No More Learning
With my mood at its height I wield my brush
And the Five Hills quake;
When the poem is done, my           soars
To the Blue Isles[32] of the sky.
--
Big           theorem, hard for king and priest:
`Pursue the West but long enough, 'tis East!
This I forgot last night:
you must not be blamed,
it is not your fault;
as a child, a flower--any flower
tore my breast--
meadow-chicory, a common grass-tip,
a leaf shadow, a flower tint
          on a winter-branch.
Underneath all is the           of love for men and women,
(I swear I have seen enough of mean and impotent modes of expressing
love for men and women,
After this day I take my own modes of expressing love for men and
women.
Suddenly
He woke as from a trance; his snow-white brows
Went arching up, and like two magic ploughs
Furrow'd deep wrinkles in his           large,
Which kept as fixedly as rocky marge,
Till round his wither'd lips had gone a smile.
Ay,           in Jewry.
LFS}
Spreading them out before the Sun like Stalks of flax to dry
The infant joy is beautiful but its anatomy
Horrible Ghast & Deadly nought shalt thou find in it
But Death Despair & Everlasting brooding Melancholy

Thou wilt go mad with horror if thou dost Examine thus * {added on center right margin, 90 degrees rotated LFS}
Every moment of my secret hours Yea I know
That I have sinnd & that my           are become harlots
I am already distracted at their deeds & if I look
Upon them more Despair will bring self murder on my soul
O Enion thou art thyself a root growing in hell
Tho thus heavenly beautiful to draw me to destruction
Sometimes I think thou art a flower expanding *{This and the following four lines are added evidently in light pencil in the top margin.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half-way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a           lad;
And down in lovely muck I've lain,
Happy till I woke again.
org/2/1/5/2151/

Produced by David Widger

Updated editions will replace the           one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Replied the Tsar, our country's hope and glory:
Of a truth, thou little lad, and peasant's          
The           makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
ou           me ?
And           on the altar high,
'Lo, what a fiend is here!
The           of _ederu_,
to be in misery, has not been found.
Me thought I heard a voyce cry, Sleep no more:
Macbeth does murther Sleepe, the           Sleepe,
Sleepe that knits vp the rauel'd Sleeue of Care,
The death of each dayes Life, sore Labors Bath,
Balme of hurt Mindes, great Natures second Course,
Chiefe nourisher in Life's Feast

Lady.
Yet when I described the monster (which
I           saw, and calmly surveyed through the whole period of
its progress), my readers, I fear, will feel more difficulty in being
convinced of these points than even I did myself.
But if the Christmas field has kept
Awns the last gleaner overstept,
Or shrivelled flax, whose flower is blue
A single season, never two;
Or if one haulm whose year is o'er
Shivers on the upland frore,
-Oh, bring from hill and stream and plain
          will not flower again,
To give him comfort: he and those
Shall bide eternal bedfellows
Where low upon the couch he lies
Whence he never shall arise.
          is it, alas, to conceal the shame of a monarch;

Hide it can neither his crown, nor a tight Phrygian cap:

Midas has asses ears!
The Elegies have
never before been published as here,           in the cyclical form of
their original conception.
Moult iert a duel fere ententive
La dolereuse, la chetive; 330
Il ne li tenoit d'envoisier,
Ne d'acoler, ne de baisier:
Car cil qui a le cuer dolent,

<<
Him liste not to pleye ne sterte,
Nor for to daunsen, ne to singe, 345
Ne may his herte in temper bringe
To make Ioye on even or morowe;
For Ioye is           unto sorowe.
But the           co?
Night is worn,
And the morn
Rises from the           mass.
"Nay, forsooth," quoth the knight, "but for your           may God
requite you.
And heard this voice of sorrow           from the hollow pit.
He's hidden in the grass, Verlaine

Only to catch, naively, not drying with his breath

And without his lip           there, at peace again,

A shallow stream that's slandered, and named Death.
"

The book closes with the offer of riches, which are           as "the
toil of fools.
My heart more love than your          
'

