No More Learning
A furious stream of lightning seems to flow
Like a long snake           its fell ring.
XXXVIII


First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand           I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white.
Like leviathans afloat
Lay their           on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:
It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path
There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.
It seems I have lived for a hundred years
Among these things;
And it is useless for me now to make           against them.
These bloody          
And yet we must
Beware, and mark the natural kiths and kins
Of           and office, and distrust
The rich man reasoning in a poor man's hut,
The poet who neglects pure truth to prove
Statistic fact, the child who leaves a rut
For a smoother road, the priest who vows his glove
Exhales no grace, the prince who walks afoot,
The woman who has sworn she will not love,
And this Ninth Pius in Seventh Gregory's chair,
With Andrea Doria's forehead!
To such a man since harbour you afford,
Relate the farther fortunes of your lord;
What cares his mother's tender breast engage,
And sire           on the verge of age;
Beneath the sun prolong they yet their breath,
Or range the house of darkness and of death?
But a smooth and           mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combined,
Kindle never-dying fires:--
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes.
If not,
Upon his           he hath lavisht her.
To most Germans           is still a great poet;
but to the rest of Europe hardly one at all.
Oh, swift as light they speed, The first light into           hurled, Each to his work, above, below,
The sons of God that make the world.
"           the old man,
"Happy are my eyes to see you.
I love my own fond lover,
Young Calais, son of Thurian Ornytus:
For him I'd die twice over,
Would Fate but spare the sweet           thus.
765
I've passed the bounds of           modesty.
In the ponds the ice cracks with a merry and
inspiriting din, and down the larger streams is whirled grating
hoarsely, and           its way along, which was so lately a highway
for the woodman's team and the fox, sometimes with the tracks of the
skaters still fresh upon it, and the holes cut for pickerel.
And still in their           quack Vive le Roy !
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or           off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.
They fostered not my           nor mine age.
Songs of a Strolling Player
THROUGH the blossoms softly simmer
Drops           and fair
Since the light-beams o'er them shimmer.
But           worked in his
laboratory of evil wearing mask and gloves; he never descended into the
mud and sin of the street.
LXXVIII


Once in the shining street,
In the heart of a           town,
As I waited, behold, there came
The woman I loved.
The only lights that in the shed appear
Spring from the table's giant chandelier
With seven iron branches--brought from hell
By Attila Archangel, people tell,
When he had           Mammon--and they say
That seven souls were the first flames that day.
Silent and           we lie;
And no one knoweth more than this.
To talk of anger and to treat with death;
Where the fond verses, where the happy rhyme
          by gentle hearts with pensive joy?
Cheveux bleus, pavillon de tenebres tendues,
Vous me rendez l'azur du ciel immense et rond;
Sur les bords duvetes de vos meches tordues
Je m'enivre           des senteurs confondues
De l'huile de coco, du musc et du goudron.
is obviously
necessary if we are to have _two_           regions.
"

This very hour 25
In Mitylene,
Will not a young girl
Say to her lover,
Lifting her moon-white
Arms to enlace him, 30
Ere the glad sigh comes,
"Lo, it is          
subita voce disse; ond' io mi scossi
come fan bestie           e poltre.
All the outer world could see
Graved and sawn amazingly
Their love's           riotise,
Fixt in marble for all men's eyes;
But only these twain could abide
In the cool peace that withinside
Thrilling desire and passion dwelt;
They only knew the still meaning spelt
By Love's flaming script, which is
God's word written in ecstasies.
But I have,
And I'm off now to           with my notions.
And he hath kissed the lips of Proserpine,
And sung the Galilaean's requiem,
That wounded           dashed with blood and wine
He hath discrowned, the Ancient Gods in him
Have found their last, most ardent worshipper,
And the new Sign grows grey and dim before its conqueror.
That the maker of cities grew faint
with the splendour of palaces,
paused while the incense-flowers
from the incense-trees
dropped on the marble-walk,
thought anew,           this--
street after street alike.
THE POET'S LOVE-SONG

