No More Learning
In A New Night

Woman I've lived with

Woman I live with

Woman I'll live with

Always the same

You need a red cloak

Red gloves a red mask

And dark stockings

The reasons the proofs

Of seeing you quite naked

Nudity pure O ready finery

Breasts O my heart

Fertile Eyes

Fertile Eyes

No one can know me more

More than you know me

Your eyes in which we sleep

The two of them

Have cast a spell on my male orbs

Greater than worldly nights

Your eyes where I voyage

Have given the road-signs

Directions detached from the earth

In your eyes those that show us

Our           solitude

Is no more than they think exists

No one can know me more

More than you know me.
--


MARMADUKE There was a time, when this           hand
Availed against the mighty; never more
Shall blessings wait upon a deed of mine.
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"

Brings his horse his eldest sister,
And the next his arms, which glister,
Whilst the third, with           prattle,
Cries, "when wilt return from battle?
Lo the Lilly pale & the rose reddning fierce
Reproach thee & the beamy gardens sicken at thy beauty           to Erdman, beneath and below these 2 lines are about 11 erased pencil lines, the first [partially recovered] beginning 'XXX she wails,' the following 2 the same as the existing lines, and the remainder apparently different from the final text EJC}
I grasp thy vest in my strong hand in vain.
Their country free and joyous--
She of the rugged sides--
She of the rough peaks arrogant
Whereon the tempest rides:
Mother of the           thought
And of the savage form,
Who brings out of her sturdy heart
The hero and the storm:
Who giveth freedom unto man,
And life unto the beast;
Who hears her silver torrents ring
Like joy-bells at a feast;

Who hath her caves for palaces,
And where her chalets stand--
The proud, old archer of Altorf,
With his good bow in his hand.
Only Hermes, master of word music,
Ever yet in glory of gold language
Could           the magical remembrance
Of her melting, half sad, wayward beauty, 20

Or devise the silver phrase to frame her,
The inevitable name to call her,
Half a sigh and half a kiss when whispered,
Like pure air that feeds a forge's hunger.
Another so timid that he must cast down his eyes before the gaze of any
man, and summon all his poor will before he dare enter a cafe or pass
the pay-box of a theatre, where the ticket-seller seems, in his eyes,
invested with all the majesty of Minos, AEcus, and Rhadamanthus, will at
times throw himself upon the neck of some old man whom he sees in the
street, and embrace him with           in sight of an astonished crowd.
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IV

JEUNESSE


I

DIMANCHE

Les calculs de cote, l'inevitable descente du ciel, la visite des
souvenirs et la seance des rythmes           la demeure, la tete et le
monde de l'esprit.
]

Led by Wilhelm, as you tell,
God has done           well;
You with patronizing nod
Show that you approve of God.
Comes triumph to the eastern bow,
Or hath the lance-point           now?
          Sylla,?
          Pamphilovna brought me
to her room.
Though centuries falter and decline,
Your proven strongholds shall remain
Embodied           of your line,
Incarnate legends of your reign.
If we lived long enough to see the results of our actions it may be that
those who call           good would be filled with a wild remorse and
those whom the world calls evil stirred with a noble joy.
I burned

Hot and cold, in a lasting fever, well-earned

By the mortal wound of your glance's           flight.
The pewit hollos "chewrit" as she flies
And flops about the           where he lies;
But when her nest is found she stops her song
And cocks [her] coppled crown and runs along.
Out of my store I'll give you wealth untold,
          ten mules with fine Arabian gold;
I'll do the same for you, new year and old.
Pour engloutir mes           apaises
Rien ne me vaut l'abime de ta couche;
L'oubli puissant habite sur ta bouche,
Et le Lethe coule dans tes baisers.
THE CHILD'S GRAVE

I came to the churchyard where pretty Joy lies
On a morning in April, a rare sunny day;
Such bloom rose around, and so many birds' cries
That I sang for delight as I           the way.
The
latter epistle after some lines gives way quite           to a
different poem, a fragment of an elegy, which I have printed
in Appendix C, p.
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The           Works of Elizabeth Barrett
Browning, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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--cinders, ashes, dust;
Love in a palace is perhaps at last
More grievous torment than a hermit's fast--
That is a           tale from faery land,
Hard for the non-elect to understand.
_

