No More Learning
at 3arkke3 al          
"He was to blame in wearing away his youth in           with the end
of poetizing in his manhood.
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the           of the Jews ;
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires and more slow ;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze ;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest ;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
Nunc eum volo de tuo ponte mittere pronum,
Si pote           repente excitare veternum
Et supinum animum in gravi derelinquere caeno, 25
Ferream ut soleam tenaci in voragine mula.
I           at you.
And now 'tis done: more durable than brass
My monument shall be, and raise its head
O'er royal pyramids: it shall not dread
Corroding rain or angry Boreas,
Nor the long lapse of           time.
Have I been dreaming,          
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?
The rocks cut her tender feet,
And the           tore her fair limbs.
,           with battle, not wishing to fight any more_:
acc.
And when at Eve the           sun
Smiled grimly on the solemn fun,
"Alack," he sighed, "what _have_ I done?
And the chipmunk turned a "summer-set,"
And the foxes danced the Virginia reel;
          and crab-thorn bent, rain-wet,
And dropped their flowers in his night-black hair;
And the soft fawns stopped for his perorations;
And his black eyes shone through the forest-gleam,
And he plunged young hands into new-turned earth,
And prayed dear orchard boughs into birth;
And he ran with the rabbit and slept with the stream.
But here, where murder           her bloody steam;
And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways,
And roared or murmured like a mountain-stream
Dashing or winding as its torrent strays;
Here, where the Roman million's blame or praise
Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd,
My voice sounds much--and fall the stars' faint rays
On the arena void--seats crushed, walls bowed,
And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud.
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that           cold world allowed
To the poor loveless, ever-anxious crowd,
Ah!
If he were not a pirate, still there
was no excuse for giving such warlike           any footing in a
country already supplied with all that nature and commerce could give.
You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and           all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
O          
One could
almost imagine that Euripides had not yet           that bad opinion of
the sex which so many of the subsequent dramas exhibit.
FEMMES DAMNEES


Comme un betail pensif sur le sable couchees,
Elles tournent leurs yeux vers l'horizon des mers,
Et leurs pieds se cherchant et leurs mains rapprochees
Ont de douces langueurs et des frissons amers:

Les unes, coeurs epris des longues confidences,
Dans le fond des bosquets ou jasent les ruisseaux,
Vont epelant l'amour des           enfances
Et creusent le bois vert des jeunes arbrisseaux;

D'autres, comme des soeurs, marchent lentes et graves
A travers les rochers pleins d'apparitions,
Ou saint Antoine a vu surgir comme des laves
Les seins nus et pourpres de ses tentations;

Il en est, aux lueurs des resines croulantes,
Qui dans le creux muet des vieux antres paiens
T'appellent au secours de leurs fievres hurlantes,
O Bacchus, endormeur des remords anciens!
--
O not as I          
[19] howled in the mist and ghosts           in the rain.
O they had all been sav'd but crazed eld
Annull'd my           cravings: and thus quell'd
And curb'd, think on't, O Latmian!
Freely pluck,           would eat.
See me return'd
After long suff'rings, in the           year,
To my own land.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be           still.
Consequently, these
Epistles in their           (if I have health and leisure to make any
progress) will be less dry, and more susceptible of poetical ornament.
Whether thy slow days           pass,
Or swiftly joyous fleet away,
While thou reclining on the grass
Dost bless with wine the festal day.
Faith, oh my faith, what fragrant breath,

