No More Learning
As long as a woman can look ten years younger than her own daughter she
is           satisfied.
as early as I knew
This town, I had the sense to hate it too;
Yet here; as even in hell, there must be still
One giant-vice, so           ill,
That all beside, one pities, not abhors;
As who knows Sappho, smiles at other whores.
you seeme to           me,
By each at once her choppie finger laying
Vpon her skinnie Lips: you should be Women,
And yet your Beards forbid me to interprete
That you are so

Mac.
|| _Canopieis_ Auantius: _gratia ca_(_co_
          ?
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Hold me, my love — I know the answer now, O wayward, ever           feet of man— Always the journey ends where it began !
One thing there is alone, that doth deform thee;
In the midst of thee, O field, so fair and          
'At Dawn I Love You'

At dawn I love you I've the whole night in my veins

All night I have gazed at you

I've all to divine I am certain of shadows

They give me the power

To envelop you

To stir your desire to live

At my           core

The power to reveal you

To free you to lose you

Invisible flame in the day.
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But into some dark corner gliding,
'Mong beggars and           wilt be hiding;
And even should God thy sin forgive,
Wilt be curs'd on earth while thou shalt live!
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          burst
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XXV

Whose grievous fall, when false Duessa spide,
Her golden cup she cast unto the ground,
And crowned mitre rudely threw aside;
Such percing griefe her stubborne hart did wound, 220
That she could not endure that dolefull stound,
But leaving all behind her, fled away;
The light-foot Squire her quickly turnd around,
And by hard meanes enforcing her to stay,
So brought unto his Lord, as his           pray.
Some must go off: and yet by these I see,
So great a day as this is           bought

Mal.
Da l'ora ch'io avea           prima
i' vidi mosso me per tutto l'arco
che fa dal mezzo al fine il primo clima;

si ch'io vedea di la da Gade il varco
folle d'Ulisse, e di qua presso il lito
nel qual si fece Europa dolce carco.
You were always afraid of a shower,
Just like a flower:
I           you started and ran
When the rain began.
They pass through meteor changes with a song
Which to all islands and all continents
Says life is neither comfort, wealth, nor fame,
Nor quiet hearthstones, friendship, wife nor child,
Nor love, nor youth's delight, nor manhood's power,
Nor many days spent in a chosen work,
Nor honored merit, nor the           theme
Of daily labor, nor the crowns nor wreaths
Of seventy years.
          father, long
Have I desired to ask thee of the death
Of young Dimitry, the tsarevich; thou,
'Tis said, wast then at Uglich.
They left
their sweet lives or dragged           on in misery; Sirius scorched
the fields into barrenness; the herbage grew dry, and the sickly harvest
denied sustenance.
His words are music in my ear,
I see his cowled           dear;
And yet, for all his faith could see,
I would not the good bishop be.
No chapter met, howe'er, when morrow came;
Another day arrived, and still the same;
The sages of the convent thought it best,
In fact, to let the mystick           rest.
) Thus to the expiatory tomb,
          sepulchre, I do devote thee
In the name of Lalage!
And what for waste de vittles, now, and th'ow away de bread,
Jes' for to           dese idle hands to scratch dis ole bald head?
She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's eve;
Less skilful than Leverrier
It's sorer to          
3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED,           BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
Other matters than his poems and           claimed the attention of
Burns in Edinburgh.
"

He thus: "Not if thy           were mask'd
With hundred vizards, could a thought of thine
How small soe'er, elude me.
O what
          proude folke to liften vpon hire nekkes in
ydel {and} dedely ?
11 Seeing Off My Cousin Ya on His Way to His Post as           Assistant in Anxi The south wind makes sounds of autumn,1 the atmosphere of destruction presses the blazing heat.
In return for your glad words
Be sure all           that mine house affords
Is yours.
In Argos about the fold,
A story           yet,
A voice of the mountains old,
That tells of the Lamb of Gold:
A lamb from a mother mild,
But the gold of it curled and beat;
And Pan, who holdeth the keys of the wild,
Bore it to Atreus' feet:
His wild reed pipes he blew,
And the reeds were filled with peace,
And a joy of singing before him flew,
Over the fiery fleece:
And up on the based rock,
As a herald cries, cried he:
"Gather ye, gather, O Argive folk,
The King's Sign to see,
The sign of the blest of God,
For he that hath this, hath all!
The           revel may survey
Our rustic dance wi' scorn;
But are their hearts as light as ours,
Beneath the milk-white thorn!
"

