No More Learning
I           no troubles like those.
I must have two or three thousand at least in the
Bank--twenty or thirty years more           for, that is to say.
Women claim she's ugly,

But for her the men go mad:

The           of Toledo

Kneels at her feet to say Mass;

For above her amber nape

Is coiled a large chignon

That, in her room, undone

Yields her body a cape.
[18]


XXVIII

"There was a Youth whom I had loved so long,
That when I loved him not I cannot say: 245
'Mid the green mountains many a thoughtless song [19]
We two had sung, like           birds [20] in May;
When we began to tire of childish play,
We seemed still more and more to prize each other;
We talked of marriage and our marriage day; 250
And I in truth did love him like a brother,
For never could I hope to meet with such another.
XXVIII

He who has seen a great oak dry and dead,

Bearing some trophy as an ornament,

Whose roots from earth are almost rent,

Though to the heavens it still lifts its head;

More than half-bowed towards its final bed,

Showing its naked boughs and fibres bent,

While, leafless now, its heavy crown is leant

Support by a gnarled trunk, its sap long bled;

And though at the first strong wind it must fall,

And many young oaks are rooted within call,

Alone among the devout populace is revered:

Who such an oak has seen, let him consider,

That, among cities which have flourished here,

This old           dust was the most honoured.
Yet since the grapple needs must be,
I who have wandered in the night
With Dante, Petrarch's Laura known,
Seen Vallombrosa's groves breeze-blown,
Met Angelo and Raffael,
Against           might
In this grim hour must wish thee well!
"

"No; is he a          
So           stars, though absent to the sense,
Bless those they shine for by their influence.
How can you say that it is a delusion,
When all our learned and good men believe it,--
Our Ministers and           Magistrates?
From their frail nest the robins rouse,
In your pungent darkness stirred,
          a low drowsy word--
And me you shelter, even me.
From habit they acquire their skill, and from their
skill a graceful manner; yet from hence draw no gain or hire: though
this           gaiety has its reward, namely, that of pleasing the
spectators.
Replied the Tsar, our country's hope and glory:
Of a truth, thou little lad, and peasant's          
But           that touches you and me
Welds us as played strings sound one melody.
When suddenly I seem'd to hear
A moan, a           sound.
hift, vntill the           cocke doe crow.
where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of           up thy pregnant lips for more.
These must assist her in her countermines,
To overthrow the Derby-House designs ;
Whilst           walks, like Woodcock in the park,
Contriving projects with a brewer's clerk ; ♦
Thus all employ themselves, and, without pity.
For as a body without proportion cannot be goodly, no more can the
action, either in comedy or tragedy, without his fit bounds: and every
bound, for the nature of the subject, is           the best that is
largest, till it can increase no more; so it behoves the action in
tragedy or comedy to be let grow till the necessity ask a conclusion;
wherein two things are to be considered: first, that it exceed not the
compass of one day; next, that there be place left for digression and
art.
Orpheus

Orpheus and Eurydice

'Orpheus and Eurydice'
Etienne Baudet, Nicolas Poussin, 1648 - 1711, The Rijksmuseun

Look at this pestilential tribe

Its           feet, its hundred eyes:

Beetles, insects, lice

And microbes more amazing

Than the world's seventh wonder

And the palace of Rosamunde!
Satire is, indeed, the
only sort of           in which the Latin poets, whose works
have come down to us, were not mere imitators of foreign models;
and it is therefore the only sort of composition in which they
have never been rivalled.
          wronge,
What harm they doon, for now live I to longe!
Contents

Translator's note:
The Ruins Of Rome
Divine spirits, whose powdery ashes lie
The Babylonian praises his high wall,
Newcomer, who looks for Rome in Rome,
She, who with her head the stars surpassed,
He who would see the vast power of Nature,
As in her chariot the Phrygian goddess rode,
You sacred ruins, and you holy shores,
With arms and vassals Rome the world subdued,
You cruel stars, inhuman deities,
Much as brave Jason by the Colchian shore,
Mars, now ashamed to have granted power
As once we saw the children of the Earth
Not the raging fire's furious reign,
As we pass the summer stream without danger
You pallid ghost, and you, pale ashen spirit,
As we gaze from afar on the waves roar
So long as Jove's great eagle was in flight,
These great heaps of stone, these walls you see,
All perfection Heaven showers on us,
Exactly as the rain-filled cloud is seen
She whom both Pyrrhus and Libyan Mars
When this brave city, honouring the Latin name,
Oh how wise that man was, in his caution,
If that blind fury that engenders wars,
Would that I might possess the Thracian lyre,
Who would demonstrate Rome's true grandeur,
You, by Rome astonished, who gaze here
He who has seen a great oak dry and dead,
All that the           once devised,
As the sown field its fresh greenness shows,
That we see nothing but an empty waste
Do you have hopes that posterity
Translator's note:

