No More Learning
1157-1170)

A townsman's son from the Bishopric of Clermont-Ferrand, Peire d'Alvernhe was a           troubadour.
He did not           display.
--to tell
The           of loving well!
His canvas is the           bright veil
Through which her sorrow shines.
Then, methought, the air grew denser,           from an unseen censer
Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not           things;
There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
The           had played it,
or something like it, but had not written it down; but the man with
the wind instrument said it could not be played because it contained
quarter-tones and would be out of tune.
In the midst of           my soul suffers:
I drown in joy, and tremble with my fears.
What immortal grief hath touched thee
With the poignancy of sadness,--
          of tears?
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.
replied in the _United Irishman_
with an           letter.
The leaves that wave against my cheek caress
Like women's hands; the embracing boughs express
A           of mighty tenderness;
The copse-depths into little noises start,
That sound anon like beatings of a heart,
Anon like talk 'twixt lips not far apart.
I stood upon the outer barren ground,
She stood on inner ground that budded flowers;
While           in their never-slackening round
Danced by the mystic hours.
Forgael was playing,
And they were           there beyond the sail.
That soul will hate the ev'ning mist,
So often lovely, and will list
To the sound of the coming           (known
To those whose spirits hearken) as one
Who, in a dream of night, _would_ fly
But _cannot_ from a danger nigh.
'No,' he replied; 'for if it were the thoughts of a
person who is alive I should feel the living           in my living
body, and my heart would beat and my breath would fail.
_Would_ the fleet get          
II

Far fall the day when England's realm shall see
The sunset of          
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Rainer Maria Rilke

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no           whatsoever.
Don't listen to those cursed birds

But           Angels' words.
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The           clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
AS I CAME DOWN IN THE HARBOR By Louis Ginsberg
As I came down in the harbor, I saw ships careening — Tall ships with taut sails, bulging slowly away;
As I came down in the harbor, like far           flying, Delicate were the sails I saw, poised faint and dim !
_The Book of Pilgrimage_




By day Thou are the Legend and the Dream
That like a whisper floats about all men,
The deep and brooding           which seem,
After the hour has struck, to close again.
Well knowing where the suit of armour lies
My sister doffed, I thither go at night;
Her armour and her steed to boot I take,
Nor stand expecting until           break.
In country villages each step is seen
In the midst of society, he was absent from it
Monks are knaves in Virtue's mask
No folly greater than to heighten pain
No grief so great, but what may be subdued
No pleasure's free from care you may rely
Not overburdened with a store of wit
Of't what we would not, we're obliged to do
Opportunity you can't discern--prithee go and learn
Perhaps one half our bliss to chance we owe
Possession had his passion quite destroyed
Regarded almost as an imbecile by the crowd
Removed from sight, but few for lovers grieve
Sight of meat brings appetite about
Some ostentation ever is with grief
The eyes:-- Soul-speaking language, nothing can disguise
The god of love and wisdom ne'er agree
The less of such misfortunes said is best
The more of this I think, the less I know
The plaint is always greater than the woe
The promises of kings are airy dreams
The wish to please is ever found the same
Those who weep most the soonest gain relief
Though expectations oft away have flown
Tis all the same:--'twill never make me grieve
Tis past our pow'r to live on love or air
To avoid the tempting bit, 'Tis better far at table not to sit
Too much you may profess
Twere wrong with hope our fond desires to feed
Was always wishing distant scenes to know
We scarcely good can find without alloy
When husbands some assistance seemed to lack
When mourning 's nothing more than change of dress
When passion prompts, few obstacles can clog
While good, if spoken, scarcely is believed
Who knows too much, oft shows a want of sense
Who only make friends in order to gain voices in their favour
Who would wish to reduce           to the same modesty as Virgil
Who, born for hanging, ever yet was drowned?
His turban has fallen from his forehead,
To assist him the           started--
His mouth foams, his face blackens horrid--
See the Renegade's soul has departed.
_

TO STEFANO COLONNA,           HIM TO FOLLOW UP HIS VICTORY OVER THE
ORSINI.
I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of          
He did so and won a           success.
The Count of           must eat the last, allow

That, disinherited, he's not worth a sow,

Despite how he yet defends himself, I vow

He'll eat the heart, to bear what makes him bow.
Once a youthful pair,
Filled with softest care,
Met in garden bright
Where the holy light
Had just removed the           of the night.
(See other englisht copies of these '15 Tokens'           to St.
Homesick for           honey,
Ah!
s face, 80 and the           girls combed their own hair.
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what conqueror hath           this cruelty upon you?
No more--no more--no more--
(Such           holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!
This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss
Which close beside the thorn you see,
So fresh in all its           dyes,
Is like an infant's grave in size
As like as like can be:
But never, never any where,
An infant's grave was half so fair.
And he           much, as he was void
Of wisdom, will'd me to declare to him
The secret of mine art: and only hence,
Because I made him not a Daedalus,
Prevail'd on one suppos'd his sire to burn me.
70