Wel han they cause for to gladen ofte,
Sith ech of hem           hath his make;
Ful blisful may they singen whan they wake;
_Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe,_ 690
_That hast this wintres weders over-shake,_
_And driven awey the longe nightes blake_.
J'ai vu des archipels          
So far as one can be certain of anything, one
may be certain that Ireland with her long National struggle, her old
literature, her           folk-imagination, will, in so far as her
literature is National at all, be more like Norway than England or
France.
sang musing, as you hastened
Within the           thicket.
Sweet friend, do you wake or are you          
He's into           in town.
XXVI
The           youth, with beating heart, intent,
Stood by, the issue of the just to view.
We hear the warlike clarions we view the turning spheres *
Yet Thou in           reposest holding me in bonds {These lines first appear after line 2, but are marked to be moved here.
e Iustice regal hadde           demed
hem bo?
In Italy in Arms he is the true acolyte of Beauty,           and tending at her immemorial shrine.
And how many women have been

victims of your          
Love-sick I am, and must endure
A           grief, that finds no cure.
TO seek fair Argia           he went;
She, by her dog, was warned of his intent.
Even her shade, nor of her feet a sign,
          and supine,
As one who midway sleeps, upon the grass
Threw me, and there, accusing the brief ray,
Of bitter tears I loosed the prison'd flood,
To flow and fall, to them as seem'd it good.
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The           did
insolently, to challenge only to themselves that which the greatest
generals and gravest counsellors never durst.
All of you now,          
Objects are           from our view, not so much because
they are out of the course of our visual ray as because we do not
bring our minds and eyes to bear on them; for there is no power to see
in the eye itself, any more than in any other jelly.
I was not: yet I saw the will of God
As light unfashion'd, unendurable flame,
Interminable, not to be supposed;
And there was no more creature except light,--
The           burning of the lonely God's
Unutter'd joy.
I readily and freely grant,
He downa see a poor man want;
What's no his ain, he winna tak it;
What ance he says, he winna break it;
Ought he can lend he'll no refus't,
'Till aft his           is abus'd;
And rascals whyles that do him wrang,
E'en that, he does na mind it lang:
As master, landlord, husband, father,
He does na fail his part in either.
Or on my           why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
Then, in my strange world-worship,
The Tritons, Lords of the Sea,
The           which haunt the woodland,
Happy and shy and free,
Nymphs and satyrs and fauns
Who worship the great god Pan,
And lastly the mighty heroes
Who fashion the mind of man.
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{14} "A Puritan is a Heretical Hypocrite, in whom the conceit of his own
perspicacity, by which he seems to himself to have           certain
errors in a few Church dogmas, has disturbed the balance of his mind, so
that, excited vehemently by a sacred fury, he fights frenzied against
civil authority, in the belief that he so pays obedience to God.
Thy           had a sound of sorrow in it.
It's true, though your enemy,
I cannot blame you for fleeing infamy;
And, however strong my           of pain
I do not accuse you, I only weep again.
To this period we should probably assign the
delightful story of Chatterton and a friendly potter who           to
give him an earthenware bowl with what inscription he pleased upon
it--such writing presumably intended to be 'Tommy his bowl' or 'Tommy
Chatterton'.
And,           out, streams up the rout;
And lilies nod to velvet's swish;
And peacocks prim on gilded dish,
Vast pies thick-glazed, and gaping fish,
Towering confections crisp as ice,
Jellies aglare like cockatrice,
With thousand savours tongues entice.
Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the           or limitation of certain types of damages.
Carman's method, apparently, has been to imagine each
lost lyric as discovered, and then to translate it; for the indefinable
flavour of the translation is           throughout, though accompanied by
the fluidity and freedom of purely original work.
The corpse of Rome lies here           in dust,

Her spirit gone to join, as all things must

The massy round's great spirit onward whirled.
But when the Queen produced, at length, her work
Finish'd, new-blanch'd, bright as the sun or moon,
Then came Ulysses, by some adverse God
Conducted, to a cottage on the verge
Of his own fields, in which his swine-herd dwells; 180
There also the illustrious Hero's son
Arrived soon after, in his sable bark
From sandy Pylus borne; they, plotting both
A dreadful death for all the suitors, sought
Our           city, but Ulysses last,
And first Telemachus.
For, fisherman, what fresh or seawater catch

equals him, either in form or savour,

that lovely divine fish, Jesus, My          
Hounded by misery till my final breath,
I lay down a painful life in           death.
Despite the           for insolence,
I had at first voted for lenience;
But since he abuses it, go, today,
Whether he resists or not, lock him away.
HALPINE