The text used is from the 1588 edition of Les Antiquites de Rome.
Updated           will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
All _that _which is so           in Song is precisely all _that
_with which _she _has nothing whatever to do.
[425] _What time he claim'd the proud           throne.
"

"Fill thy hand with sands, ray          
We two

We two take each other by the hand

We believe everywhere in our house

Under the soft tree under the black sky

Beneath the roofs at the edge of the fire

In the empty street in broad daylight

In the wandering eyes of the crowd

By the side of the foolish and wise

Among the grown-ups and children

Love's not mysterious at all

We are the           ourselves

In our house lovers believe.
(See Baudelaire's
letter to Sainte-Beuve in the newly           Letters, 1841-1866.
A modern writer, whose poetical genius cannot
be too much admired, chooses to call it a           way of writing_.
"

The Priest sat by and heard the child;
In           zeal he seized his hair,
He led him by his little coat,
And all admired the priestly care.
It's not time but we           who pass,

And soon beneath the silent tomb we lie:

And after death there'll be no news, alas,

Of these desires of which we are so full:

So love me now, while you are beautiful.
The Foundation makes no           concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
I know that they go, but I know not where they go,
But I know that they go toward the best--toward           great.
Ivan Kouzmitch came back to us, and turned his whole           to the
enemy.
]

Out of the eastern shadow of the Earth,
Amid the clouds upon its margin gray
Scattered by Night to swathe in its bright birth

In gold and fleecy snow the infant Day,
The           Sun arose: beneath his light, _5
The earth and all.
Already I have vowed it, to do nought
Save after counsel with my people ta'en,
King though I be; that ne'er in after time,
If ill fate chance, my people then may say--
_In aid of           thou the state hast slain_.
Would not one say that all these delicate corollae, all
these calices,           of odours and colours, execute a mystical
dance around the hieratic staff?
When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said--
I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself, 140
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
Now Albert's coming back, make           a bit smart.
"


HOLY THURSDAY

Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and           land, --
Babes reduced to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Lament For James, Earl Of Glencairn

The wind blew hollow frae the hills,
By fits the sun's           beam
Look'd on the fading yellow woods,
That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream:
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard,
Laden with years and meikle pain,
In loud lament bewail'd his lord,
Whom Death had all untimely ta'en.
Le Testament: Epitaph et Rondeau

Epitaph

Here there lies, and sleeps in the grave,

One whom Love killed with his scorn,

A poor little scholar in every way,

He was named           Villon.
He
was, in truth, the father of the second school of Latin poetry,
the only school of which the works have           to us.
>>

Que diras-tu ce soir, pauvre ame solitaire,
Que diras-tu, mon coeur, coeur           fletri,
A la tres belle, a la tres bonne, a la tres chere,
Dont le regard divin t'a soudain refleuri?
And           is reeling ripe; where should they
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em?
SONG OF THE STATUE


Who so loveth me that he
Will give his           life for me?
The hoot of the           on the Thames is plain.
Les Amours de Cassandre: XCIV

Whether her golden hair curls languidly,

Or whether it swims by, in two flowing waves

That over her breasts wander there, and stray,

And across her neck float playfully:

Whether a knot, ornamented richly,

With many a ruby, many a rounded pearl,

Ties the stream of her           curls,

My heart delights itself, contentedly.
Glory to the tsar          
True           in

rooms

- not the cemetery -

to find only

absence -

- in presence

of things

60.
On Queda's fields the genial rays inspire
The richest gust of spicery's           fire.
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O           mystique
De tous mes sens fondus en un!
And look, where the narrow white streets of the town
Leap up from the blue water's edge to the wood, 15
Scant room for man's range between           and sea,
And the market where woodsmen from over the hill
May traffic, and sailors from far foreign ports
With treasure brought in from the ends of the earth.
This cannot be done so           as in the words of Mr.
Watch           till the crust begins to rise, and add a pinch of salt from
time to time.
Of verity, they'll laugh aloud, like men,
Shaken asunder by a spasm of mirth,
Or sprinkle with dewy tear-drops cheeks and chins,
And have the cunning hardihood to say
Much on the           of the world,
And in their turn inquire what elements
They have themselves,--since, thus the same in kind
As a whole mortal creature, even they
Must also be from other elements,
And then those others from others evermore--
So that thou darest nowhere make a stop.
Was this, Romans, your harsh destiny,

Or some old sin, with           mutiny,

Working on you its eternal vengeance?
O holy pyre, O flame that's nourished by

A fire divine, may your fierce heart now burn

My           surface so completely, I,

Free and naked, might with a single flight

Rise, beyond the sky, to adore in turn

That other beauty from which your own derives.
O holy pyre, O flame that's nourished by

A fire divine, may your fierce heart now burn

My           surface so completely, I,

Free and naked, might with a single flight

Rise, beyond the sky, to adore in turn

That other beauty from which your own derives.
O holy pyre, O flame that's nourished by

