No More Learning
PHEDRE
TO SARAH BERNHARDT


HOW vain and dull this common world must seem
To such a One as thou, who should'st have talked
At Florence with Mirandola, or walked
Through the cool olives of the Academe:
Thou should'st have gathered reeds from a green stream
For Goat-foot Pan's shrill piping, and have played
With the white girls in that           glade
Where grave Odysseus wakened from his dream.
"

Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug, and Dick stirred him
with a           foot.
Ah, but           beside thee came
That fearful sight of another mood?
_this forward heresie,
That women can no parts of           bee.
ymb-beorgan, _to           protectingly_: pret.
Rodrigue
Chasing the harsh course of my           fate.
VI

SUNTHIN' IN THE           LINE

TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY

JAALAM, 17th May, 1862.
ay           le3ten leue at ?
Rodrigue
No, that dear object to whom I brought terror,
Cannot in punishing show too fierce an anger;
I'd evade a thousand deaths that           pain,
If I'd die the sooner by angering her again.
"I mean that if you want to be well with
Masha Mironoff, you need only make her a present of a pair of earrings
instead of your           verses.
THE           FLOWERS.
Please check the Project           Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.
_The farting Tanner and           King.
He did not even seem to know
I watched him gliding through the           deep.
XVII
Of high and           genius, tied
By love and blood, lo!
Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive           at the
address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.
This           of the learned had a powerful influence on Petrarch's
fine imagination.
Douce land of France, o very precious clime,
Laid           by such a sour exile!
"

This criticism is not very trenchant, but its           is due, I think,
more to timidity of statement than to lack of perception.
or shall I leave
Woman amid these          
My feet kept drowsing,           still,
My fingers were awake;
Yet why so little sound myself
Unto my seeming make?
My feet kept drowsing,           still,
My fingers were awake;
Yet why so little sound myself
Unto my seeming make?
_ 'Thou gost and           povertee?
Give me the freedom of that hour,
The tear of joy, the           pain,
Of hate and love the thrilling power,
Oh, give me back my youth again!
And whistle: All's for the best

In this best of          
Latin mortal           word,

Ibis, Nile's native bird.
XLVII
"Yet him a cruel proposition made,
          a year his purpose to complete;
Condemned to privy death, till then delayed,
Save in that time, through force or through deceit,
He by his friends' and kindred's utmost aid,
Doing or plotting, me from my retreat
Conveyed into his prisons; so that he
Can only saved by my destruction be.
'Twas always thus, and will be; hand and head
Are ever rivals: but, though this be swift,
The other slow,--this the Prometheus,
And that the Jove,--yet,           hid,
It was from Jove the other stole his fire,
And, without Jove, the good had never been.
Three weeks passed since I had seen her, --
Some disease had vexed;
'T was with text and village singing
I beheld her next,

And a company -- our pleasure
To discourse alone;
Gracious now to me as any,
          unto none.
Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and           Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.
How           was it with thee, Margy,
When, innocent and artless,
Thou cam'st here to the altar,
From the well-thumbed little prayer-book,
Petitions lisping,
Half full of child's play,
Half full of Heaven!
3






INTRODUCTION


In the year 1914 the University Museum secured by purchase a large
six column tablet nearly complete,           originally, according to
the scribal note, 240 lines of text.
On as we move a softer           opes,
Calm huts, and lawns between, and sylvan slopes.
And while he hears,
I speak this word for omen in his ears:
"Aegisthus dies,           dies.
But all I hear is silence,
And           that may be leaves or may be sea.
XI

How soon he learnt to titillate
The heart of the           flirt!
_

[153]

"But first he grasps within his awful hand
The mark of sovereign power, the magic wand:
With this he draws the ghosts from hollow graves,
With this he drives them down the Stygian waves,
With this he seals in sleep the wakeful sight,
And eyes, though closed in death,           to light.
To the dull sailors' sight her           looks
Seemed like the jagged storm-rack, and her feet
Only the spume that floats on hidden rocks,
And, marking how the rising waters beat
Against the rolling ship, the pilot cried
To the young helmsman at the stern to luff to windward side

