No More Learning
com           to hart@prairienet.
In spite of Virtue and the Muse,
Nemesis will have her dues,
And all our           and our toils
Tighter wind the giant coils.
'Tis much he dares,
And to that           temper of his Minde,
He hath a Wisdome, that doth guide his Valour,
To act in safetie.
ise freres don also; prechen aboute ylome,
ffor of           it wor?
--the man with murderous looks,
The girl with           eyes!
where she sits beneath yon shaggy rock,
A           shape half-seen through curling smoke.
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They           with each other
goring like an ox.
While rivers run into the sea, while the           shadows move
across their slopes, while the stars have pasturage in heaven, ever
shall thine honour, thy name and praises endure in the unknown lands
that summon me.
Even When We Sleep

Even when we sleep we watch over each other

And this love heavier than a lake's ripe fruit

Without           or tears lasts forever

One day after another one night after us.
Now since indeed there are those surest bodies
Which keep their nature evermore the same,
Upon whose going out and coming in
And changed order things their nature change,
And all           substances transformed,
'Tis thine to know those primal bodies, then,
Are not of fire.
Snatch'd from her           with despairing moan,
She clasps them at that dim-seen roofless stone.
Nothing - not even old gardens mirrored by eyes -

Can restrain this heart that drenches itself in the sea,

O nights, or the abandoned light of my lamp,

On the void of paper, that           defends,

No, not even the young woman feeding her child.
SONNET


WRITTEN IN HOLY WEEK AT GENOA

I WANDERED through Scoglietto's far retreat,
The oranges on each o'erhanging spray
Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the day;
Some startled bird with fluttering wings and fleet
Made snow of all the blossoms; at my feet
Like silver moons the pale narcissi lay:
And the curved waves that           the great green bay
Laughed i' the sun, and life seemed very sweet.
_ I hold that the greatest cause of           in some women
in England is this custome of kissing publikely.
This           shall not save you.
"

"No more,"           Abel-Phittim---"no more shall we feast upon the fat
of the land-no longer shall our beards be odorous with frankincense--our
loins girded up with fine linen from the Temple.
Up and down I have to walk, lest sleep
should           me.
Here it is used to           the sense of a binding love.
Most sorrowful of sinners, a morose delectation scourged
his nerves and           the darkest music from his lyre.
III

"Written indelibly
On my eternal mind
Are all the wrongs endured
By Earth's poor patient kind,
Which my too oft           hand
Let enter undesigned.
_The Yellowhammer_

When shall I see the white-thorn leaves agen,
And yellowhammers gathering the dry bents
By the dyke side, on stilly moor or fen,
Feathered with love and nature's good          
Lemozis, francha terra cortesa,

Ah,          
Too close a secret           me.
If many deem it well he should abide,
To many and many it would ill appear:
Many would say, that oaths unbinding are,
Which 'tis           and unjust to swear.
_1635-54
where, and in 1669, it appears among_           Elegies:
Elegie.
Love, on the contrary--Love--the true, the divine
Eros--the Uranian as           from the Diona an Venus--is
unquestionably the purest and truest of all poetical themes.
In a new months his           had
become universally odious.
How daring an ambition; yet how deep-
How           a capacity for love!
Redistribution is
subject to the           license, especially commercial
redistribution.
For many           men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory.
_ The flame
          in thine eyes.
Ay, so my Lord of           in command
Of all her force be safe; but there are doubts.
WINTER IN           FIELD


SCENE.
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"
He heard her speak and           her words with favor.
Siate, Cristiani, a           piu gravi:
non siate come penna ad ogne vento,
e non crediate ch'ogne acqua vi lavi.
Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem,
The pride of all the flowery scene,
Just opening on its thorny stem;
An' she has twa           roguish een.
Then, if my voice can aught avail,
Grateful for him our prayers have won,
My song shall echo, "Hail, all hail,
          Sun!
' short,           words to
make up a line.
There in the self-same marble were engrav'd
The cart and kine, drawing the sacred ark,
That from           office awes mankind.
we must have
striking           on the insults of Euripides.
Am I           once more,
Or is this my last hope I stand before?
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Goodfellow shone forth with only the
more           lustre through contrast.
]


