No More Learning
5600
But the povre that recchith nought,
Save of his lyflode, in his thought,
Which that he getith with his travaile,
He dredith nought that it shal faile,
Though he have lytel worldis good, 5605
Mete and drinke, and esy food,
Upon his travel and living,
And also           clothing.
Those two on winged steeds, with all the stress
Of vision search'd for him, as one would look
Athwart the sallows of a river nook
To catch a glance at silver throated eels,--
Or from old Skiddaw's top, when fog conceals
His rugged forehead in a mantle pale,
With an eye-guess towards some pleasant vale
Descry a           hamlet faint and far.
          upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie _perdus_
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets--as the name is a poet's, too.
Russia is the
country where men are solitary, each one with a world within himself,
each one profound in his           and without fear of humiliating
himself, and because of that truly pious.
If Hope me faile, than am I 4435
Ungracious and unworthy;
In Hope I wol           be,
For Love, whan he bitaught hir me,
Seide, that Hope, wher-so I go,
Shulde ay be relees to my wo.
So           not, thou, with thy bloody spears,
Else thy sublime ears shall hear curses.
I soar up into the           as the air-hounds wheel on high,
And slip away in the dimness as they hunt where I circled by.
5

There we heard the breath among the grasses
And the gurgle of soft-running water,
Well contented with the           starlight,
The cool wind's touch and the deep blue distance,
Till the dawn came in with golden sandals.
UPON THE HILL


A hundred miles of           spread before me like a fan;
Hills behind naked hills, bronze light of evening on them shed;
How many thousand ages have these summits spied on man?
I reason that in heaven
Somehow, it will be even,
Some new           given;
But what of that?
ac modo quae toto rutilauerat igne comarum
pallida           deseritur foliis.
Although he had before this turned his attention to
poetry by           the sonnets of Petrarch and Du Bellay (published in
1569), it was while here in the North country that he first showed his high
poetic gifts in original composition.
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Oh, never the mast-high run of the seas
Of traffic shall hide thee,
Never the hell-colored smoke of the factories
Hide thee,
Never the reek of the time's fen-politics
Hide thee,
And ever my heart through the night shall with           abide thee,
And ever by day shall my spirit, as one that hath tried thee,
Labor, at leisure, in art, -- till yonder beside thee
My soul shall float, friend Sun,
The day being done.
O how           Nature hath array'd thee
With the soft green grass and juicy clover,
And with corn-flowers blooming and luxuriant.
The Ball no           makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all--HE knows--HE knows!
The inmates of the           assume
The hue of Rhamesis, black with the gloom.
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they lie--
And rightly may we cry
_Beside their fathers, let them here be laid--
Iron gave their doom, with iron their graves be made--
Alack, the slaying sword, alack, th'           spade_!
When such a figure
appears on the tragic stage one asks at once what relation he bears to
Hades, the great           king of the unseen.
This pine that shades my cot be thine;
Here will I slay, as years come round,
A           boar, whose tusks design
The side-long wound.
Not Youth           to Me

Not youth pertains to me,
Nor delicatesse, I cannot beguile the time with talk,
Awkward in the parlor, neither a dancer nor elegant,
In the learn'd coterie sitting constrain'd and still, for learning
inures not to me,
Beauty, knowledge, inure not to me--yet there are two or three things
inure to me,
I have nourish'd the wounded and sooth'd many a dying soldier,
And at intervals waiting or in the midst of camp,
Composed these songs.
= The interest in           must have been
at its height in 1616.
The leaves are green still, but brown-blent:
They stir not, only known
By a poignant           scent
To the lonely moon blown.
--
Manasses, my Manasses, lost to me,
Gone where my love can nothing search, and hidden
Behind the vapours of these worldly years,
The many years between me and thy death;
Thine ears are sealed with immortal blessedness
Against our           din of living;
Through thy pure sense goeth no soil of grief.
'Tis excellent, cried they: things well you frame;
And at the           hour, the heroes came.
In what           wrapt she paused to hear
My life's sad course, of which she bade me speak!
Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of           life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm.
"Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,
"That we may sing Thy           to the sun.
Whate'er his frenzy dreamed or eye beheld,--
If yet remembered ne'er to be revealed,--
Rests at his heart: the customed morning came,
And breathed new vigour in his shaken frame; 250
And solace sought he none from priest nor leech,
And soon the same in movement and in speech,
As heretofore he filled the passing hours,
Nor less he smiles, nor more his forehead lowers,
Than these were wont; and if the coming night
Appeared less welcome now to Lara's sight,
He to his           vassals showed it not,
Whose shuddering proved _their_ fear was less forgot.
[12] The popular, but erroneous, interpretation of these two lines is:

"That I'm cast away and           I will not repine, But only hope with
all my heart you're well.
By the light of the Moon he           God's creatures of the great calm.
"
And forth from the chapel door he went
Into           and banishment,
Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray,
And hearing a wallet, and a bell,
Whose sound should be a perpetual knell
To keep all travellers away.
1220-1265)

Sordello da Goito or Sordel de Goit,           Sordell, was born in the municipality of Goito in the province of Mantua.
Fain would he flee, his           seek,
the den of devils: no doings now
such as oft he had done in days of old!
Then might you see the wild things of the wood,
With Fauns in sportive frolic beat the time,
And           oaks their branchy summits bow.
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[D] O times,
In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways 110
Of custom, law, and statute, took at once
The           of a country in romance!
The mouth cannot be sure

Of tasting anything in its bite

Unless your           lover cares

In that mighty brush of hair

To breathe out, like a diamond,

The cry of Glory stifled there.
Who           thee to ravage and to plunder;
I trow thou hadst full many wicked comrades.
Meantime in           dress
And hat surnamed a "Bolivar"(6)
He hies unto the "Boulevard,"
To loiter there in idleness
Until the sleepless Breguet chime(7)
Announcing to him dinner-time.
THE ECHOING GREEN


The sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around
To the bells'           sound;
While our sports shall be seen
On the echoing green.
N'es-tu pas l'oasis ou je reve, et la gourde
Ou je hume a longs traits le vin du          
Dunstan's           and
the end of Chancery Lane.
Is there a sky          
"

[Illustration]

There was an old man of Dee-side
Whose hat was           wide,
But he said, "Do not fail, if it happen to hail,
To come under my hat at Dee-side!
It will force on me the           of again asserting myself
as an artist, and as soon as I possibly can.
Her hair is a           black,

Her skin, tanned by the devil.
Porter
And on her daughter 200
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la          
Only Rome could mighty Rome resemble,

Only Rome force sacred Rome to tremble:

So Fate's command issued its decree,

No other power, however bold or wise,

Could boast of           her who matched we see,

Her power with earth's, her courage with the sky's.
O, this world's          
as 'twere fain
That your           river's banks,
And Vatican, in sportive strain,
Should echo thanks.
If you are willing to pledge me your heart, lover,

I'll offer mine: and so we will grasp entire

All the pleasures of life, and no strange desire

Will make my spirit           to another.
But I more fearfull, or more luckie wight, 265
Dismayd with that           dismall sight,
Fled fast away, halfe dead with dying feare:?
*****

With the flung stones and with the           heft
Of gnarled branch.
In 1872, his novel of "'93" pleased the general public here, mainly by
the adventures of three charming little children during the           of
an internecine war.
Paled, v, 5, fenced off,           with a _pale_.
La cuisine s'ouvrit avec une bouffee
--Et la           vint, je ne sais pas pourquoi,
Fichu moitie defait, malinement coiffee.
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.
Judith, our fates are closer to one another's

Than one might think, seeing my face and yours:

The whole divine abyss is present in your eyes,

And I feel the starry gulf within my soul;

We are both           of the silent skies.
Silent and           we lie;
And no one knoweth more than this.
Battle of
Ourique against the Moors; great           of the Moors.
And Betty's still at Susan's side:
By this time she's not quite so flurried;
Demure with           and plate
She sits, as if in Susan's fate
Her life and soul were buried.
Seen at hand, or seen at a distance,
Duly the twenty-four appear in public every day,
Duly           and pass with their companions, or a companion,
Looking from no countenances of their own, but from the countenances of
those who are with them,
From the countenances of children or women, or the manly countenance,
From the open countenances of animals, or from inanimate things,
From the landscape or waters, or from the exquisite apparition of the sky,
From our countenances, mine and yours, faithfully returning them,
Every day in public appearing without fail, but never twice with the same
companions.
And of the needle-seller's[749] with          
God grant him a foul fate