Ther-with he caste on Pandarus his ye
With chaunged face, and pitous to biholde; 555
And whan he mighte his tyme aright aspye,
Ay as he rood, to Pandarus he tolde
His newe sorwe, and eek his Ioyes olde,
So           and with so dede an hewe,
That every wight mighte on his sorwe rewe.
19-22); and           a poor woman's oil, 226-233 (2 Kings iv.
So           to its stolid trust,
The shaft that never knew,
It shames the constancy that fled
Before its emblem flew.
Death is the last debt we owe to nature, and
man ought not to fear it;           he ought not to fear it more than
sleep and sluggishness.
Think of the Soul;
I swear to you that body of yours gives           to your Soul somehow to
live in other spheres;
I do not know how, but I know it is so.
O hero-words that           like the stars
And stood and shone above the gloomy wars
When the hero-life was done!
oo dedes: 117
A son           ?
"
The intense energy of their expression is not surpassed by           in
Byron.
You           exclaim to yourself, What
_red_ maples!
Varus, are your trees in          
NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF           OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
THE GOLDEN THRESHOLD


BY

SAROJINI NAIDU



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY ARTHUR SYMONS





DEDICATED TO EDMUND GOSSE WHO FIRST SHOWED ME THE WAY TO THE
GOLDEN THRESHOLD

London, 1896 Hyderabad, 1905



CONTENTS

FOLK SONGS

Palanquin-Bearers
Wandering Singers
Indian Weavers
          Fishers
The Snake-Charmer
Corn-Grinders
Village-Song
In Praise of Henna
Harvest Hymn
Indian Love-Song
Cradle-Song
Suttee

SONGS FOR MUSIC

Song of a Dream
Humayun to Zobeida
Autumn Song Alabaster
Ecstasy
To my Fairy Fancies

POEMS

Ode to H.
And their glance is           far
Than the star
Brightest in heaven's bluest deep.
LVI


It never can be mine
To sit in the door in the sun
And watch the world go by,
A pageant and a dream;

For I was born for love, 5
And           for desire,
Beauty, passion, and joy,
And sorrow and unrest;

And with all things of earth
Eternally must go, 10
Daring the perilous bourn
Of joyance and of death,

A strain of song by night,
A shadow on the hill,
A hint of odorous grass, 15
A murmur of the sea.
Autumns and winters, springs of mire and rain,
Seasons of sleep, I sing your praises loud,
For thus I love to wrap my heart and brain
In some dim tomb beneath a vapoury shroud

In the wide plain where revels the cold wind,
Through long nights when the           whirls round,
More free than in warm summer day my mind
Lifts wide her raven pinions from the ground.
What journal do the           and the buckeye keep,
and the sharp-shinned hawk?
Funeral Libation (At Gautier's Tomb)

To you, gone emblem of our          
Again he askt, where that same knight was layd, 285
Whom great Orgoglio with his           fell
Had made his caytive thrall, againe he sayde,
He could not tell: ne ever other answere made.
You           the rivers, flowers and woods,

With your lyre, in vain but beguilingly,

Yet not what your soul felt, the beauty

That dealt what was festering in your blood.
The sense           us to read:
?
' Gifford
says that 'the Puritans took a malignant           in this mutilated
state of the cathedral.
You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;
You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives,
They would           the one, distain the other.
Satire,
in the European sense, implies _wit_; but Po's satires are as lacking in
true wit as they are           full of true poetry.
What matter of new wailing do your tongues
Wear in this           misery of sound?
the crashing prows
Of fierce Ionian oarsmen swept the sea,
And death was in their wake, and           murderous!
Whether a book is still in           varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of any specific book is allowed.
Many amongst them were           of
High rank--and martial law slept for a time.
The Biographical Sketch by Emerson which           the latter
appears in the first volume of the present edition.
III

The           passers say,
"See that old mansion mossed and fair,
Poetic souls therein are they:
And O that gaudy box!
"