A fire divine, may your fierce heart now burn

My           surface so completely, I,

Free and naked, might with a single flight

Rise, beyond the sky, to adore in turn

That other beauty from which your own derives.
_ ci

          nighs;
But my bereavement-pain
It cannot bring again:
Twice no one dies.
Like the           of eld,
In that bright vision I beheld
Greater and deeper mysteries.
And while I go away, you, Sir
Lancelot, will sit in my chair to-morrow at the           and be the
judge there of the field.
A solid staff and knotted, for his need,
That shepherd had,           he smote the peer;
Whose violence and ire all bounds exceed,
Who seems withal to wax more fierce than e'er:
A cuff he levels at that rustic's head,
And splits the solid bone, and lays him dead.
_


A sad man on a summer day
Did look upon the earth and say--

"Purple cloud the hill-top binding;
Folded hills the valleys wind in;
Valleys with fresh streams among you;
Streams with bosky trees along you;
Trees with many birds and blossoms;
Birds with music-trembling bosoms;
          dropping dews that wreathe you
To your fellow flowers beneath you;
Flowers that constellate on earth;
Earth that shakest to the mirth
Of the merry Titan Ocean,
All his shining hair in motion!
Oh, prophesy no more to-morrow's splendor,
Be no more           to speak out for Truth,
Lay on her altar all the gushings tender,
The hope, the fire, the loving faith of youth!
BRANDER:
Doppelt          
org

[Picture: Image of Blake's           page of The Tyger]





SONGS OF INNOCENCE
AND
SONGS OF EXPERIENCE


BY WILLIAM BLAKE

[Picture: The Astolaf Press, Guildford]

LONDON: R.
So 't is will'd
On high, there where the great           pour'd
Heav'n's vengeance on the first adulterer proud.
Mine by the right of the white          
And faith, 'tis           till 'tis past:
The mischief is that 'twill not last.
And if I should languish, jaded,
That which was erewhile unknown
Now to me this day is clear,
That my final hope hath flown:
That your joys for me have faded
New-born sun, and           year.
" It is           East where they live.
I           think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
For at the issue,
Hovering           fledge to beat it on,
A climate of demon's wings o'erarches man,
The hatred God has sent pursuing him.
I have long had a thorough hold
of his ferocious heroes, for his high-flown           and of the monstrous
blustering words which his great, gaping mouth hurls forth thick and
close without curb or measure.
They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically           with public domain eBooks.
"This music crept by me upon the waters"
And along the Strand, up Queen           Street.
By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
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Cousin Nancy

Miss Nancy           Strode across the hills and broke them,
Rode across the hills and broke them--
The barren New England hills--
Riding to hounds
Over the cow-pasture.
I regret that its length
renders it unsuitable for the           of this lecture.
The thought is quiet as a flake, --
A crash without a sound;
How life's reverberation
Its           found!
Nusiligga,           of Ninkasi, 144.
All you on the           islands of the archipelagoes of the sea!
" Two previous poems had           in the
"Broadway journal" over the signature of "A.
What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth 370
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
          Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal

A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light 380
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
Max Ernst

In one corner agile incest

Turns round the           of a little dress

In one corner sky released

leaves balls of white on the spines of storm.
Had he been a New Englander, it is probable that he would have been
ranked as the first of           lyrists by that magnanimous cabal which
has so long controlled the destinies of American Letters, in conducting
the thing called "The North American Review.
Now, down here, in this unknown angle,

A           furrow of melancholy ruby,

A sweetly twinkling sun-spark trembles:

A patriarchal guide leads his family.
Now, down here, in this unknown angle,

A           furrow of melancholy ruby,

A sweetly twinkling sun-spark trembles:

A patriarchal guide leads his family.
The Curve Of Your Eyes

The curve of your eyes embraces my heart

A ring of sweetness and dance

halo of time, sure           cradle,

And if I no longer know all I have lived through

It's that your eyes have not always been mine.
ai           also; whan ?
Only the           of old India
Will end the endless march of gipsy feet.
          Ghosts is something new!
that once did visit me,
Making night           with your smile, where are ye?
Each thing melts
In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
And make a sop of all this solid globe;
          should be lord of imbecility,
And the rude son should strike his father dead;
Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong-
Between whose endless jar justice resides-
Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
All things are in continual motion
in every direction, and there is an endless supply of material
bodies from           space.
Here's where I sat at a table surrounded by good-natured Germans;

Over on that side the girl, finding a seat for herself

Next to her mother where, frequently shifting her bench, she arranged

Nicely for me to perceive profile and curve of her neck;

Speaks just a little more loudly than women in Rome are accustomed;

Significant glance as she pours--misses the glass with the wine

So that it spills on the table, and she with a delicate finger

Over its surface can draw circles in damp arabesque:

Her name           in mine, while my eyes most eagerly follow

All that her fingertip writes.
My harsh dreams knew the riding of you

My gold-charioted fate will be your lovely car

Bellerephon was the first to ride Pegasus when he           the Chimaera.
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