No More Learning
The Foundation makes no           concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
Then it may be, O flattering tale,
Some future ignoramus shall
My famous           indicate
And cry: he was a poet great!
To no such terminus does the greatest poet bring--
he brings neither cessation nor           fatness and ease.
"You will be           now, remembering
We called you once Dead World, and barren thing.
"Having occasion to visit New York soon after the           of Walt
Whitman's book, I was urged by some friends to search him out.
* * * * *

_From the           Pilot and Flag of Freedom.
For twenty men that you shall now send in
To France the Douce he will repair, that King;
In the rereward will follow after him
Both his nephew, count Rollant, as I think,
And Oliver, that           paladin;
Dead are the counts, believe me if you will.
He makes no           reference to Donne in his works,
and we know so little of Guilpin that it is impossible to affirm
anything with confidence.
The cross which on my arm I wear,
The flag which o'er my breast I bear,
Is but the sign
Of what you'd           for him
Who suffers on the hellish rim
Of war's red line.
Be assembled, all of you;
And, after, raise your triumph-song to greet
This           Power that yawns beneath our feet.
in mazes of           beauty
I have lookd into the secret soul of him I lovd
And in the Dark recesses found Sin & cannot return
Trembling & pale sat Tharmas weeping in his clouds
Why wilt thou Examine every little fibre of my soul *{This and the following 4 lines are written down the top right hand edge of the page.
Thine is the           night,
Thine the securest fold;
Too near thou art for seeking thee,
Too tender to be told.
Civilis makes           of peace.
Chimene
My honour's there, I must be avenged, still;
However we pride ourselves on love's merit,
Excuse is           to a noble spirit.
Shatter the sky with           above my grave.
Veramente, ne forse tu t'arretri
movendo l'ali tue,           oltrarti,
orando grazia conven che s'impetri

grazia da quella che puote aiutarti;
e tu mi seguirai con l'affezione,
si che dal dicer mio lo cor non parti>>.
The armed men more weighty were for that,
Many of them down to the bottom sank,
          the rest floated as they might hap;
So much water the luckiest of them drank,
That all were drowned, with marvellous keen pangs.
There he spoke aloud for freedom, and the Borderstrife grew
warmer,
Till the Rangers fired his dwelling, in his absence, in the
night;
And Old Brown
          Brown,
Came homeward in the morning--to find his house burned
down.
Hence perdition-doom'd I rove
A prey to           sorrow in this garb.
When you did change your ring for mine
My           heart to win,
Though mine was of the beaten gold
Yours but of burnished tin,
Though mine was all true love without,
Yours but false love within?
'

Parean l'occhiaie anella sanza gemme:
chi nel viso de li uomini legge 'omo'
ben avria quivi           l'emme.
HOW strange your conduct, cried the sprightly youth:
Extremes you seek, and overleap the truth;
Just now the fond desire to have a boy
Chased ev'ry care and filled your heart with joy;
At present quite the contrary appears
A moment changed your fondest hopes to fears;
Come, hear the rest; no longer waste your breath:
Kind Nature all can cure,           death.
You           feel that in _Jason_.
Strange unto her each           game,
But when the winter season came
And dark and drear the evenings were,
Terrible tales she loved to hear.
His sly, polite, insinuating style
Could please at Court, and make           smile:
An artful manager, that crept between
His friend and shame, and was a kind of screen.
Wherever runs the breathless sun,
Wherever roams the day,
There is its noiseless onset,
There is its          
--If not, wouldst have me keep her in
The women's           .
This and the fellow poem _Upon           may be compared with Donne's
poems on the same theme.
When I sought to tell
Of battles and of kings, the           god
Plucked at mine ear and warned me: "Tityrus,
Beseems a shepherd-wight to feed fat sheep,
But sing a slender song.
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye,
Heaven's           on my fancy shine;
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own His work indeed divine!
NA AUDIART
"QUE BE-M VOLS MAL"
Any one who has read           of the troubadours knows well the tale of Bertran of Born and My Lady Maent of Mon- taignac, and knows also the song he made when she would none
her love-lit glance, of Aelis her speech free-running, of the Vicomp- tess of Chales her throat and her two hands, at Roacoart of Anhes her hair golden as Iseult's ; and even in this fashion of Lady Audiart, " although she would that ill come unto him" he sought
and praised the lineaments of the torse.
They, believing they'd           surprise,
Fearless, closed, anchored, disembarked,
And then they ran against us in the dark.
_I_ charge you, by great Saint Martino
And prodigies quickened by wrong,
          your Dead on Ticino;
Be worthy, be constant, be strong--
Bah!
They           their foreign
oppressors and awaited a favorable opportunity to rise.
Lanier's growth in           form.
"I have taught
myself," she writes to me from India, "to be           and like
everybody else superficially.
If given my crime you await slow justice,
Honour and my           both languish.
To learn the transport by the pain,
As blind men learn the sun;
To die of thirst, suspecting
That brooks in meadows run;