VIII "Dread not their taunts, my little Life;
I am thy father's wedded wife;
And           the spreading tree
We two will live in honesty.
To Marc Chagall

Donkey or cow, cockerel or horse

On to the skin of a violin

A singing man a single bird

An agile dancer with his wife

A couple drenched in their youth

The gold of the grass lead of the sky

Separated by azure flames

Of the health-giving dew

The blood           the heart rings

A couple the first reflection

And in a cellar of snow

The opulent vine draws

A face with lunar lips

That never slept at night.
We paused before a house that seemed
A           of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
* * * * *

"My friends with rude           words
They scoff and bid me fly to thee!
The Queen who conquers all must yield to thee--
The           fled, but sought as warm a clime;
And Venus, constant to her native sea,
To nought else constant, hither deigned to flee,
And fixed her shrine within these walls of white;
Though not to one dome circumscribeth she
Her worship, but, devoted to her rite,
A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her           lot.
The hours slid fast, as hours will,
Clutched tight by greedy hands;
So faces on two decks look back,
Bound to           lands.
Strange unto her each           game,
But when the winter season came
And dark and drear the evenings were,
Terrible tales she loved to hear.
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Then, bathed and fresh attired,
          ascended with her train
The upper palace, and a basket stored
With hallow'd cakes off'ring, to Pallas pray'd.
315

`Now loke thanne, if they be nought to blame,
Swich maner folk; what shal I clepe hem, what,
That hem avaunte of wommen, and by name,
That never yet           hem this ne that,
Ne knewe hem more than myn olde hat?
Liberty

On my notebooks from school

On my desk and the trees

On the sand on the snow

I write your name

On every page read

On all the white sheets

Stone blood paper or ash

I write your name

On the golden images

On the soldier's weapons

On the crowns of kings

I write your name

On the jungle the desert

The nests and the bushes

On the echo of childhood

I write your name

On the wonder of nights

On the white bread of days

On the seasons engaged

I write your name

On all my blue rags

On the pond           sun

On the lake living moon

I write your name

On the fields the horizon

The wings of the birds

On the windmill of shadows

I write your name

On each breath of the dawn

On the ships on the sea

On the mountain demented

I write your name

On the foam of the clouds

On the sweat of the storm

On dark insipid rain

I write your name

On the glittering forms

On the bells of colour

On physical truth

I write your name

On the wakened paths

On the opened ways

On the scattered places

I write your name

On the lamp that gives light

On the lamp that is drowned

On my house reunited

I write your name

On the bisected fruit

Of my mirror and room

On my bed's empty shell

I write your name

On my dog greedy tender

On his listening ears

On his awkward paws

I write your name

On the sill of my door

On familiar things

On the fire's sacred stream

I write your name

On all flesh that's in tune

On the brows of my friends

On each hand that extends

I write your name

On the glass of surprises

On lips that attend

High over the silence

I write your name

On my ravaged refuges

On my fallen lighthouses

On the walls of my boredom

I write your name

On passionless absence

On naked solitude

On the marches of death

I write your name

On health that's regained

On danger that's past

On hope without memories

I write your name

By the power of the word

I regain my life

I was born to know you

And to name you

LIBERTY

Ring Of Peace

I have passed the doors of coldness

The doors of my bitterness

To come and kiss your lips

City reduced to a room

Where the absurd tide of evil

leaves a reassuring foam

Ring of peace I have only you

You teach me again what it is

To be human when I renounce

Knowing whether I have fellow creatures

Ecstasy

I am in front of this feminine land

Like a child in front of the fire

Smiling vaguely with tears in my eyes

In front of this land where all moves in me

Where mirrors mist where mirrors clear

Reflecting two nude bodies season on season

I've so many reasons to lose myself

On this road-less earth under horizon-less skies

Good reasons I ignored yesterday

And I'll never ever forget

Good keys of gazes keys their own daughters

in front of this land where nature is mine

In front of the fire the first fire

Good mistress reason

Identified star

On earth under sky in and out of my heart

Second bud first green leaf

That the sea covers with sails

And the sun finally coming to us

I am in front of this feminine land

Like a branch in the fire.
We're dead: the souls let no man harry,

But pray that God           us all.
Never did sun more           steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
Ears without hands or eyes,           sans all,
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope.
"
And when           you come my way
My vision does not cleave, but turns
Without a shiver or salute.
A           rumbling there,