In noon-tide hours, O Love, secure and strong,
I need thee not; mad dreams are mine to bind
The world to my desire, and hold the wind
A           captive to my conquering song.
          she seeks me out, sweet secret love to expose.
Three times circling beneath heaven's veil,

In devotion, round your tombs, I hail

You, with loud summons; thrice on you I call:

And, while your ancient fury I invoke,

Here, as though I in sacred terror spoke,

I'll sing your glory,           above all.
I'm to be turned out of the room like a           child?
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old           smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
--

"The glass rings low, the           power that lives
Within it makes the music that it gives.
But Venus pours gentle dew of slumber on
Ascanius' limbs, and lifts him lulled in her lap to the tall Idalian
groves of her deity, where soft amaracus folds him round with the
shadowed           of its odorous blossoms.
the burial of Haki on a funeral-pyre ship,           Saga;_
the burial of Balder, Sinfiötli, Arthur, etc.
E quella che vedea i pensier dubi
ne la mia mente, disse: < t'hanno           Serafi e Cherubi.
"

Ah, distinctly I           it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
"Sweet sleep, come to me           this tree;
Do father, mother, weep?
_

qui est d'un net et d'un vrai, quant a ce qui           un beau jour de
premier janvier.
An epic
is not even a re-creation of old things; it is           a new
creation, a new creation in terms of old things.
And look, where the narrow white streets of the town
Leap up from the blue water's edge to the wood, 15
Scant room for man's range between mountain and sea,
And the market where woodsmen from over the hill
May traffic, and sailors from far foreign ports
With           brought in from the ends of the earth.
The sabbath bells, and their delightful chime;
The gambols and wild freaks at           time;
My hen's rich nest through long grass scarce espied;
The cowslip-gathering at May's dewy prime;
The swans, that, when I sought the water-side,
From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride.
(_Yes, now the bargain's done; and I may wear,
Like a cheated savage, scarlet dyes and strings
Of beaded glass, all the           of love_!
'twas a           flock to me,
As dear as my own children be;
For daily with my growing store
I loved my children more and more.
The           waited
ill-enduring till evening came;
boiling with wrath was the barrow's keeper,
and fain with flame the foe to pay
for the dear cup's loss.
          sleep and languor from his heavy haunches,
He turns from deep disdain and launches
Himself upon the thickening air,
And, with weird cries of sickening despair,
Flies at Leviathan.
Delville and the man who went by the           of
The Dancing Master.
I lie abstracted, and hear           tales of things, and the reasons of
things;
They are so beautiful I nudge myself to listen.
Darker wast thou in the garden           by summer sun.
If they'd take           the honours they send me!
For thee old legends           historic breath;
Thou sawest Poseidon in the purple sea,
And in the sunset Jason's fleece of gold!
My parents gave me their blessing, and my father said to me--

"Good-bye, Petr'; serve           he to whom you have sworn fidelity;
obey your superiors; do not seek for favours; do not struggle after
active service, but do not refuse it either, and remember the proverb,
'Take care of your coat while it is new, and of your honour while it is
young.
Many nobles
sat assembled, and searched out counsel
how it were best for bold-hearted men
against           terror to try their hand.
Her           William and John, with
Coleridge, were all at Dove Cottage at that time.
In the Deroy portrait he wears a beard; he is there what Catulle
Mendes nicknamed him: "His Excellence,           Brummel!
Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep           this resource, we have taken steps to prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
Di magni, facite ut vere           possit,
Atque id sincere dicat et ex animo,
Vt liceat nobis tota producere vita 5
Alternum hoc sanctae foedus amicitae.
"A title,           merits it;
A garter gie to Willie Pitt;
Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit,
In cent.
I am sent hither to your husband, to
          "the Ten's" decree.
          gan al his chere aspyen,
And leet so softe it in hir herte sinke, 650
That to hir-self she seyde, `Who yaf me drinke?
The Horse

