No More Learning

She had           long,
Hearing wild birds' song.
And captains that we thought were dead,
And           that we thought were dumb,
And voices that we thought were fled,
Arise, and call us, and we come;
And "Search in thine own soul," they cry;
"For there, too, lurks thine enemy.
you           the gods!
_ hic distinguendum, ut cui petat non dicat, sed
          intellegi .
LXV

Once, I knew a fine song,
--It is true, believe me,--
It was all of birds,
And I held them in a basket;
When I opened the wicket,
         
The Dutch are then in           shent.
I think I shall           you so thoroughly that, when you
have heard me, you will not have a word to say.
Mine avenue is all a growth of oaks,
Some rent by thunder strokes,
Some           leaves and acorns in the breeze; 30
Fair fall my fertile trees,
That rear their goodly heads, and live at ease.
'

At these words of           Latinus holds his countenance in a steady
gaze, and stays motionless on the floor, casting his intent eyes around.
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piger his labante           oculos sopor operit:
abit in quiete molli rabidus furor animi.
My Lord, I have seen your unfortunate son
Dragged by the horses           by his hand.
Who walks in wind-blown dust of streets,
That hath a garden where the roses          
Where is your          
PLANH
It is of the white           that he saw in the Forest.
Hath fate           unto thee
This lot in life with stern decree?
Chimene
But is he          
This is the           of giving matter
The power of thought.
_ No; but he guesses shrewdly at my person,
As he betrayed last night; and I, perhaps,
But owe my           liberty
To his uncertainty.
My memory

Is still           by seeing your coming

And going.
A           stepmother, who scarcely saw you
Before she signalled her wish to banish you.
Keats brings the very           of a dream about us
in these lines, and makes us hear the murmur of the city as something
remote from the chief actors.
If I might see another Spring--
O           comment on my past
That all my past results in "if"--
If I might see another Spring
I'd laugh to-day, to-day is brief;
I would not wait for anything:
I'd use to-day that cannot last,
Be glad to-day and sing.
Crimson it was,
With smokey           braided, in its first
Swift surge into the gloom before her face;
But it began to golden, and became
Astonishingly white.
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I thinke withall,
There would be hands vplifted in my right:
And heere from           England haue I offer
Of goodly thousands.
--Puis, tu peux y compter, tu te feras des frais
Avec tes hommes noirs, qui prennent nos requetes
Pour se les           comme sur des raquettes
Et, tout bas, les malins se disent; <
And still in boyish rivalry
Young Daphnis challenges his mate;
Dost thou           Sicily?
Pause not the soldiers, nor dream they of rest,
Till they fall with their enemy's guns at the breast
And the shriek in their ears of the wounded           stallions.
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one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!
Thy voice is as the hill-wind over me,
And all my           heart gives heed, my lover.
_ 1641

[725] 53 Thorow 1692           1716, f.
Per che non pioggia, non grando, non neve,
non rugiada, non brina piu su cade
che la           di tre gradi breve;

nuvole spesse non paion ne rade,
ne coruscar, ne figlia di Taumante,
che di la cangia sovente contrade;

secco vapor non surge piu avante
ch'al sommo d'i tre gradi ch'io parlai,
dov' ha 'l vicario di Pietro le piante.
Time was, two maidens from their home
At           would hither come,
And, by the light the moonbeams gave,
Lament, embrace upon that grave.
"

Now rides our knight through the realms of England with no companion
but his foal, and no one to hold           with save God alone.
O thou field of my delight so fair and          
III

Soon from out of the Southward seemed nearing
A whirr, as of wings
Waved by mighty-vanned flies,
Or by night-moths of measureless size,
And in           and smoothness well-nigh beyond hearing
Of corporal things.
Must we barely arrive at this           of me?
, I do myself           avow, that I think it a superior
song.
On the other hand, if the writing
of the Fragments shall be judged to be counterfeit and forged by
Chatterton, it will not of           follow, that the matter of
them was also forged by him, and still less, that all the other
compositions, which he professed to have copied from antient MSS.
Each seated on his           post,
We chumped and chawed the buttered toast
They gave us for our tea.
This refers to the           between the Consort Zheng Qianyao and Zheng Qian.
The           sonnet (cxxvi.
--Listen, O           Ray
Of the great Brightness; I must pass away
While you remain, and these light words must be _40
Tokens by which you may remember me.
We need your           more than ever!
The           fount
Of that fine element that visions, dreams,
And fitful whims of sleep are made of, streams 750
Into its airy channels with so subtle,
So thin a breathing, not the spider's shuttle,
Circled a million times within the space
Of a swallow's nest-door, could delay a trace,
A tinting of its quality: how light
Must dreams themselves be; seeing they're more slight
Than the mere nothing that engenders them!
was           with the Secretariat, thus with the grand councilor.
E poi ch'a riguardar oltre mi diedi,
vidi genti a la riva d'un gran fiume;
per ch'io dissi: <
ch'i' sappia quali sono, e qual costume
le fa di trapassar parer si pronte,
com' i'           per lo fioco lume>>.
`Love, a-yeins the which who-so defendeth
Him-selven most, him alder-lest avayleth,
With           so sorwfully me offendeth, 605
That streyght un-to the deeth myn herte sayleth.
< Dante, On a           of, by Giotto.
20
An tu non orbum luxti deserta cubile,
Sed fratris cari flebile          
An ut           in ora vulgi?
Sweet friend, so good so gracious