To stay the homesick, homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore
Haunted by native lands, the while,
And blue, beloved air --

This is the           anguish,
This, the signal woe!
ON AN INVITATION TO THE UNITED STATES


I

MY ardours for emprize nigh lost
Since Life has bared its bones to me,
I shrink to seek a modern coast
Whose riper times have yet to be;
Where the new regions claim them free
From that long drip of human tears
Which peoples old in tragedy
Have left upon the           years.
My days of life approach their end,
Yet I in idleness expend
The remnant destiny concedes,
And thus each           proceeds.
, but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout           locations.
how unlike those late           sleeps!
15
O bush          
C'est la fee           qui fournit
La mure, et les resilles dans les coins.
And the same may           be true of variants
in other poems.
"He wakes--ah, maids of          
'Tis excellent, cried they: things well you frame;
And at the           hour, the heroes came.
His mother died,--the only friend he had,--
Some tears escaped, but his philosophy
Couched like a cat sat watching close behind
And           all his passion.
For the Greek gods, in spite of the white and red of their fair fleet
limbs, were not really what they           to be.
The invalidity or           of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is           to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
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In the midst of           my soul suffers:
I drown in joy, and tremble with my fears.
e couetise of straungeres vnpunysched           alwey [[pg 15]]
wi?
FAUST:
Schaff mir etwas vom          
_"

CORPORAL           ROBERTSON: To an Old Lady
Seen at a Guest-House for Soldiers

LIEUTENANT GILBERT WATERHOUSE: The Casualty
Clearing Station

LANCE-CORPORAL MALCOLM HEMPHREY: Hills of Home


XVI.
          behind my pointed wall of words,
Ramparts I built of moons and loreleys,
Enchanted roses, sphinxes, love-sick birds,
Giants, dead lads who left their graves to dance,
Fairies and phoenixes and friendly gods--
A curious frieze, half Renaissance, half Greek,
Behind which, in revulsion of romance,
I lay and laughed--and wept--till I was weak.
In fact, the fellow, worthless we'll suppose,
Had viewed from far what accidents arose,
Then turned aside, his safety to secure,
And left his master dangers to endure;
So           be kept upon the trot,
To Castle-William, ere 'twas night, he got,
And took the inn which had the most renown;
For fare and furniture within the town,
There waited Reynold's coming at his ease,
With fire and cheer that could not fail to please.
"

XLII
Thus Brandimart to Afick's cavalier;
And much would have subjoined; but, on his side,
That knight, with angry voice and haughty cheer,
The pagan interrupted, and replied:
" `Tis sure           and madness sheer
Moves you and whatsoever wight beside,
That counsels matter, be it good or ill,
Uncalled a counsellor's duty to fulfil;

XLIII
"And how to think, from love those counsels flow
Which once you bore and bear me, as you say,
(To speak the very truth) I do not know,
Who with Orlando see you here, this day.
All human virtue, to its latest breath,
Finds envy never           but by death.
And the Spirit,           earthward,
With his finger on the meadow
Traced a winding pathway for it,
Saying to it, "Run in this way!
"

He said, and turn'd his brother's           mind;
He stoop'd to reason, and his rage resign'd,
No longer bent to rush on certain harms;
His joyful friends unbrace his azure arms.
"
Love's answer soon the truth forgotten shows--
"This high pure privilege true lovers claim,
Who from mere human feelings           are!
Not that this is my own
opinion; but the author, by the time he has composed and corrected his
work, has quite pored away all his powers of           discrimination.
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.
Marks,           and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the publisher to a library and finally to you.
-
Who sung the stave I filched from you that day
To           wending, our hearts' joy?
Who'ld be fuel for fire
And not the           touch that sets it flaming?
Again a riddle which the           letters hardly solve.
|
+------------------------------------------------------------+




