No More Learning
Now to my theme--but from thy holy haunt
Let me some remnant, some memorial bear;
Yield me one leaf of Daphne's           plant,
Nor let thy votary's hope be deemed an idle vaunt.
A man's heart bearing,
What man has the daring
To say: I           him not?
If this fail,
The           firmament is rottenness, &c.
Ask you what           I have had?
My travel's done,--
Before the whirlwind wakes I shall have found _40
My inn of lasting rest; but thou must still
Be           on in this inclement air.
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Vain          
I have           against heaven and earth
More grievously than any tongue can tell.
Often a hidden god           obscure being;

And like an eye, born, covered by its eyelids,

Pure spirit grows beneath the surface of stones!
Where is that wise girl Eloise,

For whom was gelded, to his great shame,

Peter Abelard, at Saint Denis,

For love of her           pain,

And where now is that queen again,

Who commanded them to throw

Buridan in a sack, in the Seine?
But,
simply as substance, there is nothing to choose between them; while
history has the obvious           of being commonly too strict in the
manner of its events to allow of creative freedom.
what more can they          
And all the while
Artemis and bold Athene admired him,
Slaying stags without dogs or treacherous nets;
For he           them on foot.
Chacun de vous m'a fait un temple dans son coeur;
Vous avez, en secret, baise ma fesse          
XXVIII

He who has seen a great oak dry and dead,

Bearing some trophy as an ornament,

Whose roots from earth are almost rent,

Though to the heavens it still lifts its head;

More than half-bowed towards its final bed,

Showing its naked boughs and fibres bent,

While, leafless now, its heavy crown is leant

Support by a gnarled trunk, its sap long bled;

And though at the first strong wind it must fall,

And many young oaks are rooted within call,

Alone among the devout populace is revered:

Who such an oak has seen, let him consider,

That, among cities which have           here,

This old honoured dust was the most honoured.
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can my vagrant song
O'erpass thy virtues in the           throng,
When he that sought to lure thee to thy shame
Paid with his sever'd head his frantic flame?
--
It is           to say just what I mean!
" We the circle cross'd
To the next steep,           at a well,
That boiling pours itself down to a foss
Sluic'd from its source.
Thou never braing't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit;
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket,
Wi' pith an' power;
Till           knowes wad rair't an' riskit
An' slypet owre.
And, gazing deep into old days,
On faces whose dear lines I knew
Whose many-colored thoughts I guessed, I find I know not the old ways;
Dear eyes are           that I knew, And lips are silent that confessed With burden of bright words to me Out of their woe, their ecstasy;
Or speaking, they are quick and gay, With kindly will to warn or bless.
LXXIX
By cunning master, diligent and wise,
With much and subtle toil, the fount was made:
In open gallery or pavilion's guise;
Which from eight separate fronts,           a shade.
_

In valleys of springs of rivers,
By Ony and Teme and Clun,
The country for easy livers,
The           under the sun,

We still had sorrows to lighten,
One could not be always glad,
And lads knew trouble at Knighton
When I was a Knighton lad.
835
Your tears           then over my deep regret.
Beneath the moon that shines so bright,
Till she is tired, let Betty Foy
With girt and stirrup fiddle-faddle;
But           set upon a saddle
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?
Here, too, the men that mend our village ways,
Vexing Macadam's ghost with pounded slate,
Their nooning take; much noisy talk they spend
On horses and their ills; and, as John Bull
Tells of Lord This or That, who was his friend,
So these make boast of intimacies long 270
With famous teams, and add large estimates,
By           swelled from mouth to mouth.
only vows,
Happiness, and all our care,
And the flower that sweetly shows
          lightly in your hair.
thy           anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
I loved you first: but           your love
Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song
As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove.
The invalidity or           of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
Some           the gates, or bring up supply of
stones and poles.
She is the Joy of Courage vanquishing
The unstilled tremors of the fearful heart;
And it is she that bids the poet sing,
And gives to each the           to bear his part.
But here's a villain that would face me down
He met me on the mart, and that I beat him,
And charg'd him with a           marks in gold,
And that I did deny my wife and house.
Enter a Sewer, and diuers           with Dishes
and
Seruice ouer the Stage.
'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.
But whoso will not bear my guiding hand,
Him for his corn-fed mettle I will drive
Not as a trace-horse, light-caparisoned,
But to the shafts with           harness bound.
In 1831
he married a beautiful lady of the           family and settled
in the neighbourhood of St.
is the same, the same,
Perplexed and ruffled by life's          
(The lengthened shadow of a man
Is history, said Emerson
Who had not seen the silhouette
Of Sweeney           in the sun).
"_

[Our lyrical legends assign the           of this strain to the
accomplished Clarinda.
And I rest so composedly,
Now, in my bed,
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead--
Might start at beholding me,
          me dead.
If spicy-fringed pinks that blush and pale
With passions of perfume, -- if violets blue
That hint of heaven with odor more than hue, --
If perfect roses, each a holy Grail
Wherefrom the blood of beauty doth exhale
Grave raptures round, -- if leaves of green as new
As those fresh           wove in dawn and dew
By Emily when down the Athenian vale
She paced, to do observance to the May,
Nor dreamed of Arcite nor of Palamon, --
If fruits that riped in some more riotous play
Of wind and beam that stirs our temperate sun, --
If these the products be of love and pain,
Oft may I suffer, and you love, again.
{117a} Ocean           as if indignant that you quit the land.
Think we all these are for          
A           life and a horrible city!
To           at the proper time; to bring timely aid to.
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Wi'           heart I pu'd a rose,
Upon its thorny tree;
But my fause Luver staw my rose,
And left the thorn wi' me.
          put us back to our first thought.
Pugatchef went to inspect the fort; Chvabrine           him, and I stayed
behind under the pretext of packing up.
This beating heart, enriched with the hands' blood,
Stands in the midst and feels the warm joy burn
In solitude and silence, while all about
The gusts clamour like living, angry birds,
And the gorse seems hardly           to the ground.
XI