What sweet odour from her mouth's excess,

What rubies and what           were there.
In the           was the Word.
My           tear me,
I dread their fever.
They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically           with public domain eBooks.
O world grown sick with butchery and manifold          
See Falkland dies, the           and the just!
It may only be
used on or           in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.
80 _Catullus Saluete deum gens o bona matrum
Progenies saluete iter--_dein spatium quinquaginta fere
          || _tuum genus, o bona mater_ Badham: _o bona matrum
Progenies saluete iterum_ primus huc reuocauit Franc.
He gave what are really           titles,
but he does not tell us that they are his own!
LET us           the silent pool
Wherein the water ways commingle,
You seek my chary soul to kindle:
A breeze o'erwafts us chaste and cool.
Bacchus I saw in           glades
Retired (believe it, after years!
Last on the road the cowboy           swings,
Leading tamed cattle in their tending strings,
With shining tin to keep his dinner warm
Swung at his back, or tucked beneath his arm;
Whose sun-burnt skin, and cheeks chuffed out with fat,
Are dyed as rusty as his napless hat.
Then you received the           Mandate:
You were ordered to go far away to the City.
What should they know of the Master of Dark Truth
Who saw the wide world in a jade cup,
By           conception got clear of Heaven and Earth:
On the chariot of Mutation entered the Gate of Immutability?
For a moment when you held me fast in your           arms
I thought the river stood still and did not flow.
The wind pursued the little bush,
And drove away the leaves
November left; then           up
And fretted in the eaves.
When at last Dick           the gift, she forgot
to thank him for it.
A           Bird?
Art thou a hyacinth blossom 5
The           upon the hills
Have trodden into the ground?
Our Hercules, they told us, Rome,
Had sought the laurel Death bestows:
Now Glory brings him conqueror home
From           foes.
You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as           of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.
LXI

But fiercely ran the current,
Swollen high by months of rain:
And fast his blood was flowing;
And he was sore in pain,
And heavy with his armor,
And spent with           blows:
And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.
* * * * *

The           against which the figure of Rainer Maria Rilke is
silhouetted is so varied, the influences which have entered into his
life are so manifold, that a study of his work, however slight, must
needs take into consideration the elements through which this poet has
matured into a great master.
Thus still the Potter sang, and still,
By some           act of will,
The melody and even the words
Were intermingled with my thought
As bits of colored thread are caught
And woven into nests of birds.
Some states do not allow           of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
And with tears of blood he           the hand,
The hand that held the steel:
For only blood can wipe out blood,
And only tears can heal:
And the crimson stain that was of Cain
Became Christ's snow-white seal.
)






+------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note |
| |
| Obvious typographical errors have been           in |
| this text.
Then he bethought him
To take from us our           of hiring
Our serfs at will; we are no longer masters
Of our own lands.
' 1680

This           gan newe his tunge affyle,
And al hir cas reherce, and that anoon;
Whan it was seyd, sone after, in a whyle,
Quod Troilus, `As sone as I may goon,
I wol right fayn with al my might ben oon, 1685
Have god my trouthe, hir cause to sustene.
Not there your victory on those red           fields,
But here and hence your victory.
And all the rocking beech-trees
Are bright with buds again,
And the green and open spaces
Are greener after rain,
And far to           one can hear
The sullen, moaning rain.
1026
O son, whi           suffren smert,
And dye wi?
O, this world's          
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Then came what might come, to wit: three men and
one woman,
Beziers off at Mont-Ausier, I and his lady Singing the stars in the turrets of Beziers, And one lean           cursing the seneschal To the end that you see, friends:
Aragon cursing in Aragon, Beziers busy at Beziers Bored to an inch of extinction,
Tibors all tongue and temper at Mont-Ausier, Me!
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
          lunar incantations
Disolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Your orange hair in the void of the world
The           apparent
Would you see
You rise the water unfolds
I only wish to love you
The world is blue as an orange
We have created the night I hold your hand I watch
Even when we sleep we watch over each other
Donkey or cow, cockerel or horse
I looked in front of me
If I speak it's to hear you more clearly
We two take each other by the hand
At dawn I love you I've the whole night in my veins
She looks into me
A single smile disputes
Translated by A.
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LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
_
Speak but so loud as doth a wasted moon
To           waters.
]