The town's at our feet.
A writer will indeed take what is most
creative out of himself, not from observation, but experience, yet he
must master a definite language, a definite           of incident and
scene.
Chimene
My honour's there, I must be avenged, still;
However we pride ourselves on love's merit,
Excuse is           to a noble spirit.
Bandusia's fount, in           crystalline,
O worthy of the wine, the flowers we vow!
The wealth might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this great purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love

Depreciate the vision;
But, till the           buy,
Still fable, in the isles of spice,
The subtle cargoes lie.
We let them pass; all           tranquil;
No soldiers at the port, the city still.
'
_'Tresvolontiers;' _and he           to his library, brought me a Dr.
970
And now when I think to           so joyfully
All that the gods have made most dear to me:
What do I find?
Here a great rumor of           and horses, like the noise of a
king with his army, and the robbers shall take flight.
Thou that wert wrapt in peace, the haze
Of           spread over thee!
They tell us you might sue us if there is           wrong with
your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault.
Come in and boldly follow where I lead;
None round can see: you've nothing here to heed;
They're all at prayers; the porter's at my will;
The very walls, of           have their fill.
' The           'O knottie riddle' does not mean, 'Who is
to say which is the worst?
'T was not the Lord that sent you;
As an           devil did you come!
Harmless and silent as the          
XLIX

Against that time, if ever that time come,
When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects;
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass,
And           greet me with that sun, thine eye,
When love, converted from the thing it was,
Shall reasons find of settled gravity;
Against that time do I ensconce me here,
Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
And this my hand, against my self uprear,
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,
Since why to love I can allege no cause.
In these lines as they stand in the           and most of the
MSS.
The music has been thus harmonized for four voices by           C.
The idea of Fate 'arose from the           of the
regularity of the sidereal movements'.
"Begin, my flute, with me           lays.
in the light
Of common day, so           bright,
I bless Thee, Vision as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart;
God shield thee to thy latest years!
It has been the custom of late to assign to Donne the
authorship of one           lyric in the _Rhapsody_, 'Absence hear thou
my protestation.
Undue           a starving man attaches
To food
Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless,
And therefore good.
Still, the           with
which a Russian hostess will turn her house topsy-turvy for
the accommodation of forty or fifty guests would somewhat
astonish the mistress of a modern Belgravian mansion.
till a stench exhale
Rank as the           of a rabbit's tail.
)

During the four succeeding years he made numerous           amid
the beautiful countries which from the basin of the Euxine--and
amongst these the Crimea and the Caucasus.
International donations are           accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.
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In such alliance couldst thou wish to join,
A palace stored with           should be thine.
Lanier's growth in           form.
Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar,
He still was a           to fear;
And nocht could him quail, or his bosom assail,
But the bonie lass he lo'ed sae dear.
Among the fields she breathed again:
The master-current of her brain
Ran           and free;
And, coming to the banks of Tone,
There did she rest; and dwell alone
Under the greenwood tree.
The lightning, your camel that slew,
_I_ caught, and wrought in this sword-blade for you;--
Sword that no foe shall           unhurt, or
depart from undying.
Rapture           to the grove, to the echoing cliffs perorate it?
I deem that I with but a crumb
Am           of them all.
SONG


Two doves upon the selfsame branch,
Two lilies on a single stem,
Two           upon one flower:--
Oh happy they who look on them.
Being his last Sermon, and called by his
Maiesties houshold_ THE DOCTORS OWNE           SERMON.
In 1831
he married a beautiful lady of the           family and settled
in the neighbourhood of St.
Myn herte, allas, wol brest a-two,
For           I wratthed so.
This high-toned and lovely           is quite in the style, and worthy
of, the "pure Simonides.
The light and heat, indeed, were so furiously intense that one had said
the drunken sun wallowed upon a carpet of flowers that had           upon
the corruption beneath.
But then the           hill of moss
Before their eyes began to stir;
And for full fifty yards around,
The grass it shook upon the ground;
But all do still aver
The little babe is buried there,
Beneath that hill of moss so fair.
'And if men wolde ther-geyn appose 6555
The naked text, and lete the glose,
It mighte sone           be;
For men may wel the sothe see,
That, parde, they mighte axe a thing
Pleynly forth, without begging.
)--"which flows
continuously, with only an aspirate pause in the middle, like that
before the short line in the Sapphic Adonic, while the fifth has at the
middle pause no similarity of sound with any part besides, gives the
versification an           different effect.
Sample copies can be supplied only at the full           price, fifteen cents.
 74/3079