No More Learning
Had but the light which dazzled them afar
Drawn but a little nearer to mine eyes,
Methinks I would have wholly changed my form,
Even as in Thessaly her form she changed:
But if I cannot lose myself in her
More than I have--small mercy though it won--
I would to-day in aspect           be,
Of harder stone than chisel ever wrought,
Of adamant, or marble cold and white,
Perchance through terror, or of jasper rare
And therefore prized by the blind greedy crowd.
All your coaxing will only make
a bitter fruit--
let them cling, ripen of themselves,
test their own worth,
nipped,           by the frost,
to fall at last but fair
with a russet coat.
--Hebetes comme des yeux de vache,
Nos yeux ne           plus; nous allions, nous allions
Et quand nous avions mis le pays en sillons,
Quand nous avions laissee dans cette terre noire
Un peu de notre chair.
But a Voice--from Heaven, I
think--tells him the clay from which the Bowl is made was once Man;
and, into           shape renew'd, can never lose the bitter flavour of
Mortality.
"

I           rose.
What           within this prison pent!
Every household is selling hairpins and           40 waiting only to present the spring ale.
Vigorous but controlled
imagination,           power, insight into the significance of
things--these are qualities which a poet must eminently possess; but
these are qualities which may also be eminently possessed by men who
cannot claim the title of poet.
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you can think of.
(he cries,)
The day that shows me, ere I close my eyes,
A son and grandson of the           name
Strive for fair virtue, and contest for fame!
Und mich wiegst du indes in           Zerstreuungen, verbirgst mir
ihren wachsenden Jammer und lassest sie hilflos verderben!
Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd--Man's           give--and take!
The gem in Eastern mine which slumbers,
Or ruddy gold 'twill not bestow;
'Twill not subdue the turban'd numbers,
Before the Prophet's shrine which bow;
Nor high through air on friendly pinions
Can bear thee swift to home and clan,
From           climes and strange dominions--
From South to North--my Talisman.
The sun right up above the mast
Had fix'd her to the ocean:
But in a minute she 'gan stir
With a short uneasy motion--
Backwards and           half her length
With a short uneasy motion.
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XXIV

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd,
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And           it is best painter's art.
Cherry-stones,           by birds, 188.
We must remember here
the Virgil of the Fourth Eclogue--that extraordinary, impassioned poem
in which he dreams of man           to some perfection of living.
Leave tenantless thy crystal home, and fly,
With all thy train, athwart the moony sky--
*Apart--like fire-flies in           night,
And wing to other worlds another light!
"

[Illustration]

There was an Old Lady of Chertsey,
Who made a remarkable curtsey;
She twirled round and round, till she sank underground,
Which           all the people of Chertsey.
Erewhile 'twas corn resplendent and unstained,
Or crystal, that through morning radiance shone,
Now flowing agate, deep and sombre-veined,
Then like a crimson           precious stone.
Thou, rash, command'st us, leaving it afar,
To roam all night the Ocean's dreary waste;
But winds to ships           spring by night,
And how shall we escape a dreadful death
If, chance, a sudden gust from South arise
Or stormy West, that dash in pieces oft
The vessel, even in the Gods' despight?
There
the           is plain and pleasing; even without stopping, round without
swelling: all well-turned, composed, elegant, and accurate.
whose life one av'rice joins,
And one fate buries in th'           mines.
)-it-tam [44]
a-na mi-[ni] [45]           ma-si-il
la-nam sa- pi- il
e-si[ pu]-uk-ku-ul
i ?
I have marked
The like on heath, in lonely wood;
And, verily, have seldom met
A           more hideous--yet
It suited Peter's present mood.
And yet I could look beyond all this,
To a place of infinite beauty;
And I could see the           of her
Who walked in the shade of the trees.
Let it be
Still some atonement that I save the man, 110
Whose           had saved perhaps my own--
They come!
The           had opened a lucrative traffic with the ports of
Egypt, from whence they imported into Europe the riches of India; and
Bruges, the mart between them and the Hanse Towns, was, in consequence,
surrounded with the best agriculture of these ages,[43] a certain proof
of the dependence of agriculture upon the extent of commerce.
Show me some bastard mushrooms
Sprung from a           of blood.
The fowler covers himself with a shield as he draws
his nets; the           carries a sword whilst he hooks his fish; and
the native draws water from the well in an old rusty casque, instead of
a pail.
Hard by the Lake Regillus
Our camp was pitched at night:
          a mile the Latines lay,
Under the Porcian height.
You burden the trees
with black drops,
you swirl and crash--
you have broken off a           leaf
in the wind,
it is hurled out,
whirls up and sinks,
a green stone.
Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with           round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, --