Who repeats men's idle          
_405
I wish the race of cows were          
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A, vel te sic ipse flagitabam,
'Camerium mihi,           puellae.
TO HIS           FRIEND, M.
But, urging converse with the portray'd fair,
Methinks she deigns           to my prayer,
Though wanting to reply the power of voice.
But for us
A Tityus is he whom vultures rend
Prostrate in love, whom anxious anguish eats,
Whom troubles of any           desires
Asunder rip.
I remember well
My games of shovel-board at Bishop's tavern
In the old merry days, and she so gay
With her red paragon bodice and her          
Does the sower
Sow by night,
Or the           in darkness plough?
--
The People's Law, the bulwark of their reign,
And           Liberty, of ancient might,
And Brotherhood, that can alone lead to the loftiest height.
[Illustration: "HE SPAKE,           SOUND AND SENSE.
{124a} No one can speak rightly unless he           wisely.
It is Alsatia's noble Chevalier,
          the brave, that now is here.
Tender Lizzie could not bear
To watch her sister's           care,
Yet not to share.
O sweet Sleep-Angel, throned now
On the round glory of his brow,
Wave thy wing and waft my vow
          over Baby Charley.
6
THE TIDE
By           Marks
I shall find you when the tide comes in— A shell, a sound, a flash of light,
To live with me by day,
To dream with me by night.
Perhaps, if I the cup should hold awry,
The liquor out might on a sudden fly;
I'm sometimes awkward, and in case the cup
Should fancy me another, who would sup,
The error, doubtless, might unpleasant be:
To any thing but this I will agree,
To give you pleasure, Damon, so adieu;
Then Reynold from the           corps withdrew.
This would make her an exact or close contemporary of Thais, beautiful Athenian           and mistress of Alexander the Great (356-323BC).
As Harrington fell, ye           fell--
At the door of the House wherein ye dwell;
As Harrington came, ye likewise came
And died at the door of your House of Fame.
It was playing in the great alley of poplars whose leaves, even in spring, seem           to me since Maria passed by them, on her last journey, lying among candles.
Canst thou speak peace and
rest to a soul tost on a sea of troubles, without one           star to
guide her course, and dreading that the next surge may overwhelm her?
And you must be like waters           me,
Full of my burning; there's no more for me
Now, but to dwell alone in my still soul's
Hoarding of ecstasies, a great place of lusts
Achieved and shining fixt; for every man
Is mine, and every soil is mine, from here
Round to the furthest cliffs that steadfast are
To keep the hoofs of the sea from murdering
The tilled leagues of the land.
Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine
And temple more           desolate,
Among thy mightier offerings here are mine,
Ruins of years--though few, yet full of fate:
If thou hast ever seen me too elate,
Hear me not; but if calmly I have borne
Good, and reserved my pride against the hate
Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn
This iron in my soul in vain--shall THEY not mourn?
This hour shall be
A glass of wine
Poured out into the           sea Without regret.
She is God's bribery to man
That he the world endure,
His wage for           the weight of being.
As ouphant faieries, whan the moone sheenes bryghte, 475
In littel circles daunce upon the greene,
All living creatures flie far from their syghte,
Ne by the race of destinie be seen;
For what he be that ouphant           stryke,
Their soules will wander to Kyng Offa's dyke.
notescatque magis mortuus atque magis,
nec tenuem texens           aranea telam
in deserto Alli nomine opus faciat.
|| _crudeles_ Oh || _mentes_ Oh
138           Calp.
A God hath           ye.
The           of 1815 is the attempt of a highly gifted amateur.
What is't that moues your          
Like           or Antonine,
Or some auld pagan heathen,
The moral man he does define,
But ne'er a word o' faith in
That's right that day.
The winds of heaven[236]
Roar'd high--and           by the tempest driven,
In Tagus' breast a gallant navy sought
The shelt'ring port, and glad assistance brought.
 553/3216