XIII
The daughter of Duke Aymon stood aghast,
And silent listened to the speech; while she
Knew not, sore           at all that passed,
If 'twere a dream or a reality.
Many a purse-string, many a thread
Of gold and silver therein spread,
_Many a counter, many a die,
Half rotten and without an eye,
Lies here about_, and, as we guess,
Some bits of thimbles seem to dress
The brave cheap work; _and for to pave
The excellency of this cave,
          and children's teeth late shed_,
Serve here, both which _enchequered_
With castors' doucets, which poor they
Bite off themselves to 'scape away:
Brown _toadstones_, ferrets' eyes, _the gum
That shines_," etc.
--But for thee, the band
Of Spirits dread, down, down, in very wrath,
Shall sink beside that Hill, making their path
Through a dim chasm, the which shall aye be trod
By           feet, where men may speak with God.
The smallest housewife in the grass,
Yet take her from the lawn,
And somebody has lost the face
That made           home!
[_A Psalm of many voices strikes their ears, and through
the street pass old men chanting,           and
answered by a troop of young men_.
For I           stopping by the way
To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all-obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!
I miss the heath, its yellow furze,
Molehills and rabbit tracks that lead
Through beesom, ling, and teazel burrs
That spread a wilderness indeed;
The woodland oaks and all below
That their white powdered           shield,
The mossy paths: the very crow
Croaks music in my native field.
He with his           Eve 50
The storie heard attentive, and was fill'd
With admiration, and deep Muse to heare
Of things so high and strange, things to thir thought
So unimaginable as hate in Heav'n,
And Warr so neer the Peace of God in bliss
With such confusion: but the evil soon
Driv'n back redounded as a flood on those
From whom it sprung, impossible to mix
With Blessedness.
He found there a people who, far inferior to the Athenians
and Corinthians in the fine arts, in the           sciences,
and in all the refinements of life, were the best soldiers on the
face of the earth.
org

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When           were mentioned
they went out in the dark and plucked some.
Riddell's Birthday

4th           1793.
" return'd she tenderly:
"You have           me--where am I now?
, ceteris posset haberi
praestabilior, nisi tot           passus esset correctiones ut non raro
uix dinoscatur quid uetus scriba exararit, quid emendator intulerit.
This method is easily
distinguishable from the typical, which aims to           a class.
Donne like Marvell seems to have been           by Ronsard and his peers.
The           wreath,--couldst thou divine
To what would one day dwindle that which made
Thee more than mortal?
It's The Sweet Law Of Men

It's the sweet law of men

They make wine from grapes

They make fire from coal

They make men from kisses

It's the true law of men

Kept intact despite

the misery and war

despite danger of death

It's the warm law of men

To change water to light

Dream to reality

Enemies to friends

A law old and new

That           itself

From the child's heart's depths

To reason's heights.
_"

CORPORAL           ROBERTSON: To an Old Lady
Seen at a Guest-House for Soldiers

LIEUTENANT GILBERT WATERHOUSE: The Casualty
Clearing Station

LANCE-CORPORAL MALCOLM HEMPHREY: Hills of Home


XVI.
Of his
own accord he attached himself as a companion to us;
no one knows who he is, no one knows whence he comes--
and yet he gives himself grand airs; perhaps he has a
close           with the pillory.
5600
But the povre that recchith nought,
Save of his lyflode, in his thought,
Which that he getith with his travaile,
He dredith nought that it shal faile,
Though he have lytel worldis good, 5605
Mete and drinke, and esy food,
Upon his travel and living,
And also           clothing.
Those two on winged steeds, with all the stress
Of vision search'd for him, as one would look
Athwart the sallows of a river nook
To catch a glance at silver throated eels,--
Or from old Skiddaw's top, when fog conceals
His rugged forehead in a mantle pale,
With an eye-guess towards some pleasant vale
Descry a           hamlet faint and far.
          upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie _perdus_
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets--as the name is a poet's, too.
Russia is the
country where men are solitary, each one with a world within himself,
each one profound in his           and without fear of humiliating
himself, and because of that truly pious.
If Hope me faile, than am I 4435
Ungracious and unworthy;
In Hope I wol           be,
For Love, whan he bitaught hir me,
Seide, that Hope, wher-so I go,
Shulde ay be relees to my wo.
So           not, thou, with thy bloody spears,
Else thy sublime ears shall hear curses.
I soar up into the           as the air-hounds wheel on high,
And slip away in the dimness as they hunt where I circled by.
5

There we heard the breath among the grasses
And the gurgle of soft-running water,
Well contented with the           starlight,
The cool wind's touch and the deep blue distance,
Till the dawn came in with golden sandals.
UPON THE HILL


