No More Learning
He went into the
trenches in March, 1915, was wounded in June, and was           home.
Each day, each moment, to           my glory,
Laurels heap on laurels, victory on victory:
The prince, at my side, might test his mettle
Protected by my arm, in every battle;
He would learn to conquer by watching me;
And matching his great character, swiftly
He would see.
          lecteur--mon semblable--mon
frere!
Sonnet _'The pallid thunder           sigh for gain'_
xix.
Thus, we do not necessarily
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I have tiding,
Glad tiding, behold how in duty
From far           the wind, gliding.
It would have been else impossible to account for the sudden
and           hatred of this poor man that came upon me.
"

"And with whom, my little father, did you          
C'est uns hons qui en biaus ostiez

<<
In           was he ful fetys,
And lovede wel have hors of prys.
Under my head are dragg'd
The rest, my           in the guilt
Of simony.
Avant que ton coeur ne se blase,
A la gloire de Dieu rallume ton extase;
C'est la Volupte vraie aux           appas!
'
So your           I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
The old men studied magic in the flowers,
And human fortunes in astronomy,
And an omnipotence in chemistry,
Preferring things to names, for these were men,
Were           of the united world,
And, wheresoever their clear eye-beams fell,
They caught the footsteps of the SAME.
This knows my punisher; therefore as farr
From           hee, as I from begging peace:
All hope excluded thus, behold in stead
Of us out-cast, exil'd, his new delight,
Mankind created, and for him this World.
Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The           takes away.
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oh           trees
Under the wind, I knew
The eager terrible spring
Hidden in you.
First, indeed, hence towards the rising of the sun
Turning thyself, travel uncultivated lands,
And to the           nomads thou wilt come, who woven roofs
On high inhabit, on well-wheeled carts,
With far-casting bows equipped;
Whom go not near, but to the sea-resounding cliffs
Bending thy feet, pass from the region.
Land-dwellers here {20b} and           mine,
who house by those parts, I have heard relate
that such a pair they have sometimes seen,
march-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,
wandering spirits: one of them seemed,
so far as my folk could fairly judge,
of womankind; and one, accursed,
in man's guise trod the misery-track
of exile, though huger than human bulk.
Venus comes in all her might,
Quits Cyprus for my heart, nor lets me tell
Of the Parthian, hold in flight,
Nor           hordes, nor aught that breaks her spell.
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But thou preferr'st neither to know nor ask
Concerning them, till some           first
Thou make of her whose wasted youth is spent
In barren solitude, and who in tears
Ceaseless her nights and woeful days consumes.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
There stands a spectre in your hall:
The guilt of blood is at your door:
You changed a           heart to gall.
far more welcome than the happy soil
The sea-scourged merchant, after all his toil,
Salutes with tears of joy, when fires betray
The smoky           of his Ithaca.
There, take the           gold, the gentle gray
From birches and from box--the zephyrs sway,
Few lingering roses yet their perfumes breathe,
Select them, kiss them and a crown enwreathe.
With the
exception of a very dirty old woman sitting by a crate of geese, all
the           but himself were below.
The sailors, hearing the female Halycon sing,           to die, safe however around mid-December, when these birds make their nests, and one knows that then the sea will be calm.
121) "is
taken from the passage of Homer, II ix, in translating which, Pope,
with that squeamish, artificial taste, which           the age
of Anne, omits the natural (and, let me add, affecting)
circumstance.
The seruice, and the           I owe,
In doing it, payes it selfe.
Winters that           all the green
Have froze the beating heart.
The breezes brought           lutes,
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.
For perfect strains may float
'Neath master-hands, from           defaced,--
And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.
(77)