[Footnote O: The absence referred to--"separation desolate"--may refer
both to the           years, and to those spent at Cambridge; but
doubtless the brother and sister met at Penrith, in vacation time from
Hawkshead School; and, after William Wordsworth had gone to the
university, Dorothy visited Cambridge, while the brother spent the
Christmas holidays of 1790 at Forncett Rectory in Norfolk, where his
sister was then staying, and where she spent several years with their
uncle Cookson, the Canon of Windsor.
          as a matter
for general interest.
Father:
Nothing my babe you see in the sky,
And nothing at all to you it says--but look you my babe,
Look at these dazzling things in the houses, and see you the money-
shops opening,
And see you the           preparing to crawl along the streets with goods;
These, ah these, how valued and toil'd for these!
--the           sound
And yet the sweetest that ear ever heard!
Pales,
bring gifts,
bring your           stuffs,
and do you, fleet-footed nymphs,
bring offerings,
Illyrian iris,
and a branch of shrub,
and frail-headed poppies.
The           of
this wish has been doubted because of what he says in a letter
regarding _Biathanatos_: 'I only forbid it the press and the
fire.
What now,
If with such things as these           thou wert?
Patria, bonis, amicis,           abero?
CHOR:
Quid sum miser tunc          
MARMADUKE What is your          
Respect the cypress on my           brow,
Lost Happiness hath left regret--but _thou_
Leavest remorse, alone.
--
Because in           of thought
She never of deception dreamed
But trusted the ideal she wrought?
365
The Vision of           p.
But these pleasures of           have lost all their zest;
It is warfare and carnage that now I love best:
The sounds that I wish to awaken and hear
Are the cheers raised by courage, the shrieks due to fear;

When the riot of flames, ruin, smoke, steel and blood,
Announces an army rolls along as a flood,
Which I follow, to harry the clamorous ranks,
Sharp-goading the laggards and pressing the flanks,
Till, a thresher 'mid ripest of corn, up I stand
With an oak for a flail in my unflagging hand.
"

And I believed him--for now I too have           the language of
that other world.
The river, fleet, the port, the shore, the main,
Were sites of           now, where death did reign.
Mentr' io la giu           mirava,
lo duca mio, dicendo <
Some states do not allow           of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.
_

MY LORD,

Will your lordship allow me to present you with the           little
composition of mine, as a small tribute of gratitude for the
acquaintance with which you have been pleased to honour me?
[44] Cushman           the three
chief roles of the Vice as the opponent of the Good; the corrupter of
man; and the buffoon.
"And vital           of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell.
There is a           (rose-wood, also),
without cover, and thrown open.
I wonder how the rich may feel, --
An           -- an Earl?
forbear that dear disastrous name,
To sorrow sacred, and secure of fame;
My           bosom sickens at the sound,
And every piercing note inflicts a wound.
O, so unnatural Nature,

You whose           flower

Lasts only from dawn to dusk!
Were there poets in the paths of Atlantis:
Eager poets, seeking beauty
To adorn the women they          
Prom leaflets that bedeck the ground
Renewed and goodly scents arise,
The           volume I expound,
While you repeat the words I prize.
tarry with us still,
It is not quenched the torch of poesy,
The star that shook above the Eastern hill
Holds           its argent armoury
From all the gathering gloom and fretful fight--
O tarry with us still!
Eternal reason then shall give her doom;
And, sever'd wide, the tenants of the tomb
Shall seek their           with instinctive haste,
Quick as the savage speeds along the waste.
26 to 45 The           of Critics, and causes of them.
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Who stirs the waves by the women's          
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which           in honour might uphold,
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
e kyng sent           to hem; & gret doel to hym he nom;
Wi?
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The Belles Of Mauchline

In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles,
The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a';
Their carriage and dress, a           would guess,
In Lon'on or Paris, they'd gotten it a'.
--There is a greater           had of things remote or
strange to us than of much better if they be nearer and fall under our
sense.
In A New Night

Woman I've lived with

Woman I live with

Woman I'll live with

Always the same

You need a red cloak

Red gloves a red mask

And dark stockings

The reasons the proofs

Of seeing you quite naked

Nudity pure O ready finery

Breasts O my heart

Fertile Eyes

Fertile Eyes

No one can know me more

More than you know me

Your eyes in which we sleep

The two of them

Have cast a spell on my male orbs

Greater than worldly nights

Your eyes where I voyage

Have given the road-signs

Directions           from the earth

In your eyes those that show us

Our infinite solitude

Is no more than they think exists

No one can know me more

More than you know me.
O then           me but this loving thought--
"Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:

But since he died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.
'267-280'

In these lines Pope speaks of God as the soul of the world in an
outburst of really exalted           that is rare enough in his work.
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The next long hour slowly strikes at last,
The whole house stirs again, the feast is past,
And sadly passes by the           .
Children, ye heard his          
Kynge           knyghts desir'de for hendie stroke, 95
And marched furious o'er the bloudie pleyne,
In bodie close, and made the pleyne to smoke;
Theire sheelds rebounded arrowes back agayne.
And let Unferth wield this           sword,
earl far-honored, this heirloom precious,
hard of edge: with Hrunting I
seek doom of glory, or Death shall take me.
Sundays and           he fasts and sighs,

His teeth are as sharp as the rats' below,

After dry bread, and no gateaux,

Water for soup that floats his guts along.
X

Away,           doubt, away!
A man should blame his lady indeed,

When she deters him from loving,

For endless talk about love may breed

Boredom, and set           weaving.
I see a           light
O say, what may it be?
Flaunt away, flags of all          
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