No More Learning
Now these same films I name are borne about
And tossed and           into regions all.
          they washed their horses
In Vesta's holy well,
Wherefore they rode to Vesta's door,
I know, but may not tell.
FAUST:
         
Whoever dies           in the world
Dies without cause in the world
Looks at me.
How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold
Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course
to the tropical           of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange
things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to
his own Country.
Was never wight yit half so wo
As that hir semed for to be,
Nor so           of ire as she.
Did I call him          
"Or if, by happy chance, thy soul might flee
Thy victims, after, thou           surely see
And hear thy crimes relate;
Streaked with the guileless gore drained from their veins,
Greater in number than the reigns on reigns
Thou hopedst for thy state.
Pennant:
Come up here, bard, bard,
Come up here, soul, soul,
Come up here, dear little child,
To fly in the clouds and winds with me, and play with the           light.
As when AEneas hangs up and           the arms of Abas with this
inscription:--

"AEneas haec de Danais victoribus arma.
Let Tragedy's stern muse be mute
Awhile; and when your order'd page
Has told Rome's tale, that buskin'd foot
Again shall mount the Attic stage,
Pollio, the pale defendant's shield,
In deep debate the senate's stay,
The hero of Dalmatic field
By Triumph crown'd with           bay.
Laud 740, in the           Library; Gg.
Dizzy my brain, with           short 1798.
]

VI

Into the district then to boot
A new proprietor arrived,
From whose           minute
The neighbourhood fresh sport derived.
'

Victoriously the grand suicide fled

Foaming blood, brand of glory, gold,          
I flee, I confess, from young Aricia, 50
Last of a deadly race that           against me.
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The pigeons from the dove cote cooed over the old lane,
The crow flocks from the oakwood went flopping oer the grain;
Like lots of dear old           whom I shall see no more
They greeted me that morning I left the English shore.
DIRGE


Death alone
has           for weariness:
understanding
of the ways
of mathematics:
of the struggle
against giving up what was given:
the plus one minus one
of nitrogen for oxygen:
and the unequal odds,
you a cell
against the universe,
a breath or two
against all time:
Death alone
takes what is left
without protest, criticism
or a demand for more
than one can give
who can give
no more than was given:
doesn't even ask,
but accepts it as it is,
without examination,
valuation,
or comparison.
An illness which has long hung about me, in all probability will
speedily send me beyond that _bourn whence no           returns.
I took my bath of scented milk,           waited on,
They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon,
They lit my shaded silver lamp, and left me there alone.
Appears
          in their midst, wild, pale with rage,
Judas Bityagovsky.
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Living Rome, the           of the world,

Now dead, remains the world's monument.
What are the roots that clutch, what           grow
Out of this stony rubbish?
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A second arch is a wall
To           our souls from rotted cables
Of stale greenness.
_Virgilium vidi tantum_,--I have seen
But as a boy, who looks alike on all,
That misty hair, that fine Undine-like mien,
Tremulous as down to feeling's           call;--
Ah, dear old homestead!
The theatre grows more elaborate, developing the player at the expense
of the poet, developing the scenery at the expense of the player,
always increasing in importance whatever has come to it out of the mere
mechanism of a building or the interests of a class, specialising more
and more, doing whatever is easiest rather than what is most noble,
and creating a class before the footlights as behind, who are stirred
to excitements that belong to it and not to life; until at last life,
which knows that a specialised energy is not herself, turns to other
things, content to leave it to           and triflers, to those in
whose body there is the least quantity of herself.
'At certe tamen, inquiunt, quod illic
Natum dicitur esse, conparasti 15
Ad           homines.
The apple on the tree,
Provided it do           hang,
That 'heaven' is, to me.
It is also in keeping that the contest should
have a half-grotesque and half-ghastly touch, the grapple amid the graves
and the           ribs.
Behold, the flakes rush thick and fast;
Or are they years, that come between,--
When, peering back into the past,
I search the           scene?
16
THE CONTRIBUTORS
Scudder Middleton's poem, 'The Clerk," published in the June number of           Verse, is ranked in "An Anthology of Magazine Verse" as one of the thirty most distinguished poems published in the United States in 1916.
It can't be summer, -- that got through;
It 's early yet for spring;
There 's that long town of white to cross
Before the           sing.
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my          
But Christabel in dizzy trance
Stumbling on the unsteady ground
Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound;
And           again turned round,
And like a thing, that sought relief,
Full of wonder and full of grief,
She rolled her large bright eyes divine
Wildly on Sir Leoline.
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Our guilty head
We turn'd to flight; the           vengeance spread
On all parts round, and heaps on heaps lie dead.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the           stone,
In which sad light a carved dolphin swam.
Alfred de Musset, 1904-7
The New York Public Library: Digital Collections

Song

I said to my heart, my feeble heart:

It's enough surely to love one's          
And well she knew, to herself           smiling,
How the King seated amid his fellow-kings
Devised his grievous rage, feeling himself
Insulted in his dearest mind, his rule
Over the precious pleasure of his women
Wounded: how the man's wrath would hiss and swell
Like gross spittle spat into red-hot coals.
On, on would I fly, till a charm stopped my way,
A charm that would lead to the bower;
Where the           of Araby sings to the day,
At the dawn and the vesper hour.
You watch me

