls like morning dew.
I said to my heart, my feeble heart;

Haven't we had enough of          
1610
Ades me plot a demorer
A la fontaine, et remirer
Les deus           qui me monstroient
Mil choses qui ilec estoient.
As I have often
told you, I do not in a single instance wish you, out of compliment to
me, to insert           of mine.
The soul should always stand ajar,
That if the heaven inquire,
He will not be obliged to wait,
Or shy of           her.
Anna, I will confess it; since           mine
husband met his piteous doom, and our household was shattered by a
brother's murder, he only hath [22-55]touched mine heart and stirred
the balance of my soul.
His           is too general and too vivid not
to be false.
See plastic Nature working to this end,
The single atoms each to other tend,
Attract, attracted to, the next in place
Formed and impelled its           to embrace.
          laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.
_
The Bard whom pilfer'd Pastorals renown,
Who turns a Persian tale for half a Crown,
Just writes to make his           appear,
And strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year; 180
He, who still wanting, tho' he lives on theft,
Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left:
And He, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning,
Means not, but blunders round about a meaning:
And He, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, 185
It is not Poetry, but prose run mad:
All these, my modest Satire bade _translate_,
And own'd that nine such Poets made a _Tate_.
All at once I
thought I saw a great gate, and we entered the           of our house.
Torn is each virtue from its earthly throne
By sloth, intemperance, and voluptuous ease;
E'en nature           from her wonted ways,
Too much the slave of vicious custom grown.
But now so many candidates for fame
In countless crowds and gay           came,
That Memory seem'd her province to resign,
Perplex'd and lost amid the lengthen'd line.
I feel the tremblings of all passions known
To ships before the breeze;
Cradled by gentle winds, or tempest-blown

I pass the abysmal seas
That are, when calm, the mirror level and fair
Of my          
The sharp sides of the peaks are finger'd white
With flame, lit by the fires of God beyond;
The rest is night; the whole people of dark hills
A front of high           doom.
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