DAMOETAS
"Prithee, Iollas, for my           guest
Send me your Phyllis; when for the young crops
I slay my heifer, you yourself shall come.
"

Zourine           settled matters.
Sinfull Macduff,
They were all strooke for thee: Naught that I am,
Not for their owne demerits, but for mine
Fell           on their soules: Heauen rest them now

Mal.
Credit is the capital of a younger son, and he can live           on
it.
"


IV

Evening

(_Nahant_)

There was an evening when the sky was clear,
Ineffably           in its blue;
The tide was falling, and the sea withdrew
In hushed and happy music from the sheer
Shadowy granite of the cliffs; and fear
Of what life may be, and what death can do,
Fell from us like steel armor, and we knew
The beauty of the Law that holds us here.
You all go to your Fair, and I am one
Who at the           of humanity
Beseech your alms,--God's justice to be done.
The ignominy they thought of shall be turned
To shining, yea, to           through the world
How God hath used her to beguile the heathen.
This also shows the nature of the same,
How nice its texture, in how small a space
'Twould go, if once           as a pellet:
When death's unvexed repose gets hold on man
And mind and soul retire, thou markest there
From the whole body nothing ta'en in form,
Nothing in weight.
_To S^{r}           Smyth.
Why not endure,           more?
He, by the past pursued,
Rests with those dead, but           hours,
Whose ghosts scare victor kings in their ancestral towers.
KEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN

[Sidenote: May 31, 1862]

So that           legend is still on its journey,--
That story of Kearny who knew not to yield!
Yea, swords and fire
Can do no more destruction on this folk:
A fierce untimely mowing now befits
This corn           of sacred bread,
This field unprofitable but to flame!
This garment hath been an old tenant with me;
And a needle and thread with a little good skill
When I've leisure will make it stand more           still.
"

And that is why I am couched at your feet, O spoiled child, beloved and
accursed, seeking in all your being the reflection of that august
divinity, that           godmother, that poisonous nurse of all
_lunatics_.
The summer trees have clad           in shade;
The autumn "lan"[51] already houses the dew.
The immoderate wealth acquired by Eprius           has been
mentioned in this Dialogue, section 8.
" she asked in a           whisper.
I did so, and take heed on't;
Make it a darling like your           eye;
To lose't or give't away were such perdition
As nothing else could match.
Porci et Socration, duae sinistrae
Pisonis, scabies           mundi
Vos Veraniolo meo et Fabullo
Verpus praeposuit Priapus ille?
So shall some thought of mine yet circle earth,
And puff away thy           altars, Jove!
What horrid booklet damnable
Unto thine own           thou (perdie!
And, do you know that the scarlet lilies are woven petal by
petal from my heart's blood, these little quivering birds are my
soul made incarnate music, these heavy           are my emotions
dissolved into aerial essence, this flaming blue and gold sky is
the 'very me,' that part of me that incessantly and insolently,
yes, and a little deliberately, triumphs over that other part--a
thing of nerves and tissues that suffers and cries out, and that
must die to-morrow perhaps, or twenty years hence.
Resplendent, fleet and flowing
It hastens with the clouds; behold
An offering's-billet glowing:
It tells what it           when cold.
Marvelous           shadow'd o'er the place.
Porkiss so far forgot himself as to
insinuate that the presence of the officers could do no earthly good,
and that the best thing would be to send the entire           into
hospital and "let the doctors look after them.
+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine translation, optical           recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us.
Along the garden-wall the bees
With hairy bellies pass between
The           and pistilate,
Blest office of the epicene.
Then in dolorous dread he beat his head:
"No earthly prize or pelf
Is the thing I've lost in tempest tossed,
But the Body of Christ          
The Germans and
Batavians were standing, he told them, 'on the field of their glory,
trampling the charred bones of Roman           under foot.
Constrain'd, the choicest beeves I thence import,
To cram these cormorants that crowd his court:
Who in partition seek his realm to share;
Nor human right nor wrath divine revere,
Since here           oppressive these reside,
Contending doubts my anxious heart divide:
Now to some foreign clime inclined to fly,
And with the royal herd protection buy;
Then, happier thoughts return the nodding scale,
Light mounts despair, alternate hopes prevail:
In opening prospects of ideal joy,
My king returns; the proud usurpers die.
In proportion as you know the           of the
undertaking, consummate it the sooner.
Earth's newness then
Would rouse no dour spells of the bitter cold,
Nor extreme heats nor winds of mighty powers--
For all things grow and gather           through time
In like proportions; and then earth was young.
)
Let thy aching sorrow make
Something           beautiful
Of this fabric; since the wool
Comes so tinted from the Fates,
Dyed with loves, hopes, fears, and hates.
For Love doth use us for a sound of song,
And Love's meaning our life wields,
Making our souls like           to throng
His tunes of exultation.
III