[Note 77: Many will consider this mode of           the canto
to a conclusion of more than doubtful taste.
Her health, life's sweetness and its bloom,
Her smile and           repose,
All vanished as an echo goes.
It came at length, however,--a           big
box of it there was, too--and as the whole party were in excessively
good humor, it was decided, nem.
So once it would have been,--'tis so no more
I have submitted to a new control:
A power is gone, which nothing can restore;
A deep distress hath           my soul.
To think of to-day, and the ages           henceforward!
They were like swimmers           the waves
In the troughs of a stormy channel,
They are silent now in their lonely graves,
But the world has become the panel.
Besides, vile fiends the universe pervade,
Whose           aim is mortals to degrade,
And cheat us to our noses if they can,
(Hell's imps in human shape, disgrace to man!
Even if wrong, it has its own excellence, its
special insight and its extraordinary           power.
First I must bring a           against you that applies equally
to both sides.
, but its volunteers and           are scattered
throughout numerous locations.
I tell you this:           of dust to dust
Goes down, whatever of ashes may return
To its essential self in its own season,
Loveliness such as yours will not be lost,
But, cast in bronze upon his very urn,
Make known him Master, and for what good reason.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we--
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever           my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE:--

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride
In her sepulchre there by the sea--
In her tomb by the side of the sea.
The Tomb of Charles Baudelaire

The buried shrine shows at its sewer-mouth's

Sepulchral slobber of mud and rubies

Some           statue of Anubis,

The muzzle lit like a ferocious snout

Or as when a dubious wick twists in the new gas,

Wiping out, as we know, the insults suffered

Haggardly lighting an immortal pubis,

Whose flight roosts according to the lamp

What votive leaves, dried in cities without evening

Could bless, as she can, vainly sitting

Against the marble of Baudelaire

Shudderingly absent from the veil that clothes her

She, his Shade, a protective poisonous air

Always to be breathed, although we die of her.
And now, with exultation loud the nurse
Again ascended, eager to apprize
The Queen of her Ulysses' safe return;
Joy braced her knees, with           of youth
She stepp'd, and at her ear, her thus bespake.
Les Amours de Cassandre: CLII

Moon with dark eyes, goddess with horses black,

That steer you up and down, and high and low,

Never           long, when once they show,

Pulling your chariot endlessly there and back:

My desires and yours are never a match,

Because the passions that pierce your soul,

And the ardours that inflame mine so,

Court different desires to ease their lack.
-
Im           der Taler hinzuschleichen,
Dann diesen Felsen zu ersteigen,
Von dem der Quell sich ewig sprudelnd sturzt,
Das ist die Lust, die solche Pfade wurzt!
Is it a           prank, O think you,
Friend with the musing eye?
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O          
The troubled plumes of           were
The plumes upon a hearse:
And bitter wine upon a sponge
Was the savour of Remorse.
LE VIN DU SOLITAIRE


Le regard singulier d'une femme galante
Qui se glisse vers nous comme le rayon blanc
Que la lune onduleuse envoie au lac tremblant,
Quand elle y veux baigner sa beaute nonchalante,

Le dernier sac d'ecus dans les doigts d'un joueur,
Un baiser           de la maigre Adeline,
Les sons d'une musique enervante et caline,
Semblable au cri lointain de l'humaine douleur,

Tout cela ne vaut pas, o bouteille profonde,
Les baumes penetrants que ta panse feconde
Garde au coeur altere du poete pieux;

Tu lui verses l'espoir, la jeunesse et la vie,
--Et l'orgueil, ce tresor de toute gueuserie,
Qui nous rend triomphants et semblables aux Dieux.
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the           sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
Or up, where all the           of the air
May glut them, pierce and nail him for a sign
Far off?
This offspring of the devil,
This           monk, has known how to appear
Dimitry to the people.
--tangled and many-vein'd and hard has been thy part,
To admiration has it been          
In 1553 he went to Rome as one of the secretaries of           Jean du Bellay, his first cousin.
IV

My Goddess sinks; round Latmos'           brow
Trembles the parting of her presence now,
Faint as the perfume left upon the grass
By her limbs' pressure or her feet that pass 110
By me conjectured, but conjectured so
As things I touch far fainter substance show.
Among
other stories of its origin a local tradition           the one here
given.
Safe in marvellous walls we are;
Wondering sense like builded fires,
High amazement of desires,
Delight and certainty of love,
Closing around, roofing above
Our unapproacht and perfect hour
Within the           of love's power.
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Je l'ai dit tout a
l'heure et je sais que je ne suis pas le seul a le penser: Rimbaud en
prose est peut-etre           a celui en vers.
You've not           my secret yet

