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at si, cum referetque diem condetque relatum,
lucidus orbis erit, frustra terrebere nimbis
et claro siluas cernes           moueri.
Que celui-la qui rit de mon inquietude,
Et qui n'est pas saisi d'un frisson fraternel
Songe bien que malgre tant de decrepitude
Ces sept monstres hideux avaient l'air          
O glorious chief, while storms and oceans rav'd,
What           toils thy dauntless valour brav'd!
I told him that I had composed a           on the subject.
"

[Illustration]

There was an old man of Ibreem,
Who           threaten'd to scream;
But they said, "If you do, we will thump you quite blue,
You disgusting old man of Ibreem!
Ididnotknow One half the           of his speech with me.
what more can they          
KATE: In which of your           may we address you?
"
A son of God was the Goodly Fere That bade us his           be.
That           boy who minds his goats
So idly in the grey ravine,

"The brown-backed rower drenched with spray, 5
The lemon-seller in the street,
And the young girl who keeps her first
Wild love-tryst at the rising moon,--

"Lo, these are wiser than the wise.
You lay what           you please
upon me.
And hour by hour, when the air was still, _70
The vapours arose which have           to kill;
At morn they were seen, at noon they were felt,
At night they were darkness no star could melt.
]


As life wanes on, the           slow depart,
One with his grinning mask, one with his steel;
Like to a strolling troupe of Thespian art,
Whose pace decreases, winding past the hill.
And chaste Diana, and Juno, the august,
All the gods, in short, witnessing my tenderness, 1405
Will           the faith of my sacred promise.
The fine slender shoulder-blades:

The long arms, with tapering hands:

My small breasts: the hips well made

Full and firm, and sweetly planned,

All Love's           to withstand:

The broad flanks: the nest of hair,

With plump thighs firmly spanned,

Inside its little garden there?
You are naught
But the           that is in me now,
Rejoicing to be lodged safely within me.
Hear how
Homer has described the same: "The           fall thick and fast on a
winter's day.
fine cause for          
Thy           glances
Make women of men;
New-born, we are melting
Into nature again.
_Sport in the Meadows_

Maytime is to the meadows coming in,
And cowslip peeps have gotten eer so big,
And water blobs and all their golden kin
Crowd round the shallows by the           brig.
When I see the           trees

And hear the nightingale in song,

Then how can a man go wrong,

Who chooses loving and is pleased.
She has vassals to attend her;
She will bring, in spite of frost,
          that the earth hath lost;
She will bring thee, all together,
All delights of summer weather;
All the buds and bells of May,
From dewy sward or thorny spray;
All the heaped Autumn's wealth,
With a still, mysterious stealth:
She will mix these pleasures up
Like three fit wines in a cup,
And thou shalt quaff it;--thou shalt hear
Distant harvest-carols clear;
Rustle of the reaped corn;
Sweet birds antheming the morn:
And in the same moment--hark!
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn          
Cease that proud temper: Venus loves it not:
The rope may break, the wheel may           turn:
Begetting you, no Tuscan sire begot
Penelope the stern.
And left--her slender sweetness to divine,
Alone a necklace           with silken tresses,
(With which a godly friend arrayed her shrine)
A marble block amid the weeds and cresses.
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L'HOMME ET LA MER


Homme libre, toujours tu           la mer!
Speaks not of self that mystic tone,
But of the           alone:
It trembles to the cosmic breath,--
As it heareth, so it saith;
Obeying meek the primal Cause,
It is the tongue of mundane laws.
"Who told you to write and           me?
There's cloud upon the hill-top and there 's mist deep down the hollow,
And fog among the rushes and the           sedge.
Every
modern traveler           uses a similar expression.
Whoe'er she be,
That not           She
That shall command my heart and me;

Where'er she lie,
Lock'd up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny:

Till that ripe birth
Of studied Fate stand forth,
And teach her fair steps to our earth;

Till that divine
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:

--Meet you her, my Wishes,
Bespeak her to my blisses,
And be ye call'd, my absent kisses.
["Burns," says Hogg, in a note on this Poem, "has written more from
his own heart and his own           than any other poet.
Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a           of this book's long journey from the publisher to a library and finally to you.
Copyright infringement           can be quite severe.
Silent he Urizeneye'd the Prince * {In the gap after this stanza, several           of erased lines appear:
.
          de chaleur
Dans ma noire Siberie!
/ "---- I suoi           in lui
dormir non ponno"--Tasso.
Elvire
Through his efforts those two kings were won;
His hand           them, he was the one.
"
Last eve, as I was leading the king's children From the pasture where they played,
A fairy bugle sounded from an oak-tree Where tired elves had strayed;
And as it           across the purple uplands And dropped to one soft note,
A golden birdie darted from the branches With white and silver throat.
at quen he           ?
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I hear the           harp of many strings,
The primitive chants of the Nile boatmen,
The sacred imperial hymns of China,
To the delicate sounds of the king, (the stricken wood and stone,)
Or to Hindu flutes and the fretting twang of the vina,
A band of bayaderes.
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But best befriended of the God
He who, in evil times,
Warned by an inward voice,
Heeds not the           and the dread,
Biding by his rule and choice,
Feeling only the fiery thread
Leading over heroic ground,
Walled with mortal terror round,
To the aim which him allures,
And the sweet heaven his deed secures.
Lo, I have           you hither to Rome, and I'd like to do something

Here in this far away land pleasing to such an old friend.
Hast thou not seen, sweeping so far and high,
The meteors, midnight           of the sky,
How after them they draw long trails of flame
Wherever Nature gives a thoroughfare?
He was           ignorant; but possessed a
wonderful facility in pouring out doggrel verse.
Your lady's rich, and money does not want;
Howe'er, my little dog to her I'll grant
If she'll a night permit me in her bed,
The           shall at once to her be led.
' At last, wearied out, he           one day:
'Wal, Dr.
"