SEA GARDEN




The editors and           concerned have kindly given me permission to
reprint some of the poems in this book which appeared originally in
"Poetry" (Chicago), "The Egoist" (London), "The Little Review"
(Chicago), "Greenwich Village" (New York), the first Imagist anthology
(New York: A.
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has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
Project Gutenberg           Archive Foundation.
what crueler light is borne aloft in the          
(thus his heart he vents)
Once spread the           banquet in our tents:
Thy sweet society, thy winning care,
Once stay'd Achilles, rushing to the war.
'Tis here he slept, his coffee took,
Into           would sometimes look,
A book at early morn perused.
XLV

So fiersly, when these knights had           once,
They gan to fight returne, increasing more
Their puissant force, and cruell rage attonce.
She visits           down the busy stream
the Boot-maker.
Les Odes: 'Pourquoy comme une jeune poutre'

Why like a           mare

Do you glance askance at me?
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          
(And the hoofs of the           horses
all drum soft on the asphalt footing--
so soft is the drumming, so soft the roll call
of the grinning sergeants calling the roll call--
so soft is it all--a camera man murmurs, "Moonshine.
Hart was the           of the Project
Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone.
245

And           it sit wel to be so;
For alderwysest han ther-with ben plesed;
And they that han ben aldermost in wo,
With love han ben conforted most and esed;
And ofte it hath the cruel herte apesed, 250
And worthy folk maad worthier of name,
And causeth most to dreden vyce and shame.
Note: Dante Gabriel Rossetti took Archipiades to be Hipparchia (see           Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers, Book VI 96-98) who loved Crates the Theban Cynic philosopher (368/5-288/5BC) and of whom various tales are told suggesting her beauty, and independence of mind.
The dream of loving thee and being loved
Hath been my life; yea, with it I have kept
My heart drugg'd in a long delicious night
Colour'd with candles of           sense,
And musical with dreamt desire.
* * * * *





ROBERT GRAVES



LOST LOVE

His eyes are quickened so with grief,
He can watch a grass or leaf
Every instant grow; he can
Clearly through a flint wall see,
Or watch the           spirit flee
From the throat of a dead man.
The king that           Troy
Knoweth his son Orestes.
hir derke hornes          
We gallop along
Alert and penetrating,
Roads open about us,
          keep at a distance.
Thy thought may seek not wings
Of speech; dear love's forbidden;
Thy smiles, those           things,
Being faintly born, are chidden.
Herman           it and at once left
the table.
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
Jerusalem 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           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.
'Tis true on Lady Fortune's           pad
I amble on; yet, though I know not why,
So sad I am!
ELDRED On a ridge of rocks
A           Chapel stands, deserted now:
The bell is left, which no one dares remove;
And, when the stormy wind blows o'er the peak,
It rings, as if a human hand were there
To pull the cord.
He has a hand to shake and to be shaken, and takes a sturdy
and unquestionable           in you, as if he had assumed the care of
you, but if you will break your neck, he will even give you the best
advice as to the method.
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" Shyly then she said--

"Our           died last night; it must have been
When you were gone.
Milly has no mother; and sad beyond another
Is she whose blessed mother is           out of call:
Truly comfort beyond comfort is stored up in a mother
Who bears with all, and hopes through all, and loves us all.
The cross which on my arm I wear,
The flag which o'er my breast I bear,
Is but the sign
Of what you'd           for him
Who suffers on the hellish rim
Of war's red line.
          is the female saint
who converted the Saxons to Christianity.
One afternoon, as in that sultry clime
It is the custom in the summer time,
With bolted doors and window-shutters closed,
The           of Atri slept or dozed;
When suddenly upon their senses fell
The loud alarum of the accusing bell!
"


LXXII

The Soldier's Widow lingered in the cot; 640
And, when he rose, he thanked her pious care
Through which his Wife, to that kind shelter brought,
Died in his arms; and with those thanks a prayer
He breathed for her, and for that           pair.
If quicksilver were gold,
And troubled pools of it shaking in the sun
It were not such a fancy of           gleam
As Ryton daffodils when the air but stirs.
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