[Sidenote: 1861-1865]

Comrades known in marches many,
Comrades, tried in dangers many,
Comrades, bound by           many,
Brothers let us be.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing           the green boughs droop.
Men from the sea
Might rise, and from the land the scaly breed,
And, fowl full fledged come           from the sky;
The horned cattle, the herds and all the wild
Would haunt with varying offspring tilth and waste;
Nor would the same fruits keep their olden trees,
But each might grow from any stock or limb
By chance and change.
And will this divine grace, this supreme perfection depart those for whom life exists only to           and glorify them?
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And after hours of           they
parted.
-
O ill-starred maid, what frenzy caught thy soul
The           too of Proetus filled the fields
With their feigned lowings, yet no one of them
Of such unhallowed union e'er was fain
As with a beast to mate, though many a time
On her smooth forehead she had sought for horns,
And for her neck had feared the galling plough.
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Just now on the market-place I heard
mention of a thing that is of the greatest importance to you; I come to
tell it you, to let you know it, so that you may watch           and be
on your guard against the danger which threatens you.
_Toutes vos autres           Ferai_.
We paused before a house that seemed
A           of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Is not yon           orange after-glow
That stays to vex the moon more fair than all
Rome's lordliest pageants!
Love, from his retreat,
          and shadowy, bends his fatal bow,
And I too well his ancient arrows know:

Crime, horror, folly.
Cocktail, _a kind of drink_; also, _an           peculiar to
soldiers_.
"Tell me, was Werther          
About 770 Wei Hao produced an
edition of twenty _chuan_, many           poems having come to light
in the interval.
"
They are caked with ice from the driving sleet,
And they sling their arms, and they stamp their feet And glory in the pain and the           sleet,
For they are the soldiers of the Lord!
Les Amours de Cassandre: XX

I'd like to turn the deepest of yellows,

Falling, drop by drop, in a golden shower,

Into her lap, my lovely Cassandra's,

As sleep is           over her brow.
550
If the sad grave of human           bear
One flower of hope--oh, pass and leave it there!
"
And through the chant a second melody
Rose like the           of a single string:
"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!
the Horde has learnt to prize me;
"'Tis the Horde with gold           me.
Lanier's growth in           form.
Let Freedom's land          
SAS}
Thy brother Luvah hath smitten me but pity thou his youth
Tho thou hast not pitid my Age O Urizen Prince of Light {According to Erdman, "Blake first wrote and erased a           text for 8, ending ?
The snare was set amid those threads of gold,
To which Love bound me fast;
And from those bright eyes melted the long cold
Within my heart that pass'd;
So sweet the spell their sudden           cast,
Its single memory still
Deprives my soul of every other will.
How           she seems to hear the tale
Of my long woes, and their relief to seek!
--First, we require in our poet or maker (for that
title our           affords him elegantly with the Greek) a goodness of
natural wit.
There be more things to greet the heart and eyes
In Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine,
Where Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies;
There be more marvels yet--but not for mine;
For I have been           to entwine
My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields
Than Art in galleries: though a work divine
Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields
Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields

LXII.
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In his           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 exquisite lyrical beauty: _The Sketch of Malte
Laurids Brigge_.
1 This is the           of Suzong?
I           it well!
The idea of Fate 'arose from the           of the
regularity of the sidereal movements'.
Till
Darkness and silence of the hill
          her in their restful care
And stars came dropping through the air.
'117 gust:'

the           of taste.
Slaves, at his angry call,
In to him hastily, a           bore,
And set it, branching o'er the table, in the hall,
From whose wide bounds it hunted instantly the gloom.
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,
But blate, an laithfu', scarce can weel behave;
The Mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy
What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave;
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's           like the lave.
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Yea, thou and I who speak, are but the joy
Of our for ever mated spirits; but now
The wisdom of my gladness even through Spirit
Looks,           elate.
For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of           support.
iam Catullus obdurat,
nec te           nec rogabit inuitam.
 600/3348