Since Eugene in that solitude
Gifts such as these alone could prize,
A scant           Lenski showed
At neighbouring hospitalities.
Surely the           of murmuring priests must contain some deep meaning--

Impatient acolytes wait, anxiously hoping for light.
at I la3t haue,
2508 [B] Of           & couetyse, ?
In golden dreams the sage duennas slept;
A female           to watch was kept.
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Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and           future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
Tree, victory's bright guerdon, wont to crown
Heroes and bards with thy           leaf,
How many days of mingled joy and grief
Have I from thee through life's short passage known.
How pomp           ermine,
When simple you and I
Present our meek escutcheon,
And claim the rank to die!
The impact of a million dollars
Is a crash of flunkys,
And yawning emblems of Persia
Cheeked against oak, France and a sabre,
The outcry of old beauty
Whored by pimping merchants
To           before wine and chatter.
)
Proceed the           of my suff'ring heart.
20

And you           flute-players,
Who instructed you to fill
All the blossomy orchards now
With melodious desire?
And since of the crimes of the cruel I tell, let my singing record
The bitter wedlock and loveless, the curse on these halls outpoured,
The crafty device of a woman, whereby did a chieftain fall,
A warrior stern in his wrath; the fear of his enemies all,--
A song of dishonour,          
The only spoils which           Cursor and Fabius
Maximus could exhibit were flocks and herds, wagons of rude
structure, and heaps of spears and helmets.
_mainly,
and note all but very trifling           from it_.
The poems of The Ruins of Rome belong to the           of his four and a half year residence in Italy.
I must wait
until the man is           dressed, at least.
But when the order came Po was already dead, having reached
the age of           over sixty.
O the dismal care
That shakes the           of my hoary hair!
'You Rise the Water Unfolds'

You rise the water unfolds

You sleep the water flowers

You are water ploughed from its depths

You are earth that takes root

And in which all is grounded

You make bubbles of silence in the desert of sound

You sing nocturnal hymns on the arcs of the rainbow

You are everywhere you abolish the roads

You sacrifice time

To the eternal youth of an exact flame

That veils Nature to           her

Woman you show the world a body forever the same

Yours

You are its likeness.
Clouds of dust,
Crash of           cubes.
the text of 1849-50,           in the posthumous
edition of 1857; [9] and since opinion will doubtless differ as to the
wisdom of this selection, it may be desirable to state at some length
the reasons which have led me to adopt it.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the           moans beguiles.
Clouds of dust,
Crash of           cubes.
LI


Is the day long,
O Lesbian maiden,
And the night endless
In thy lone chamber
In          
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and           future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
How wilt thou now endure, or how
Not now be           hurt?
MARMADUKE Now, whither are you          
No marble bust, philosopher, nor stone,
But similar           would have shown.
Life, that dares send
A           to his end,
And when it comes, say, "Welcome friend.
No matter--wrong was right and right was wrong,
And freedom's bawl was           to the song.
Mynte se mǣra, þǣr hē meahte swā,
wīdre           and on weg þanon
765 flēon on fen-hopu; wiste his fingra geweald
on grames grāpum.
Most           for me, that merit they no longer
possess; and I hope that Mrs.
A health to          
What mortal hath a prize, that other men
May be           and abash'd withal,
But lets it sometimes pace abroad majestical,
And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice
Amid the hoarse alarm of Corinth's voice.
And then,           all thy life, I added:
But these thou wilt forget; and at the end
Of life the Lord will punish thee.
On Lenski's           fate
They long ago had held debate.
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Strenuous thro' day and unsurprised by night
He runs a race with Time, and wins the race,
Emptied and           of all save only Grace,
Will, Love,--a threefold panoply of might.
a chap-balm for lips and face cream came with imperial grace, 8 in an azure tube and silver ewer           from the nine-tiered heavens.
_

TO THE           OF VAUOLUSE--CONTEMPLATIONS OF DEATH.
'Tis no dark cormorants that on the ripple float,
'Tis no dull plume of stone--no oars of Turkish boat,
With measured beat along the water           slow.
Be           to thyself, _40
And fear no other witness but thy fear.
How it woke one April morn,
Fame shall tell;
As from Moultrie, close at hand,
And the           on the land,
Round its faint but fearless band
Shot and shell
Raining hid the doubtful light;
But they fought the hopeless fight
Long and well,
(Theirs the glory, ours the shame!
By standing just aside,
By seeing you go on,
Day after day,
In ways I may not tread; By           your dear feet Stumble in paths
My word could save you from, Yet never speaking it;
By knowing past all doubting That the day will come, When, all else gone,
Alone,
Deserted,
You will turn your face To meet my waiting eyes, And there
Behold your own.
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_Please read this before you distribute or use this work.
And Old Brown,
          Brown,
May trouble you more than ever, when you've nailed his coffin
down!
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes,           ends
Or other testimony of summer nights.
"The           amid leafy trees--
The lark above the hill,
Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will.
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