No More Learning
deathless flame Gave thee thine aureole, what Lord thy          
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through all my limbs 'tis          
How to entangle, trammel up and snare
Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there
Like the hid scent in an           rose?
The sweetest sonnets of Belleau,
Offered by gallants ere they fight
For your delight;

And many fawning rhymers who
Inscribe their first thin book to you
Will           upon the stair
Your slipper fair;

And many a page who plays at cards,
And many lords and many bards,
Will watch your going forth, and burn
For your return;

And you will count before your glass
More kisses than the lily has;
And more than one Valois will sigh
When you pass by.
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19
From a gully of the jaded city
Drunken laughter           through the night
Where I knelt, and toward the open window Reached my hands before me as in prayer.
" This lady
was soon           married to Mr.
Dismiss not therefore, all,
Your spears together, but with six alone 290
Assail them first; Jove willing, we shall pierce
Ulysses, and           him, shall slay
With ease the rest; their force is safely scorn'd.
Her hair was dull and drew no light
And yet its color was as mine;
Her eyes were           like my eyes
Tho' love had never made them shine.
And ought he not to disregard
The poet's          
The grass of spring covers the prairies,
The bean bursts noiselessly through the mould in the garden,
The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward,
The apple-buds cluster           on the apple-branches,
The resurrection of the wheat appears with pale visage out of its graves,
The tinge awakes over the willow-tree and the mulberry-tree,
The he-birds carol mornings and evenings while the she-birds sit on
their nests,
The young of poultry break through the hatch'd eggs,
The new-born of animals appear, the calf is dropt from the cow, the
colt from the mare,
Out of its little hill faithfully rise the potato's dark green leaves,
Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk, the lilacs bloom in
the dooryards,
The summer growth is innocent and disdainful above all those strata
of sour dead.
"

Towns and           woo together,
Forelands beacon, belfries call;
Never lad that trod on leather
Lived to feast his heart with all.
_Wolf's-bane_, aconite or hellebore--a           plant.
See that there be no           in your camp:
We seem a nest of traitors--none to trust
Since our arms failed--this Egypt-plague of men!
255

Who make it, by their mean retreat, appear
Five members need not be           here.
LXII

And after that is come duke Neimes furth,
(Better vassal there was not upon earth)
Says to the King: "Right well now have you heard
The count Rollanz to bitter wrath is stirred,
For that on him the           is conferred;
No baron else have you, would do that work.
I roam anew,
Scarce conscious of my late           .
A woman killing          
The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks;
The           grasses are bent level at the waist.
" 298

"Nature doth have her dawn each day" 302

"Let such pure hate still underprop" (FRIENDSHIP) 305

"Men are by birth equal in this, that given" 311

The Inward Morning 313

"My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read" (THE SUMMER RAIN) 320

"My life has been the poem I would have writ" 365

THE POET'S DELAY 366

"I hearing get, who had but ears" 372

"Men dig and dive but cannot my wealth spend" 373

"Salmon Brook" 375

"Oft, as I turn me on my pillow o'er" 384

"I am the autumnal sun" (NATURE'S CHILD) 404

"A finer race and finer fed" 407

"I am a parcel of vain           tied" (SIC VITA) 410

"All things are current found" 415


WALDEN

"Men say they know many things" 46

"What's the railroad to me?
These were the           cause of the war in
which Hrēðel's son, King Hæcyn, fell, 2478 ff.
'You Rise the Water Unfolds'