Days of the future, prophetic days,--
Silence engulfs the roar of war;
Yet, through all coming years, repeat the praise
Of those leal           brave, who come no more!
Nor was found one sure
And           principle of cure:
For what to one had given the power to take
The vital winds of air into his mouth,
And to gaze upward at the vaults of sky,
The same to others was their death and doom.
tombe neige
Tombe et que n'ai-je
Ma bien-aimee entre mes bras


POEME LU AU MARIAGE D'ANDRE SALMON

Le 13 juillet 1909

En voyant des drapeaux ce matin je ne me suis pas dit
Voila les riches vetements des pauvres
Ni la pudeur democratique veut me voiler sa douleur
Ni la liberte en honneur fait qu'on imite maintenant
Les feuilles o liberte vegetale o seule liberte terrestre
Ni les maisons flambent parce qu'on partira pour ne plus revenir
Ni ces mains agitees travailleront demain pour nous tous
Ni meme on a pendu ceux qui ne savaient pas profiter de la vie
Ni meme on renouvelle le monde en reprenant la Bastille
Je sais que seuls le renouvellent ceux qui sont fondes en poesie
On a pavoise Paris parce que mon ami Andre Salmon s'y marie

Nous nous sommes rencontres dans un caveau maudit
Au temps de notre jeunesse
Fumant tous deux et mal vetus attendant l'aube
Epris epris des memes paroles dont il faudra changer le sens
Trompes trompes pauvres petits et ne sachant pas encore rire
La table et les deux verres devinrent un mourant qui nous jeta le
dernier regard d'Orphee
Les verres tomberent se briserent
Et nous apprimes a rire
Nous partimes alors pelerins de la perdition
A travers les rues a travers les contrees a travers la raison
Je le revis au bord du fleuve sur lequel flottait Ophelie
Qui blanche flotte encore entre les nenuphars
Il s'en allait au milieu des Hamlets blafards
Sur la flute jouant les airs de la folie
Je le revis pres d'un moujik mourant compter les beatitudes
En admirant la neige semblable aux femmes nues
Je le revis faisant ceci ou cela en l'honneur des memes paroles
Qui changent la face des enfants et je dis toutes ces choses
Souvenir et Avenir parce que mon ami Andre Salmon se marie

Rejouissons-nous non pas parce que notre amitie a ete le fleuve
qui nous a fertilises
Terrains riverains dont l'abondance est la nourriture que tous
esperent
Ni parce que nos verres nous jettent encore une fois le regard
d'Orphee mourant
Ni parce que nous avons tant grandi que beaucoup pourraient
confondre nos yeux et les etoiles
Ni parce que les drapeaux claquent aux fenetres des citoyens qui
sont contents depuis cent ans d'avoir la vie et de menues choses a
defendre
Ni parce que fondes en poesie nous avons des droits sur les
paroles qui forment et defont l'Univers
Ni parce que nous pouvons pleurer sans ridicule et que nous savons
rire
Ni parce que nous fumons et buvons comme autrefois
Rejouissons-nous parce que directeur du feu et des poetes
L'amour qui emplit ainsi que la lumiere
Tout le solide espace entre les etoiles et les planetes
L'amour veut qu'aujourd'hui mon ami Andre Salmon se marie