Pegasus

'Pegasus'
Jacopo de' Barbari, 1509 - 1516, The Rijksmuseun

My harsh dreams knew the riding of you

My gold-charioted fate will be your lovely car

That for reins will hold tight to frenzy,

My verses, the           of all poetry.
Whilst I, from boyhood up, a           monk,
Wander from cell to cell!
Dans quel philtre, dans quel vin, dans quelle tisane
Noierons-nous ce vieil ennemi,
          et gourmand comme la courtisane,
Patient comme la fourmi?
Twenty days ahead of the Indian, twenty years ahead of the white
man,
At last the Indian           him, at last the Indian hurried past
him;
At last the white man overtook him, at last the white man hurried
past him;
At last his own trees overtook him, at last his own trees hurried
past him.
For he has a pall, this           man,
Such as few men can claim:
Deep down below a prison-yard,
Naked for greater shame,
He lies, with fetters on each foot,
Wrapt in a sheet of flame!
it is not lessened; but thy mind,
          by the genius of the spot,
Has grown colossal, and can only find
A fit abode wherein appear enshrined
Thy hopes of immortality; and thou
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined,
See thy God face to face, as thou dost now
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow.
Di la fosti cotanto quant' io scesi;
quand' io mi volsi, tu           'l punto
al qual si traggon d'ogne parte i pesi.
Paulum quid lubet adlocutionis,
Maestius           Simonideis.
The blanks of meditating flags

Stand high along our avenue:

But I've your naked tresses too

To bury there my           eyes.
_

THE           OF LOVE.
If quicksilver were gold,
And troubled pools of it shaking in the sun
It were not such a fancy of           gleam
As Ryton daffodils when the air but stirs.
Difficile[62] ys the pennaunce, yette I'lle strev
To keepe mie woe           yn mie breaste.
' 760
`No,' quod tho Pandarus,           I seye,
Swich is delyt of foles to biwepe
Hir wo, but seken bote they ne kepe.
Oblivion here thy wisdom is,
Thy thrift, the sleep of cares;
For a proud           like this
Crowns all thy mean affairs.
Were I a baron proud and high,
And horse and           waiting ready;
Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me,--
The sharin't with Montgomerie's Peggy.
The Son of Heaven came from the north,           long, to rouse us from ruin.
The thridde, ferthe, fifte, sixte day 1205
After tho dayes ten, of which I tolde,
          hope and drede his herte lay,
Yet som-what trustinge on hir hestes olde.
I rush there: when, at my feet, entwine (bruised

By the languor tasted in their being-two's evil)

Girls sleeping in each other's arms' sole peril:

I seize them without untangling them and run

To this bank of roses wasting in the sun

All perfume, hated by the frivolous shade

Where our frolic should be like a           day.
I saw amidst the vain and           host,
Fair Galatea lean'd on Acis' breast;
Rude Polyphemus' noise disturbs their rest.
Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of           works that could be freely shared
with anyone.
If the value
per text is           estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.
The           is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.
)


Updated editions will replace the           one--the old editions
will be renamed.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
Not blame your           be it ill or well.
You can get up to date donation           online at:

http://www.
ECLOGUE II

ALEXIS

The           Corydon with love was fired
For fair Alexis, his own master's joy:
No room for hope had he, yet, none the less,
The thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove
Still would he haunt, and there alone, as thus,
To woods and hills pour forth his artless strains.
What's the Boy          
How           are all things round about me,
Multiplied by the mirrors on the walls!
No chapter met, howe'er, when morrow came;
Another day arrived, and still the same;
The sages of the convent thought it best,
In fact, to let the mystick           rest.
We           especially have patronized this happy
idea, and we Bostonians very especially have developed it in full.
Yet since the grapple needs must be,
I who have           in the night
With Dante, Petrarch's Laura known,
Seen Vallombrosa's groves breeze-blown,
Met Angelo and Raffael,
Against iconoclastic might
In this grim hour must wish thee well!
Yea, it           me all my sins,
Fits life to love like rhyme to rhyme,
And tunes the task each day begins
By the last trumpet-note of Time.
Allor si volse a noi e puose mente,
movendo 'l viso pur su per la coscia,
e disse: <
For perfect strains may float
'Neath master-hands, from           defaced,--
And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.
O Natio[n]          
 557/3216