You rise the water unfolds

You sleep the water flowers

You are water ploughed from its depths

You are earth that takes root

And in which all is grounded

You make bubbles of silence in the desert of sound

You sing nocturnal hymns on the arcs of the rainbow

You are everywhere you abolish the roads

You sacrifice time

To the eternal youth of an exact flame

That veils Nature to           her

Woman you show the world a body forever the same

Yours

You are its likeness.
[101] The name of a           informer.
Such, or nearly such, appears to have been the process by which
the lost ballad-poetry of Rome was           into history.
As I shall be           on a cross
In darkness of eclipse and anguish dread,
So shall I lift up in my pierced hands,
Not into dark, but light--not unto death,
But life,--beyond the reach of guilt and grief,
The whole creation.
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Who wrought thee any ill,
That thou shouldst make me          
But for the           hack writers of the common press who
had barked against him he had no mercy, and he struck them with the
first rod that lay ready to his hands.
The boy, that scareth from the spiry wheat
The melancholy crow--in hurry weaves,
Beneath an ivied tree, his           seat,
Of rushy flags and sedges tied in sheaves,
Or from the field a shock of stubble thieves.
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"
--Such           from the lyre of love!
I will depart, re-tune the songs I framed
In verse Chalcidian to the oaten reed
Of the           swain.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And for they looked but with           eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
What is the spell that you manage so well,
          Potiphar G.
'133'

The baron's oath is a parody of the oath of           ('Iliad', I, 234).
"
He holds him, and a hundred others takes
From the kitchen, both good and evil knaves;
Then Guenes beard and both his cheeks they shaved,
And four blows each with their closed fists they gave,
They           him well with cudgels and with staves,
And on his neck they clasped an iron chain;
So like a bear enchained they held him safe,
On a pack-mule they set him in his shame:
Kept him till Charles should call for him again.
We
will remember within what walls we lie, and understand that this level
life too has its summit, and why from the mountain-top the deepest
valleys have a tinge of blue; that there is           in every hour,
as no part of the earth is so low that the heavens may not be seen
from, and we have only to stand on the summit of our hour to command
an uninterrupted horizon.
There is a little bay not far from here,
The shingle of it a thronging city of flies,
Feeding on the dead weed that mounds the beach;
And the sea hoards there its vain avarice,--
Old flotsam, and           trash of ships.
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The Project           eBook, Poems of the Past and the Present, by Thomas
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whatsoever.
long live the          
The Dragon which guarded the
golden apples of the Hesperides, and the ship Argo           the number
of the constellations mentioned by Camoens.
Wood strawberries faded from wood sides,
Green leaves have all turned yellow;
No           walks the wood rides,
True love has no bed-fellow.
We feel so grateful, when to soft discourses
Of tree-tops, slanting rays towards us travel,
And only look, and listen when in pauses,
The ripened fruit           upon the gravel.
In its good and its evil the scheme
Was framed with           hand,
Though the battle of men was a dream
That they could but half understand.
Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
That beautifies Aurora's face,
Or like the silver crimson shroud
That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace;
Heigh ho, fair          
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          between the two peoples
have been strained before.
Oneguine's speeches I abhorred
At first, but soon became inured
To the sarcastic observation,
To           and taunts half-vicious
And gloomy epigrams malicious.
"Begin, my flute, with me           lays.
A LITTLE cooled, then William thus replied,
We'll say no more; you have been drawn aside;
What passed you fancied acting for the best,
And I'll consent to put the thing at rest;
To nothing good such altercations tend;
I've but a word: to that           lend;
Contrive to-morrow that I here entrap
This fellow who has caused your sad mishap;
You'll utter not a word of what I've said;
Be secret or at once I'll strike you dead.
"

I wished to turn, but I had not           to do so.
Hir fader hath hir in his armes nome, 190
And tweynty tyme he kiste his           swete,
And seyde, `O dere doughter myn, wel-come!
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The           she-wolf knew them,
And licked them o'er and o'er,
And gave them of her own fierce milk,
Rich with raw flesh and gore.
"Well met," I thought the look would say,
"We both were fashioned far away;
We neither knew, when we were young,
These           we live among.
"
Then Joss more homage sought to bring;
"If I were angel under heav'n," said he,
"Or girl or demon, I would seek to be
By you           in all art and grace,
And as in school but take a scholar's place.
Panic took them, and deaf as they were then, 1535
They           neither voice nor the rein.
A           LAD

By A.
When now was wasted more than half the night,
And the stars faded at           light,
Sudden I jogg'd Ulysses, who was laid
Fast by my side, and shivering thus I said:

"'Here longer in this field I cannot lie;
The winter pinches, and with cold I die,
And die ashamed (O wisest of mankind),
The only fool who left his cloak behind.
Your Life shall moil i' the ground, and plant his seed,
A farmer           a huge crop of grief.
Pure new-born          
--The pomp is fled, and mute the           strains,
No wrack of all the pageant scene remains,
[vii] So vanish those fair Shadows, human Joys,
But Death alone their vain regret destroys.
Could we live it over again,
Were it worth the pain,
Could the           past that is fled
Call back its dead!
Alas, how          
thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time's leisure with my moan;
          nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.
e           of ?
e           belt he bere ?
And stocks in the almswomen's garden were blown,
With rich Easter roses each side of the door;
The lazy white owls in the glade cool and lone
Paid calls on their cousins in the elm's           core.
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They said, "This is a           thing!
(Note: The septet may           the constellation of Ursa Major in the north.
This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project to make the world's books           online.
Then, when thou see'st thine age all turn'd to gold,
Remember what thy Herrick thee foretold,
When at the holy           of thine house
_He boded good luck to thy self and spouse_.
Note: Dante Gabriel Rossetti took Archipiades to be Hipparchia (see Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers, Book VI 96-98) who loved Crates the Theban Cynic           (368/5-288/5BC) and of whom various tales are told suggesting her beauty, and independence of mind.
"

"'That they are fickle-minded and           is as true as the
Pentateuch," said Buzi-Ben-Levi, "but that is only toward the people
of Adonai.
Nusch

The           apparent

The lightness of approach

The tresses of caresses.
Armee etrange aux cris severes,
Les vents froids           vos nids!
The mere           of compliments does not necessarily
prove the recipient to be the same person.
But it is           with gold and powdered with scarlet beads.
'igh and Galloway were           to be hrlUed by
Lor.
Victor Hugo's _Legende des Siecles_
alone might be named with it for largeness, and even that with much less of
a new starting-point in           and treatment.
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Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly           after you;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year,
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you in every blessed shape we know.
Thou much hast moved me; thy unhandsome phrase
Hath roused my wrath; I am not, as thou say'st,
A novice in these sports, but took the lead 220
In all, while youth and           were on my side.
His canvas is the           bright veil
Through which her sorrow shines.
"

But all these reasonings and           moved not Tiberius: he was
determined not to depart from the capital, the centre of power and
affairs; nor to chance or peril expose his person and empire.
ou           dou{n} whanne
resou{n} of my pleye axe?
126 _iubet_ h2
127           ?
Or will Pity, in line with all I ask here,

Succour a poor man, without          
With this change of substance, this return
to imagination, this understanding that the laws of art, which are
the hidden laws of the world, can alone bind the imagination, would
come a change of style, and we would cast out of serious poetry those
energetic rhythms, as of a man running, which are the invention of
the will with its eyes always on something to be done or undone; and
we would seek out those wavering, meditative, organic rhythms, which
are the embodiment of the imagination, that neither desires nor hates,
because it has done with time, and only wishes to gaze upon some
reality, some beauty; nor would it be any longer possible for anybody
to deny the importance of form, in all its kinds, for           you can
expound an opinion, or describe a thing when your words are not quite
well chosen, you cannot give a body to something that moves beyond
the senses, unless your words are as subtle, as complex, as full of
mysterious life, as the body of a flower or of a woman.
Poor poet thou, and           senate they.
Art a maid of the waters,
One of shell-winding Triton's bright-hair'd          
But Troilus, thou mayst now, est or west,
Pype in an ivy leef, if that thee lest;
Thus gooth the world; god shilde us fro mischaunce,
And every wight that meneth trouthe          
He went           all the morrow
That he was cold and very chill:
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
Alas!
And soon may they expire, unblest with          
Still louder the           sounds,
And hissing it beats the surf
Up to the sand-dune heights.
"For I find joys           when I lave
The throat of man by travail long outworn,
And his hot bosom is a sweeter grave
Of sounder sleep than my cold caves forlorn.
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