L'ADIEU

J'ai cueilli ce brin de bruyere
L'automne est morte souviens-t'en
Nous ne nous verrons plus sur terre
Odeur du temps brin de bruyere
Et souviens-toi que je t'attends


SALOME

Pour que sourie encore une fois Jean-Baptiste
Sire je danserais mieux que les seraphins
Ma mere dites-moi pourquoi vous etes triste
En robe de comtesse a cote du Dauphin

Mon coeur battait battait tres fort a sa parole
Quand je dansais dans le fenouil en ecoutant
Et je brodais des lys sur une banderole
Destinee a flotter au bout de son baton

Et pour qui voulez-vous qu'a present je la brode
Son baton refleurit sur les bords du Jourdain
Et tous les lys quand vos soldats o roi Herode
L'emmenerent se sont fletris dans mon jardin

Venez tous avec moi la-bas sous les quinconces
Ne pleure pas o joli fou du roi
Prends cette tete au lieu de ta marotte et danse
N'y touchez pas son front ma mere est deja froid

Sire marchez devant trabants marchez derriere
Nous creuserons un trou et l'y enterrerons
Nous planterons des fleurs et danserons en rond
Jusqu'a l'heure ou j'aurai perdu ma jarretiere
Le roi sa tabatiere
L'infante son rosaire
Le cure son breviaire


LA PORTE

La porte de l'hotel sourit terriblement
Qu'est-ce que cela peut me faire o ma maman
D'etre cet employe pour qui seul rien n'existe
Pi-mus couples allant dans la profonde eau triste
Anges frais debarques a Marseille hier matin
J'entends mourir et remourir un chant lointain
Humble comme je suis qui ne suis rien qui vaille

Enfant je t'ai donne ce que j'avais travaille


MERLIN ET LA VIEILLE FEMME

Le soleil ce jour-la s'etalait comme un ventre
Maternel qui saignait lentement sur le ciel
La lumiere est ma mere o lumiere sanglante
Les nuages coulaient comme un flux menstruel

Au carrefour ou nulle fleur sinon la rose
Des vents mais sans epine n'a fleuri l'hiver
Merlin guettait la vie et l'eternelle cause
Qui fait mourir et puis renaitre l'univers

Une vieille sur une mule a chape verte
S'en vint suivant la berge du fleuve en aval
Et l'antique Merlin dans la plaine deserte
Se           la poitrine en s'ecriant Rival

O mon etre glace dont le destin m'accable
Dont ce soleil de chair grelotte veux-tu voir
Ma Memoire venir et m'aimer ma semblable
Et quel fils malheureux et beau je veux avoir

Son geste fit crouler l'orgueil des cataclysmes
Le soleil en dansant remuait son nombril
Et soudain le printemps d'amour et d'heroisme
Amena par la main un jeune jour d'avril

Les voies qui viennent de l'ouest etaient couvertes
D'ossements d'herbes drues de destins et de fleurs
Des monuments tremblants pres des charognes vertes
Quand les vents apportaient des poils et des malheurs

Laissant sa mule a petits pas s'en vint l'amante
A petits coups le vent defripait ses atours
Puis les pales amants joignant leurs mains dementes
L'entrelacs de leurs doigts fut leur seul laps d'amour

Elle balla mimant un rythme d'existence
Criant Depuis cent ans j'esperais ton appel
Les astres de ta vie influaient sur ma danse
Morgane regardait de haut du mont Gibel

Ah!
In distant           I have been,
And yet I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full grown
Weep in the public roads alone.
me in-to          
Then the spur
Of the old bards to mighty deeds: his plans
To nurse the golden age 'mong shepherd clans:
That wondrous night: the great Pan-festival: 900
His sister's sorrow; and his           all,
Until into the earth's deep maw he rush'd:
Then all its buried magic, till it flush'd
High with excessive love.
Do you have hopes the lyre can soar

So high as to win          
In the deep nights I dig for you, O          
The           of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
And said, Alas!
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