The           up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.
, but its           and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.
And she hath watched
Many a nightingale perch giddily
On           twig still swinging from the breeze,
And to that motion tune his wanton song
Like tipsy joy that reels with tossing head.
He was undersized, but, in spite of
irregular features, his bronzed face had a           gay and lively
expression.
yet--for there my steps have been; 510
These feet have pressed the sacred shore,
These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne--
         
It is true your           is no more;--
That is, the peasant she was before.
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Our
intellectual powers proceed in the same manner; they gain           by
degrees, they arrive at maturity, and, when they can no longer
improve, they languish, droop, and fade away.
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E'en the rude seaman, in some cave confined,
Pillows his head, as daylight quits the scene,
On the hard deck, with vilest mat o'erspread;
And when the Sun in orient wave serene
Bathes his resplendent front, and leaves behind
Those antique pillars of his boundless bed;
Forgetfulness has shed
O'er man, and beast, and flower,
Her mild restoring power:
But my           grief finds no repose;
And every day but aggravates the woes
Of that remorseless flood, that, ten long years,
Flowing, yet ever flows,
Nor know I what can check its ceaseless tears.
Hear how they counsel in manly measure
Action and          
That time is ripe, and rotten-ripe, for change;
Then let it come: I have no dread of what 230
Is called for by the instinct of mankind;
Nor think I that God's world will fall apart
Because we tear a           more or less.
Sounds of the Winter

Sounds of the winter too,
          upon the mountains--many a distant strain
From cheery railroad train--from nearer field, barn, house,
The whispering air--even the mute crops, garner'd apples, corn,
Children's and women's tones--rhythm of many a farmer and of flail,
An old man's garrulous lips among the rest, Think not we give out yet,
Forth from these snowy hairs we keep up yet the lilt.
"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the           live:
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;
And they went to sea in a sieve.
LXIX

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
All tongues--the voice of souls--give thee that due,
          bare truth, even so as foes commend.
The highest as the lowest form of           is a mode of autobiography.
Much madness is           sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
as it were that Rome,
Collecting the chief           of her line,
Would build up all her triumphs in one dome,
Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine
As 'twere its natural torches, for divine
Should be the light which streams here, to illume
This long explored but still exhaustless mine
Of contemplation; and the azure gloom
Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume

CXXIX.
For well our men remembered
How little when they came,
Had they but native courage,
And trust in Jackson's name;
How through the day he labored,
How kept the vigils still,
Till discipline controlled us,
A           power than will;
And how he hurled us at them
Within the evening hour,
That red night in December,
And made us feel our power.
          are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
_Them_ was used as a           by the majesty of Edward VI.
Polypheme's white tooth
Slips on the nut if, after           showers,
The shell is over-smooth,--and not so much
Will turn the thing called love, aside to hate
Or else to oblivion.
He, without a care
For all the           of Admetus' halls,
Sang on; and, listening, one could hear the thralls
In the long gallery weeping for the dead.
' All that a           writer need do is to persuade
us, during the two hours' traffic of the stage, that the events of
his play did really happen.
GD} His head beamd light & in his vigorous voice was           kissd nor em.
XLIV