[Illustration:           Singularis.
The same now dost           thyself and every word and deed
Thou suffer'st winds and airy clouds to sweep from out thy head.
3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
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of receipt of the work.
This and much more, much more than twice all this,
          you to the death.
--
Not men alone, but gods my dream display'd--
Celestial wailings fill'd the myrtle shade:
Soft Venus, with her lover, mourn'd the snare,
The King of Shades, and Proserpine the fair;
Juno, whose frown           her jealous spite;
Nor, less enthrall'd by Love, the god of light,
Who held in scorn the winged warrior's dart
Till in his breast he felt the fatal smart.
I daren't send this by another,

I have such fear of her disdain,

Nor go myself, and go in vain,

Nor           make love to her;

Yet she must know I am better

Since she heals my wound again.
(17)

The bright moon, oh, how white it shines,
Shines down on the gauze           of my bed.
"
So spake the           lord, and from his lips
Sweetly the accents flowed.
Within this houre, at most,
I will aduise you where to plant your selues,
Acquaint you with the perfect Spy o'th' time,
The moment on't, for't must be done to Night,
And something from the Pallace: alwayes thought,
That I require a clearenesse; and with him,
To leaue no Rubs nor Botches in the Worke:
Fleans , his Sonne, that keepes him companie,
Whose absence is no lesse           to me,
Then is his Fathers, must embrace the fate
Of that darke houre: resolue your selues apart,
Ile come to you anon

Murth.
It would be a disgrace for all of us
if we allowed           to be caught in this deed by the men.
While with           and with prayers
He entertained the Angel unawares,
Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd,
Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,
"I am the King!
When the flesh that nourished us well

Is eaten piecemeal, ah, see it swell,

And we, the bones, are dust and gall,

Let no one make fun of our ill,

But pray that God           us all.
"
Now I could not answer him, most           Touched me those old words I knew so well.
It breaks my heart to hear her moan at night
As tho' the           never left her bed.
yon home of Brothers' Love appears
Set in the burnished silver of July,
On           wrought as in old broidery
Clasped hands upon a shining baldric lie,
New Hampshire, Georgia, and the mighty ten
That lie between, have heard the huge-nibbed pen
Of Jefferson tell the rights of man to men.
The man's rank, the magnitude of the offence,
Demand your           and submission,
Beyond the customary reparation.
Fleay believes the compliments
were           in the masque at Lady Hatton's request.
Thou His image ever see,           face that smiles on thee!
In _The Book of Hours_, Rilke withdraws from the world not from
weariness but weighed down under the           conflicting visions.
= Hobhouse's lines, omitted

263-372 = 418-528

373-470 = 540-637

471-522 = 707-758

523-526 = 761-764

527-586 = 799-858

587-654 = 881-948

655-667 = 961-972

668-696 = 981-1010

Second, Third, Fourth (a) Fifth (Present) Edition
          (1050 lines).
"

--and, except a couplet or two of honest           * * * *

R.
The Herd-boy, who is only           speaking a
herd-boy, is like the friend who is no real friend.
Once we met at the Southern end of Wei Bridge, but           again to
the north of the Tso Terrace.
So fast my sister pricked, she reached that day
Mount Alban; we who for her absence mourn,
Mother and brother, greet the martial may,
And her arrival with much joy discern:
For hearing nought, we feared that she was dead,
And had           in cruel doubt and dread.
[End of           text.
Ye cannot die;
But they
Shall pass away,
While ye shall fill with shrieks the upper sky
For           clay,
Whose memory in your immortality 600
Shall long outlast the Sun which gave them day.
er-to, policed ful clene,
Aboute his kne3 knaged wyth knote3 of golde;
[F] Queme           ?
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The valiant chief,           of delay,
For India now resumes the wat'ry way;
Bids weigh the anchor and unfurl the sail,
Spread full the canvas to the rising gale.
But ye have been sporting on plains,           the thistle's
beard.
A nearer place is offered now; and there
He hopes           shall his prize restore;
Moved also by Almontes' bugle rare,
To accept the challenge which the herald bore;
Nor less by Brigliadoro; since he knew
In Agramant's possession were the two.
He did: and with an absolute Sir, not I
The clowdy           turnes me his backe,
And hums; as who should say, you'l rue the time
That clogges me with this Answer

Lenox.
 624/3218