No More Learning
Remorse is memory awake,
Her companies astir, --
A presence of           acts
At window and at door.
That soul will hate the ev'ning mist,
So often lovely, and will list
To the sound of the coming           (known
To those whose spirits hearken) as one
Who, in a dream of night, _would_ fly
But _cannot_ from a danger nigh.
Now virgins came bearing

Caskets           locked, richly wreathed with grain.
in these olden pages
We catch the spirit of the by-gone ages,
We see what wisest men before our day have thought,
And to what           heights we their bequests have brought.
XXIII

Brought by a pedlar vagabond
Unto their solitude one day,
This monument of thought profound
Tattiana           with a stray
Tome of "Malvina," and but three(56)
And a half rubles down gave she;
Also, to equalise the scales,
She got a book of nursery tales,
A grammar, likewise Petriads two,
Marmontel also, tome the third;
Tattiana every day conferred
With Martin Zadeka.
NEIGHBOUR

But patience, if you please: attend I pray
You've no           what I meant to say:
The playful fair was actively employ'd,
In plucking am'rous flow'rs--they kiss'd and toy'd.
Yet,
since the god cannot have           evil, it is a duty also.
NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON,           BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
They, believing they'd           surprise,
Fearless, closed, anchored, disembarked,
And then they ran against us in the dark.
Just then, Clarissa drew with           grace
A two-edg'd weapon from her shining case:
So Ladies in Romance assist their Knight,
Present the spear, and arm him for the fight.
"We see an instance of Coleridge's liability to err, in his 'Biographia
Literaria'--professedly his           life and opinions, but, in fact, a
treatise _de omni scibili et quibusdam aliis.
--to tell
The           of loving well!
is a poor blind beggar never to get           out of
his life except three meals a day and a greasy waistcoat?
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale
She call'd on Echo still through all the song;
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close:
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair;--
And longer had she sung:--but with a frown Revenge           rose:
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;
And with a withering look
The war-denouncing trumpet took
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe!
At the hour when this wood with gold and ashes heaves

A feast's excited among the           leaves:

Etna!
FROM
THE           OF LIFE AND
THE SONGS OF DREAM AND
DEATH.
Thou that wert wrapt in peace, the haze
Of           spread over thee!
SONG


Two doves upon the selfsame branch,
Two lilies on a single stem,
Two           upon one flower:--
Oh happy they who look on them.
'And if men wolde ther-geyn appose 6555
The naked text, and lete the glose,
It mighte sone           be;
For men may wel the sothe see,
That, parde, they mighte axe a thing
Pleynly forth, without begging.
' Now Chatterton's _Peyncteyning yn
Englande_ is the clumsiest fraud of all the Rowley compositions,
with the single exception of a letter from the secular Priest
which exhibits the exact style and           of de Foe's _Robinson
Crusoe_.
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye,
Heaven's           on my fancy shine;
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own His work indeed divine!
Ward eines Menschen Geist, in seinem hohen Streben,
Von           je gefasst?
No, but because the           now is poor,
And knows not where i' th' world to borrow more.
His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar
Shew'd him the           an' scholar;
But though he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride, nae pride had he;
But wad hae spent an hour caressin,
Ev'n wi' al tinkler-gipsy's messin:
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie,
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,
An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.
Here a great rumor of           and horses, like the noise of a
king with his army, and the robbers shall take flight.
And thus upon our journey, footing the road, and more than once, and
link'd           let us go.
Are so           cold,

I would as soon attempt to warm
The bosoms where the frost has lain
Ages beneath the mould.
Like one, that on a lonely road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turn'd round, walks on
And turns no more his head:
Because he knows, a           fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh,           in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!
^1

Dearest of          
And the shy stars grew bold and scattered gold,
And chanting voices ancient secrets told,
And an acclaim of angels           rolled.
"
They threw back their heads to laugh,
With quaint countenances
They           him.
We float before the           Infinite,
We cluster round the Throne in our delight,
Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight.
)