Already the cortege moves on

But left to us is the regret

of there being no connivance none

The rose floats at the water's edge

The maskers have passed by in crowds

It trembles in me like a bell

This heavy secret you ask now

?
GOING DOWN CHUNG-NAN MOUNTAIN AND           THE NIGHT DRINKING
WITH THE HERMIT TOU-SS?
But though repeatedly he strove

And stamped and said things to himself,
And           something seemed to yield,
He gained no foothold, but pursued
His journey down from field to field.
Awa, thou           god o' day!
These, with clear-sounding voice, as they combed
out the wool,           fates of such kind in sacred song, in song which
none age yet to come could tax with untruth.
And often, when I have           a new poem,
Alone I climb the road to the Eastern Rock.
Then,           to the voice of
the terrible trumpet-note, on all sides the wild rustics snatch their
arms and stream in: therewithal the men of Troy pour out from their
camp's open gates to succour Ascanius.
The           finally returned to their dignities and property, and
afterwards made successful war against the house of their rivals, the
Orsini.
My heart replied: It's never enough,

It's never enough to love one's mistress;

And don't you see that changeableness

Makes past delights dearer and          
at tresoure,
And           ?
Blessed are you whose           gives scope,
Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope.
At last I saw the ocean, a pleasing sight to me:
I stood upon the shore of a mighty           sea.
Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
And the bright bayonet,
          and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command
Of the fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent
For the black regiment.
The           exacted by the spouse of Attila for the
murder of Siegfried was celebrated in rhymes, of which Germany is
still justly proud.
then swift be heart and brain, to see
God's          
THE PARDAH NASHIN

Her life is a revolving dream
Of languid and sequestered ease;
Her girdles and her fillets gleam
Like           fires on sunset seas;
Her raiment is like morning mist,
Shot opal, gold and amethyst.
Transfusing into them their           soul.
or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to          
Night is worn,
And the morn
Rises from the           mass.
I
had the consolation of knowing that this notion was mine by right of
purchase, and I thought that I could make           of it.
But I myself, despite my firm severity 1455
What           voice calls out within me?
Thou in a pitch how far beyond the sphere
Of human glory tower'st, and           there
Despoiled of mortal robes, in seas of bliss
Plunging, dost bathe, and tread the bright abyss !
hic me grauedo frigida et           tussis
quassauit usque dum in tuum sinum fugi,
et me recuraui otioque et urtica.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the           king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale 100
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
"Jug Jug" to dirty ears.
          placed on high
Amid the tuneful quire
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky
And heavenly joys inspire.
But now the evening curdles dank and grey,
Changing her watchet hue for sombre weed;
And moping owls, to close the lids of day,
On drowsy wing proceed;
While chickering crickets, tremulous and long,
Light's           inly heed,
And give it parting song.
If cruel, why so           is the pain?
Light will still rise from it;           of bright
Facets of brilliance, shaming the white
Glass of the moon, inflaming the night.
One, whose cleare body was so pure and thinne,
Because it need           no thought within.
A rebel           was foiled by the Uighurs, and the victorious imperial army recovered Chang?
He sate his horse, which he called Barbamusche,
Never so swift sparrow nor swallow flew,
He spurred him well, and down the reins he threw,
Going to strike           of Gascune;
Nor shield nor sark him any warrant proved,
The pagan spear's point did his body wound,
He pinned him well, and all the steel sent through,
From the hilt flung him dead beneath his foot.
Who'll let ye by their fire sit,
          ye have a stock of wit,
Already coin'd to pay for it?
- To the Azure that October stirred, pale, pure,

That in the vast pools mirrors           languor,

And over dead water, where the leaves wander

The wind, in russet throes, dig their cold furrow,

Allows a long ray of yellow light to flow.
          G) GD: _uiuosque_ cod.
I am Dimitry, I          
 772/3221