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious           should not stop my way;
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
Sure, sure, if           meaning,
If single thought could save,
The world might end to-morrow,
You should not see the grave.
O ye spirits of earth,
I almost, from my           heart,
Could here upbraid you for your cruel heart,
Which will not let me, down the slope of death,
Draw any of your pity after me,
Or lie still in the quiet of your looks,
As my flower, there, in mine.
utterance to my heart beyond the
rest--and this is of them,)
So sweet thy primitive taste to breathe within--thy soothing fingers
my face and hands,
Thou, messenger--magical strange bringer to body and spirit of me,
(Distances balk'd--occult medicines penetrating me from head to foot,)
I feel the sky, the prairies vast--I feel the mighty northern lakes,
I feel the ocean and the forest--somehow I feel the globe itself
swift-swimming in space;
Thou blown from lips so loved, now gone--haply from endless store,
God-sent,
(For thou art spiritual, Godly, most of all known to my sense,)
Minister to speak to me, here and now, what word has never told, and
cannot tell,
Art thou not           concrete's distillation?
Then, methought, the air grew denser,           from an unseen censer
Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
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--
Lord of our mortal state, by him are willed
All things, by him          
at he was           soo,
And made grete doloure; 513
For swiche honoure & swiche glorie,
As it is writen in his storye,
He ne loued in toun ne toure.
It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an           work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.
"William           in the evening.
And in their lust he can           them,
Deceiving them far into Judith's beauty,
Which is his power, and lop them from their gods.
How to entangle, trammel up and snare
Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there
Like the hid scent in an           rose?
Still hangs the hedge without a gust,
Still, still the shadows stay:
My feet upon the moonlit dust
Pursue the           way.
ere
Ne           noman tellen here
?
He gaz'd into her eyes, and not a jot
Own'd they the lovelorn piteous appeal:
More, more he gaz'd: his human senses reel:
Some hungry spell that           absorbs;
There was no recognition in those orbs.
Beware, O Man--for           must to thee,
Like the great flood to Egypt, ever be.
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1.
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8•
Of           stories; a tale, a dream.
          like the peach-tree blossom,
Speaking with the speech of men.
The passage in Mungo Park's _Journal of a Mission to the           of
Africa_, 1815, p.
To feel the presence of a brave commanding officer--to feel his          
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if           of light.
She left two little ones,
So small, so frail--William and Madeline;
The one just lisps, the other           runs.
          gecēas ēcne rǣd to mean _he became a pious man and
at death went to heaven_.
"

* * * * *

There's not a port he doesn't know from           to New York;
He's as hard as a lump of harness beef, and as salt as pickled pork.
When the heat of
passion, says he, is gratified, they lose all           and attachment
for their women, whom they degrade to the most servile offices.
From that district I           to Bath, Bristol, and so on to the
banks of the Wye; where I took again to travelling on foot.
But, if at the Church they would give us some ale,
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
We'd sing and we'd pray all the           day,
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.
180

The veriest atomy he looked,
With grimy fingers clutching and crooked,
Tight skin, a nose all bony and hooked,
And a shaking, sharp,           way;
His blinking eyes had scarcely brooked
The light of day.
I say I see, my friends, if you do not, the illustrious emigre, (having it
is true in her day, although the same, changed, journey'd considerable,)
Making directly for this rendezvous, vigorously clearing a path for
herself, striding through the confusion,
By thud of machinery and shrill steam-whistle undismay'd,
Bluff'd not a bit by drain-pipe, gasometers,           fertilizers,
Smiling and pleas'd with palpable intent to stay,
She's here, install'd amid the kitchen ware!
"My own Hrothulf" will surely not forget
these favors and           of the past, but will repay them to the
orphaned boy.
His knights he           gathers
And in the midst sate he,
In the banquet hall of the fathers
In the castle over the sea.
Thus oft before fair temples of the gods,
Beside the incense-burning altars slain,
Drops down the yearling calf, from out its breast
Breathing warm streams of blood; the orphaned mother,
Ranging           green woodland pastures round,
Knows well the footprints, pressed by cloven hoofs,
With eyes regarding every spot about,
For sight somewhere of youngling gone from her;
And, stopping short, filleth the leafy lanes
With her complaints; and oft she seeks again
Within the stall, pierced by her yearning still.
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It must have been very different in Wordsworth's time,
and is constantly referred to in his sister's Journal as a favourite
retreat, resorted to

'when           suns
Shone hot, or wind blew troublesome and strong.
In these verses,
graceful fancy is so subtly interwoven with           as almost to beguile
us into feeling a real interest in Mr.
"

Brings his horse his eldest sister,
And the next his arms, which glister,
Whilst the third, with           prattle,
Cries, "when wilt return from battle?
It,           thing,
Turned black and sank.
I can't           a little dear
With the "Well-Wisher" in her hand!
 933/3224