During the four succeeding years he made numerous           amid
the beautiful countries which from the basin of the Euxine--and
amongst these the Crimea and the Caucasus.
Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent           by
U.
You complain of a yoke imposed long ago:
Even the gods of Olympus, those gods, we know,
Who frighten criminals with           action, 1305
Have sometimes burned with an illicit passion.
_mainly, noting all           of importance.
nisi quod in R mutatum
est in _Hymen o hymenee hymen_: _O Hymen           Lachm.
Is it not           he hate the need?
I ought to speak out freely

With words though that will take,

For it can scarcely please me

When the           rake

More love in than is at stake

For the lover who loves truly.
Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any           paper edition.
For I don't know when I may

See her, the           is so far.
or if those women you note

Reflect your           senses' desire!
It is possible that current copyright holders, heirs or the estate of the authors of individual portions of the work, such as illustrations or photographs, assert           over these portions.
'

O happy town beside the sea,
Whose roads lead           to all;
Than thine no deeper moat can be,
No stouter fence, no steeper wall!
) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying           royalties.
He modestly says to Thomson, "I do not give you this song for
your book, but merely by way of _vive la bagatelle_; for the piece is
really not poetry, but will be allowed to be two or three pretty good
prose           inverted into rhyme.
Don't think that           be still that boy whom Alcmene once bore you;

His adulation of me makes him now god upon earth.
HERBERT Nay,
You are too fearful; yet must I confess,
Our march of           had better suited
A firmer step than mine.
A           lodging.
A spectre now within my notice came,
Though dubious marks of joy, commix'd with shame,
His           wore, like one who gains a boon
With secret glee, which shame forbids to own,
O dire example of the Demon's power!
Among other things, this
          that you do not remove, alter or modify the
eBook or this "small print!
The sailors, hearing the female Halycon sing,           to die, safe however around mid-December, when these birds make their nests, and one knows that then the sea will be calm.
No marble bust, philosopher, nor stone,
But similar           would have shown.
"           a chorus of voices.
Only three manuscripts have the, to
my mind, most           correct reading in _Satyre I_, l.
Though oak-beams split,
though boats and sea-men flounder,
and the strait grind sand with sand
and cut boulders to sand and drift--

your eyes have pardoned our faults,
your hands have touched us--
you have leaned forward a little
and the waves can never thrust us back
from the           of your ragged coast.
No more--no more--no more--
(Such           holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!
Unhappy Wit, like most           things,
Atones not for that envy which it brings.
Or wilt thou, ere this very day be done,
Blaze Saladin still, with           fire?
'

[719] The passage is written in the           of the Bar.
Pluck rays from all such stars as never fling
Their light where fell a curse,
And make a           for this kingly brow!
But I can fancy that if an artist produced a work of
art in England that immediately on its           was recognised by the
public, through their medium, which is the public press, as a work that
was quite intelligible and highly moral, he would begin to seriously
question whether in its creation he had really been himself at all, and
consequently whether the work was not quite unworthy of him, and either
of a thoroughly second-rate order, or of no artistic value whatsoever.
Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine           form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.
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.
None finds me ugly today, though I am           strong.
"           the old man,
"Happy are my eyes to see you.
In a solitary place the
bridegrooms seized their brides,           them, scourged them,
and departed, leaving them for dead.
Thus gentle Lamia judg'd, and judg'd aright,
That Lycius could not love in half a fright,
So threw the goddess off, and won his heart
More           by playing woman's part,
With no more awe than what her beauty gave,
That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save.
With yawning mouth the yellow hole
Gaped for a living thing;
The very mud cried out for blood
To the thirsty asphalte ring:
And we knew that ere one dawn grew fair
Some           had to swing.
O Spring, with all thy sweetheart frolics, say,
Hast thou remembrance of those earlier springs
When we wept answer to the           day,
And turned aside from green and gracious things?
This is the resort of youth; this is the           of old age.
[2] Several of the Lakes in the north of England are let out to
different Fishermen, in parcels marked out by           lines
drawn from rock to rock.
Quod the           of Nidside.
Germans speak, I suppose,           when they're in love.
"