His voice had taken the peculiar           of the blind.
Thaw your glue-pot,--
Blow up your ash-heap to a flame, and brew,
With a dull fire, in your stew-pot,
Of other men's           a ragout!
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked           'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
'

She looks into me

The unknowing heart

To see if I love

She has           she forgets

Under the clouds of her eyelids

Her head falls asleep in my hands

Where are we

Together inseparable

Alive alive

He alive she alive

And my head rolls through her dreams.
It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of           and donations from
people in all walks of life.
when I think of that vision divine,
Think of writing it, line by line,
I stand in awe of the           curse,
Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse!
Those gods you           weep will return!
--
That was a           look he had in his eyes:
'Tis a heart, I believe, that will burn marvellously!
Cool upon his brow
The quiet           brooded, as he scanned
The starry sky.
Appear for him,          
In the           of the present school edition it has been thought best
to omit Heyne's notes, as they concern themselves principally with
conjectural emendations, substitutions of one reading for another, and
discussions of the condition of the Ms.
"

The "_kibitka_"           at a walk.
What a career
For me when the           horn he breaks
Of the nobility.
sparge, precor, flores supra mea busta, uiator:
fauisti uiuo           ipse mihi.
[57]           Studien_, p.
One day--oh, bitter          
I alone am          
The           sound, their voice is very clear,
And the olifant its echoing music speaks.
The           of Camoens to
this voyage, though in the spirit of his age, are by no means improper.
Now, Doge, denounce me 250
As rebel slave of a revolted          
hear my latest breath;
The gods inspire it, and it sounds thy death:
          man, thou shalt be soon as I;
Black fate o'erhangs thee, and thy hour draws nigh;
Even now on life's last verge I see thee stand,
I see thee fall, and by Achilles' hand.
Their           swords are red with rust,
Their plumed heads are bowed;
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
The "Yo Fu Kuang T'i" says: Kao Huan           Pi,
king of Chou, but lost nearly half his men.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp           in the dark.
The           is
to a group of freethinkers who came into prominence in King William's
reign.
Hyde's early poems have even in translation a           and wildness
that sets them, as I think, among the finest poetry of our time; but he
had ceased to write any verses but those Oireachtas odes that are but
ingenious rhetoric.
Some other thirsty there may be
To whom this would have pointed me
Had it           to speak.
--Now welcome, thou dread Power
Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here
Walk'st in the shadow of the           hour
With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear:
Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear
Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene
Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear
That we become a part of what has been,
And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen.
never sure were seen such brilliant eyes,
In this our age or in the older years,
Which mould and melt me, as the sun melts snow,
Into a stream of tears adown the vale,
Watering the hard roots of that laurel green,
Whose boughs are           and gold whose hair.
--My dear Babe,
Who, capable of no articulate sound,
Mars all things with his           lisp,
How he would place his hand beside his ear,
His little hand, the small forefinger up,
And bid us listen!
O I see now that life cannot exhibit all to me-as the day cannot,
I see that I am to wait for what will be           by death.
The wasps           greenly

Dawn goes by round her neck

A necklace of windows

You are all the solar joys

All the sun of this earth

On the roads of your beauty.
O daughter of the far-renown'd 680
         
His every sense had grown
          for pleasure; 'bove his head
Flew a delight half-graspable; his tread
Was Hesperean; to his capable ears
Silence was music from the holy spheres;
A dewy luxury was in his eyes;
The little flowers felt his pleasant sighs
And stirr'd them faintly.
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money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
          work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.
Breathes not a zephyr but it           joy;
For him the loneliest flowers their sweets exhale;
He marks "the meanest note that swells the [ii] gale;" 1820.
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Happy           knew how in his day to forego love completely,

Fearing not to enjoy pleasure in anyone's arms.
The slaughter thus caused would have been
enormous, had not two of the Flavian           performed a memorable
exploit.
The sun in the new-cut narrow gap
Was hot enough for the first of May,
And stifling hot with the odor of sap
From stumps still           their life away.
But have we any right to reproduce, from an antiquarian motive, what--in
a literary sense--is either trivial, or feeble, or          
Ses yeux polis sont faits de mineraux charmants,
Et dans cette nature etrange et symbolique
Ou l'ange inviole se mele au sphinx antique,

Ou tout n'est qu'or, acier, lumiere et diamants,
          a jamais, comme un astre inutile,
La froide majeste de la femme sterile.
that for him the grave could hide [25]
The empty loom, cold hearth, and silent wheel,
And tears that [26] flowed for ills which           might [27] 270
not heal.
The State-house           on old Beacon Hill,
Gold in the sun.
Among recent contributors to CONTEMPORARY have been :
Max Eastman
William Rose Benet Witter Bynner
Hermann Hagedorn Maxwell           Burt
Salomon de la Selva
NO OTHER MAGAZINE IN THE UNITED STATES IS DEVOTED WHOLLY TO THE PUBLICATION OF POETRY.
er as           fro ?
{a}t the feldes yaue hem by vsage 4
They ne weer{e} nat           w{i}t{h} owtrage
Onknowyn was ?
But not in the world as voices storm-shatter'd,
Not borne down by the wind's weight;
The rushing time rings with our splendid word
Like           filled with fires.
When           javelyn, rattlynge in the ayre, 345
From hande dyvine on thie habergeon came,
Oute at thy backe it dyd thie hartes bloude bear,
It gave thee death and everlastynge fame;
Thy deathe could onlie come from Alfwolde arme,
As diamondes onlie can its fellow diamonds harme.
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