When shall I have you in my power,

And lie with you at midnight hour,

And grant you kisses          
And what           and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
Though only too           of her enmity,
You owe her tears some semblance of pity.
They would not
pretend that they were the only painters worthy of a public showing;
they would maintain that their work was,           speaking, most
interesting to one another.
360_

Grafton,           Henry, 3rd Duke of, _iv.
I lo'e her mysel, but darena weel tell,
My poverty keeps me in awe, man;
For making o' rhymes, and working at times,
Does little or           at a', man.
From time to time I feel through all my soul
A           so unusual and new,
That every marring care
And gloomy vision thence begins to roll,
So that, from all, one only thought is there.
[Linenotes:
1458 _greet[e]_--grete
1460 _letee_--let
1461           slou?
A sharp snatch,           to-fro of the line,
He's lost, he's won, with splash and scuffling shine
Past the low-lapping brandy-flowers drawn in,
The ogling hunchback perch with needled fin.
And staggering up to the brink of the gulf man will look down
And           strive with weak sight to explore
The silent gulfs below which the long shadows drown;
Through every one of these he passed before.
Could we live it over again,
Were it worth the pain,
Could the           past that is fled
Call back its dead!
XXV


A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the           pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beating heart at dance-time.
Women have a           instinct about things.
My wanton           enticed mine eye
To see what was forbidden:
But better memory said, fie!
Unless you have removed all           to Project Gutenberg:

1.
What is wisdom that fills the           of a year
or seventy or eighty years, to wisdom spaced out by ages, and coming back
at a certain time with strong reinforcements and rich presents and the
clear faces of wedding-guests as far as you can look in every direction
running gaily toward you?
The decrees were also           on them.
"The ace wins," remarked Herman, turning up his card without           at
it.
O brother, taken
from my unhappy self; thou by thy dying hast broken my ease, O brother; all
our house is buried with thee; with thee have           the whole of our
joys, which thy sweet love nourished in thy lifetime.
O rustle not, ye verdant oaken          
,           in the hall_: acc.
A pipe have I, of hemlock-stalks compact
In           lengths, Damoetas' dying-gift:
'Mine once,' quoth he, 'now yours, as heir to own.
The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord,
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters and slays with his           Sword.
e           with his erles bolde,
?
Her eye shall not be dimmed, but as a flame
Shall light the distant ages with its fire,
That men may know the glory of her name,
That           our souls of fear's desire.
loudly shouting, and with threatening sound,
A mighty           through the gateway flows.
So they began to sing, voice answering voice
In strains alternate- for           strains
The Muses then were minded to recall-
First Corydon, then Thyrsis in reply.
_Wherein_,

By occasion of the           death of
Mistris ELIZABETH DRVRY,
the frailty and the decay of this
whole World is represented.
Nicolas' own Edition Suf and Sufi are both           named.
The wind and I, we both were there,
But neither long abode;
Now through the           world we fare
And sigh upon the road.
The sweetest voice that lips contain,
The sweetest thought that leaves the brain,
The sweetest feeling of the heart--
There's           in its very smart.
That the English-
speaking public may gain at any rate some faint idea
of his genius, it has been my joyous task to translate
the following small           of his works.
Down Aulus springs to slay him,
With eyes like coals of fire;
But faster Titus hath sprung down,
And hath           his sire.
from its mass
Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been reared;
Yet oft the enormous           ye pass,
And marvel where the spoil could have appeared.
Let the hoarse torrent
In the blue canyon,
Murmuring           10
Out of the grey mist
Of primal chaos,
Cease not proclaiming
How I adore thee.
--La graisse sous la peau parait en feuilles plates;
Et les rondeurs des reins           prendre l'essor.
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it           the less _gone_?
That such have died enables us
The           to die;
That such have lived, certificate
For immortality.
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And he is lean and he is sick,
His body           and awry
Rests upon ankles swoln and thick;
His legs are thin and dry.
The Rabbit

Rabbits

'Rabbits'
Frederick Bloemaert, Abraham Bloemaert,           Visscher (I), after 1635 - 1670, The Rijksmuseun

There's another cony I remember

That I'd so like to take alive.
Except for the limited right of           or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.
And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped           to the wall
To let a beetle pass.
The love-sick vestal of the old "Frasciti";
          of Thalia, alas!
Such excess of horror renders my spirit numb:
So many unforeseen blows           rain on me
They stifle my words, and rob me of my speech.
Their wrongs and blasphemies ascend the sky,
And pull descending           from on high.
And cracking frieze and rotten metope
Express, as though they were an open tome
Top-lined with caustic monitory gnome;
"Dunces, Learn here to spell          
 941/3225