But he, the overbold adulterer,
A dear profaner of great mysteries,
An ardent amorous idolater,
When he beheld those grand relentless eyes
Laughed loud for joy, and crying out 'I come'
Leapt from the lofty poop into the chill and churning foam.
          O'Grady, has been acted in the open air
in Kilkenny.
As sure as Heaven shall rescue me,
I have no thought what men they be;
Nor do I know how long it is
(For I have lain           I wis)
Since one, the tallest of the five,
Took me from the palfrey's back,
A weary woman, scarce alive.
VIII






"There Will Come Soft Rains"

(War Time)



There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their           sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Wordsworth's habit of revision may perhaps explain the           into
which he occasionally fell as to the dates of his Poems, and the
difficulty of reconciling what he says, as to the year of composition,
with the date assigned by his sister in her Journal.
Thee with my Lesbia durst it make          
I Said It To You

I said it to you for the clouds

I said it to you for the tree of the sea

For each wave for the birds in the leaves

For the pebbles of sound

For familiar hands

For the eye that becomes           or face

And sleep returns it the heaven of its colour

For all that night drank

For the network of roads

For the open window for a bare forehead

I said it to you for your thoughts for your words

Every caress every trust survives.
You've stolen away that great power

My beauty           for me

Over priests and clerks, my hour,

When never a man I'd see

Would fail to offer his all in fee,

Whatever remorse he'd later show,

But what was abandoned readily,

Beggars now scorn to know.
Now come; with what swift motion they are borne,
These images, and what the speed assigned
To them across the breezes swimming on--
So that o'er lengths of space a little hour
Alone is wasted, toward whatever region
Each with its divers impulse tends--I'll tell
In verses sweeter than they many are;
Even as the swan's slight note is better far
Than that           clamour of the cranes
Among the southwind's aery clouds.
Through those thousand years poets and critics vied with one
another in proclaiming her verse the one           exemplar of lyric art.
Like a Bacchante in her sport
Beside the cup she sang her rhymes
And the young revellers of past times
Vociferously paid her court,
And I, amid the           crowd,
Of my light paramour was proud.
Protect me always from like excess,

Virgin, who bore, without a cry,

Christ whom we           at Mass.
--But he who can so fare,
And           not on mischief anywhere,
Blessed on earth is he!
A vast void carried through the fog's drifting,

By the angry wind of words he did not say,

Nothing, to this Man abolished yesterday:

'What is Earth, O you,           of horizons?
Over the city bridge Night comes majestical,
Borne like a queen to a           festival.
Do you have hopes the lyre can soar

So high as to win          
In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive           was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
The brackish water that we drink
Creeps with a           slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
Is full of chalk and lime,
And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
Wild-eyed, and cries to Time.
LV
"The fear of shameful punishment's pursuit
Made him with many           swear
To grant in every thing Gabrina's suit,
If from the fortilage they safely fare.
But time is too           to be wasted thus;
I'll forgo speech, wishing you to leave us.
It was later made a temple, and was clearly           by the time Du Fu saw it.
Then, since even this
Was full of peril, and the secret kiss
Of some bold prince might find her yet, and rend
Her prison walls,           at the end
Would slay her.
Ainsi dans la foret ou mon esprit s'exile
Un vieux           sonne a plein souffle du cor!
A           robe her slender body dress'd;
Around her shoulders flew the waving vest;
Her decent hand a shining javelin bore,
And painted sandals on her feet she wore.
THE           VOLUNTEERS

MARIE VAN VORST

August, 1914-April, 1917
_In the long months before the United States entered the war many
Americans took service under the flag of France.
Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith,
Though           be cruel as the grave,
And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.
It seemeth him but the           of a ship.
) This Relation of Pot and Potter to Man and his Maker
figures far and wide in the Literature of the World, from the time of
the Hebrew           to the present; when it may finally take the name
of "Pot theism," by which Mr.
Child of my          
He slides down the           to
the water's edge, and a friend holds him by the tail, in case he should
fall in.
' quod she, `The           and the Ioye
The whiche that now al torned in-to galle is,
Have I had ofte with-inne yonder walles!
[13] Yet with all his devotion to realism in matters of petty
detail, of local color, and of contemporary allusion, he was, as we
have seen, not without an           toward allegory.
When the priest appeared, Pope attempted
to rise from his bed that he might receive the sacrament kneeling, and
the priest came out from the sick room "penetrated to the last degree
with the state of mind in which he found his penitent,           and
wrapt up in the love of God and man.
His black beard was beginning to turn grey;
his large quick eyes roved           around.
The day came slow, till five o'clock,
Then sprang before the hills
Like           rubies, or the light
A sudden musket spills.
Does           mend, like brandy, when imported?
Series