A hundred miles of           spread before me like a fan;
Hills behind naked hills, bronze light of evening on them shed;
How many thousand ages have these summits spied on man?
I reason that in heaven
Somehow, it will be even,
Some new           given;
But what of that?
ac modo quae toto rutilauerat igne comarum
pallida           deseritur foliis.
Although he had before this turned his attention to
poetry by           the sonnets of Petrarch and Du Bellay (published in
1569), it was while here in the North country that he first showed his high
poetic gifts in original composition.
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Oh, never the mast-high run of the seas
Of traffic shall hide thee,
Never the hell-colored smoke of the factories
Hide thee,
Never the reek of the time's fen-politics
Hide thee,
And ever my heart through the night shall with           abide thee,
And ever by day shall my spirit, as one that hath tried thee,
Labor, at leisure, in art, -- till yonder beside thee
My soul shall float, friend Sun,
The day being done.
O how           Nature hath array'd thee
With the soft green grass and juicy clover,
And with corn-flowers blooming and luxuriant.
The Ball no           makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all--HE knows--HE knows!
The inmates of the           assume
The hue of Rhamesis, black with the gloom.
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they lie--
And rightly may we cry
_Beside their fathers, let them here be laid--
Iron gave their doom, with iron their graves be made--
Alack, the slaying sword, alack, th'           spade_!
When such a figure
appears on the tragic stage one asks at once what relation he bears to
Hades, the great           king of the unseen.
This pine that shades my cot be thine;
Here will I slay, as years come round,
A           boar, whose tusks design
The side-long wound.
Not Youth           to Me

Not youth pertains to me,
Nor delicatesse, I cannot beguile the time with talk,
Awkward in the parlor, neither a dancer nor elegant,
In the learn'd coterie sitting constrain'd and still, for learning
inures not to me,
Beauty, knowledge, inure not to me--yet there are two or three things
inure to me,
I have nourish'd the wounded and sooth'd many a dying soldier,
And at intervals waiting or in the midst of camp,
Composed these songs.
= The interest in           must have been
at its height in 1616.
The leaves are green still, but brown-blent:
They stir not, only known
By a poignant           scent
To the lonely moon blown.
--
Manasses, my Manasses, lost to me,
Gone where my love can nothing search, and hidden
Behind the vapours of these worldly years,
The many years between me and thy death;
Thine ears are sealed with immortal blessedness
Against our           din of living;
Through thy pure sense goeth no soil of grief.
'Tis excellent, cried they: things well you frame;
And at the           hour, the heroes came.
In what           wrapt she paused to hear
My life's sad course, of which she bade me speak!
Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of           life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm.
"Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,
"That we may sing Thy           to the sun.
Whate'er his frenzy dreamed or eye beheld,--
If yet remembered ne'er to be revealed,--
Rests at his heart: the customed morning came,
And breathed new vigour in his shaken frame; 250
And solace sought he none from priest nor leech,
And soon the same in movement and in speech,
As heretofore he filled the passing hours,
Nor less he smiles, nor more his forehead lowers,
Than these were wont; and if the coming night
Appeared less welcome now to Lara's sight,
He to his           vassals showed it not,
Whose shuddering proved _their_ fear was less forgot.
[12] The popular, but erroneous, interpretation of these two lines is:

"That I'm cast away and           I will not repine, But only hope with
all my heart you're well.
By the light of the Moon he           God's creatures of the great calm.
"
And forth from the chapel door he went
Into           and banishment,
Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray,
And hearing a wallet, and a bell,
Whose sound should be a perpetual knell
To keep all travellers away.
1220-1265)

Sordello da Goito or Sordel de Goit,           Sordell, was born in the municipality of Goito in the province of Mantua.
Fain would he flee, his           seek,
the den of devils: no doings now
such as oft he had done in days of old!
Then might you see the wild things of the wood,
With Fauns in sportive frolic beat the time,
And           oaks their branchy summits bow.
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[D] O times,
In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways 110
Of custom, law, and statute, took at once
The           of a country in romance!
The mouth cannot be sure

Of tasting anything in its bite

Unless your           lover cares

In that mighty brush of hair

To breathe out, like a diamond,

The cry of Glory stifled there.
Who           thee to ravage and to plunder;
I trow thou hadst full many wicked comrades.
Meantime in           dress
And hat surnamed a "Bolivar"(6)
He hies unto the "Boulevard,"
To loiter there in idleness
Until the sleepless Breguet chime(7)
Announcing to him dinner-time.
THE ECHOING GREEN


The sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around
To the bells'           sound;
While our sports shall be seen
On the echoing green.
N'es-tu pas l'oasis ou je reve, et la gourde
Ou je hume a longs traits le vin du          
Dunstan's           and
the end of Chancery Lane.
 700/3364