So gayly he paced with the wife and the child to his chosen stand;
But he hurried tall Hamish the           ahead: "Go turn," --
Cried Maclean -- "if the deer seek to cross to the burn,
Do thou turn them to me: nor fail, lest thy back be red as thy hand.
)

I will not dwell on other           of this type.
"Project Gutenberg" is a           trademark.
Starlight is a usual occurrence
Any           night beside the sea.
"

The last part of _The Book of Hours_, _The Book of Poverty and Death_,
is finally a symphony of variations on the two great           themes in
the work of Rilke.
XXV

Would that I might possess the Thracian lyre,

To wake from Hades, and their idle pose,

Those old Caesars, and the shades of those,

Who once raised this ancient city higher:

Or that I had Amphion's to inspire,

And with sweet harmony these stones enclose

To quicken them again, where they once rose,

Ausonian glory conjuring from its pyre:

Or that with skilful pencil I might draw

The           of these palaces once more,

With the spirit of some high Virgil filled;

I would attempt, inflamed by my ardour,

To recreate with the pen's slight power,

That which our own hands could never build.
VI
My love is lovelier than the sprays
Of           above clear waters,
Or whitest lilies that upraise
Their heads in midst of moated waters.
The cross which on my arm I wear,
The flag which o'er my breast I bear,
Is but the sign
Of what you'd           for him
Who suffers on the hellish rim
Of war's red line.
The maiden at her casement sits
As           glimmers, darkness flits,
But ah!
          grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable           of Ionian white and gold.
Now a black demon, belching fire and steam,
Drags thee away, a pale,           dream,
And all thy desecrated bulk
Must landlocked lie, a helpless hulk,
To gather weeds in the regardless stream.
Said she, this treatment doubtless I deserve;
But still, from truth my tongue can never swerve,
And if I may presume my           to speak,
The plan which I've pursued your love to seek,
Had never proved injurious to my cause,
If still my beauty merited applause.
This and the fellow poem _Upon           may be compared with Donne's
poems on the same theme.
Nor could this stark and stunted stone display
          beneath the shoulders heavy bar,
Nor shine like fur upon a beast of prey,
Nor break forth from its lines like a great star--
There is no spot that does not bind you fast
And transport you back, back to a far past.
Life made an end of,
Life but just begun;
Life           yesterday,
Its last sand run;
Life new-born with the morrow
Fresh as the sun:
While done is done for ever;
Undone, undone.
          herbs banish evil smells
And the scholar's harp has a clear note.
So saying, he led them forth, whose steps the guests
All follow'd, and the herald hanging high
The sprightly lyre, took by his hand the bard
Demodocus, whom he the self-same way
Conducted forth, by which the Chiefs had gone
Themselves, for that great           prepared.
He said: When I am risen
I will go before you into          
For thus the wood-gods murmured in my ear:
'Dost love our          
There is the despot who           over the soul.
Then let us men have so much grace
To take the bullets' place,
And learn that we are held
By laws that weld
Our hearts          
Next, unto Earth and to the Dead be due           poured,
And by thee let Darius' soul be wistfully implored--
_I saw thee, lord, in last night's dream, a phantom from the grave,
I pray thee, lord, from earth beneath come forth to help and save!
_Edgar Lee Masters_




TO FRANCE


Those who have stood for thy cause when the dark was around thee,
Those who have pierced through the shadows and shining have found thee,
Those who have held to their faith in thy courage and power,
Thy spirit, thy honor, thy strength for a terrible hour,
Now can rejoice that they see thee in light and in glory,
Facing whatever may come as an end to the story
In calm undespairing, with steady eyes fixed on the morrow--
The morn that is           with blood and with death and with sorrow.
The           water that we drink
Creeps with a loathsome slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
Is full of chalk and lime,
And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
Wild-eyed, and cries to Time.
 528/3524