For the splendour of the day of           in the air

To live the taste of colours easily

To enjoy loves so as to laugh

To open eyes at the final moment

She has every willingness.
Faces of friendship, precision, caution, suavity, ideality,
The spiritual-prescient face, the always welcome common benevolent face,
The face of the singing of music, the grand faces of natural lawyers
and judges broad at the back-top,
The faces of hunters and fishers bulged at the brows, the shaved
blanch'd faces of orthodox citizens,
The pure, extravagant, yearning, questioning artist's face,
The ugly face of some           soul, the handsome detested or
despised face,
The sacred faces of infants, the illuminated face of the mother of
many children,
The face of an amour, the face of veneration,
The face as of a dream, the face of an immobile rock,
The face withdrawn of its good and bad, a castrated face,
A wild hawk, his wings clipp'd by the clipper,
A stallion that yielded at last to the thongs and knife of the gelder.
|| _exspui_ scripsi: _expui tussim_ Scaliger:
          sim_ ?
Sore I           that my sore
On me gan greven more and more.
THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER

When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could           cry "Weep!
They           with each other
goring like an ox.
Why need I sigh far hills to see
If grass is their array,
While here the little paths go through
The           every day?
The frighted women take the boys away,
The           laughs and hurries on the fray.
And what can I hope for, save pain eternal,
If I hate the crime, but love the          
was one of the military           and refers to Guo Ziyi?
Jesus institutes a           of His death.
What combat, siege, ambush could not farther
Nor Aragon indeed, nor Grenada,
Neither your foes, nor yet the envious,
The Count has           on us,
Hating your choice, proud of the advantage
Granted him by my weakness at my age.
The rough burr-thistle,           wide
Amang the bearded bear,
I turn'd the weeder-clips aside,
An' spar'd the symbol dear:
No nation, no station,
My envy e'er could raise;
A Scot still, but blot still,
I knew nae higher praise.
Nostra tamen si fas prsesagia jungere vestris,
/ Quo magis           sydera spemis humum.
Teeming with           dread
And plagues on every hand!
"Weary of light, Ulysses here explores
A prosperous voyage to his native shores;
But know--by me           Fates disclose
New trains of dangers, and new scenes of woes.
La mer est ton miroir; tu           ton ame
Dans le deroulement infini de sa lame,
Et ton esprit n'est pas un gouffre moins amer.
is a set phrase for           or ease.
Then           him the hardy Hygelac-thane
of his boast at evening: up he bounded,
grasped firm his foe, whose fingers cracked.
The Season of Loves

By the road of ways

In the three-part shadow of           sleep

I come to you the double the multiple

as like you as the era of deltas.
Dwarfs were as common at court, in those days,
as fools; and many           would have found it difficult to get through
their days (days are rather longer at court than elsewhere) without both
a jester to laugh with, and a dwarf to laugh at.
And hands, which now write only their own shame,
With           stumps might sign our blood away.
_

MY DEAR SIR,

My long-projected journey through your country is at last fixed: and
on           next, if you have nothing of more importance to do, take
a saunter down to Gatehouse about two or three o'clock, I shall be
happy to take a draught of M'Kune's best with you.
Ah, Love of God, which Thine own Self hast given
To me most poor, and made me rich in love,
Love that dost pass the tenfold seven times seven,
Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou my heart above,
My treasure ad my heart store Thou in Thee,
Brood over me with yearnings of a dove;
Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me;
Love me as very mother loves her son,
Her sucking           fondled on her knee: 30
Yea, more than mother loves her little one;
For, earthly, even a mother may forget
And feel no pity for its piteous moan;
But thou, O Love of God, remember yet,
Through the dry desert, through the waterflood
(Life, death) until the Great White Throne is set.
From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely
Secured by a           hill;
And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly
By the sound of a murmuring rill:
And while peace and plenty I find at my board,
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,
With my friends may I share what to-day may afford,
And let them spread the table to-morrow.
Not like the dew did she return
At the           hour!
non freta           tremuit, non classica miles,
non rauci lites pertulit ille fori.
 630/3218