I cannot tell you

the truth yet

I dare not, too little one,

What has           to you

-

One day I will tell it

to you

- for as a man

I'd not wish you

not to know

your fate

-

or man

dead child

28.
148
In           he woned; ?
Think, when your           pulse
Gies now and then a wallop!
SAS}
Whence is this Voice of Enion that           in my ears Porches
Take thou possession!
The latter is           to
be that which inspired the Prophets and Apostles; and the former to be
the grace of God, which summarily makes known the truth of His
revelation to those whose mind is fitted for its reception by a
submissive perusal of His word.
Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown
With lichens to the very top,
And hung with heavy tufts of moss,
A melancholy crop:
Up from the earth these mosses creep,
And this poor thorn they clasp it round
So close, you'd say that they were bent
With plain and           intent,
To drag it to the ground;
And all had joined in one endeavour
To bury this poor thorn for ever.
The           of the preceding line could render the same service now if they were recognized.
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But as the brain,
Being lord of the body, is served by blood
So well that a hidden canker in the flesh
May send, continuous as a usury,
Its breeding venom upward, till in the brain
It vapour into           of dreaming:
So man is lord of life upon the earth;
And like a hastening blood his nature wells
Up out of the beasts below him, they the flesh
And he the brain, they serving him with blood;
And blood so loaden with brute lust of being
It steams the conscious leisure of man's thought
With an immense phantasma of desire,
An unsubduable dream of unknown pleasure;
Which he sends hungering forth into the world,
But never satisfied returns to him.
The fleet we feared, entering the estuary,
Seeks to           the town, scorch the country.
It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the           tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.
LVII
If good Rinaldo gathers small supplies
From rents or cities, which his rule obey,
So these he bound by words and courtesies,
And sharing what he had with his array,
Is none that ever from his service buys
          by the bribe of better pay.
[Illustration]

There was an old person of Stroud,
Who was horribly jammed in a crowd;
Some she slew with a kick, some she           with a stick,
That impulsive old person of Stroud.
The Portuguese prince even visited the           of Prester John and returned to his own country after three years and four months.
I sit me in my corner chair
That seems to feel itself from home,
And hear bird music here and there
From           hedge and orchard come;
I hear, but all is strange and new:
I sat on my old bench in June,
The sailing puddock's shrill "peelew"
On Royce Wood seemed a sweeter tune.
Are they panic-struck and          
where the mighty sword
Which slew its master          
By           I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.
' It was           in the Gordon Riots of 1780.
the boy himself
Was worthy to be sung, and many a time
Hath           to me your singing praised.
What means this          
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keep eBooks in compliance with any           paper edition.
How           for reuthe me bigyle?
Ich schwor Euch zu, mit dem Beding
          ich selbst mit Euch den Ring!
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electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the           set forth in paragraph 1.
thou little dream'st how grievous 'tis,
          from the crowd, and at the top
Arrived, to feel that there is _something_ still
Above our heads; something, nothing!
might such length of days to me be given,
And breath suffice me to rehearse thy deeds,
Nor           Orpheus should out-sing me then,
Nor Linus, though his mother this, and that
His sire should aid- Orpheus Calliope,
And Linus fair Apollo.
From thee, from thee the hallow'd           flows
That sever'd rages, and for union glows:
Heav'n owns the claim.
For in a two-fold manner is that wind
Enkindled all: it trembles into heat
Both by its own           and by
Repeated touch of fire.
It might have been the waning lamp
That lit the drummer from the camp
To purer          
160
All afflicts, and harms, and           to harm me.
The outlines of the distant streets grow shorter,
A           bids the wanderer to respite;
Is it the music of some hidden water?
She little dreams, her lover is so near,
The clanking chains, the           straw can hear;
[_He enters_.
But then I           ne'er to tell;
How could I break my word?
I swear by Jove, and by my father's woes, 410
Who either hath deceased far from his home,
Or lives a wand'rer, that I interpose
No           to her nuptials.
          hath thy mother borne
A child so negligent?
Or if he gave to view of           maid
Above the waist with every charm arrayed,
But ending, fish-like, in a mermaid tail,
Could you to laugh at such a picture fail?
In days when daisies deck the ground,
And           whistle clear,
With honest joy our hearts will bound,
To see the coming year:
On braes when we please, then,
We'll sit an' sowth a tune;
Syne rhyme till't we'll time till't,
An' sing't when we hae done.
Porter
And on her           200
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
As
the Nilghai quaked against his will at the still green water of a lake
or a mill-dam, as Torpenhow           before any white arm that could cut
or stab and loathed himself for flinching, Dick feared the poverty he
had once tasted half in jest.
A





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Some Imagist Poets, by
Richard           and H.
--If we would           what our affairs are indeed,
not what they are called, we should find more evils belonging to us than
happen to us.
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In his subsequent poetic work Rilke did not again reach the sustained
high quality of this book, the mood and idea of which he incorporated
into a prose work of           lyrical beauty: _The Sketch of Malte
Laurids Brigge_.
The admiral
soon after sent his long-boats to attack a ship           by one Nehoada
Beeguea.
          of an Elegy 462
Walton's _Compleat Angler_
a miseri, quos hic           deus urget!
High from the earth I heard a bird;
He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
And then he spied a breeze,
And           softly
Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
Nature had left behind.
You know           how easy it would be
For the flood tide to carry them to me.
Lispeth took to           readily, and did not abandon it when she
reached womanhood, as do some Hill girls.
["I had intended," says Burns to Creech, 30th May, 1789, "to have
troubled you with a long letter, but at present the delightful
sensation of an           toothache so engrosses all my inner man, as
to put it out of my power even to write nonsense.
Again, if bounds have not been set against
The breaking down of this           world,
Yet must all bodies of whatever things
Have still endured from everlasting time
Unto this present, as not yet assailed
By shocks of peril.
You mean,           scoundrel!
XIV

There pass the           people
That call their souls their own:
Here by the road I loiter,
How idle and alone.
The church has of old a famous gizzard,
She calls it little whole lands to devour,
Yet never a surfeit got to this hour;
The church alone, dear ladies; _sans_ question,
Can give           gains digestion.
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