Jules Laforgue
'Jules Laforgue'
1885, Wikimedia Commons
Pierrots
Emerges, on a taut neck,
From a starched ruff idem
A face, cold-creamed,
A beanpole: hydrocephalic.
An old man with a steady look sublime,
That stops his earthly task to watch the skies;
But he is blind--a statue hath such eyes;--
Yet having turn'd his face by chance,
Gazes the orb with moon-like countenance,
With scant white hairs, with fore top bald and high,
He gazes still,--his eyeless face all eye;--
As 'twere an organ full of silent sight,
His whole face seemeth to rejoice in light!
Tell me ye stones and give me O palaces answer.
The sun in the West,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
Preserve, my Talisman;
A secret power it holds within it--
'Twas love, true love the gift did plan.
a constant state of change.
the suns of seven circles shine,
Ay!
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Me thoghte the as naked
Withouten hir, that saw I ones,
As a coroune withoute stones.
The Babylonian praises his high wall,
And gardens high in air; Ephesian
Forms the Greek will praise again;
The people of the Nile their tall;
And that same Greek still boasting will recall
Their statue of Jove the Olympian;
The Tomb of Mausolus, some Carian;
Cretans their long-lost labyrinthine hall.
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry, "Speak once more--thou lovest!
Glittering and frail with many a fretted spire,
But when the summer sunset came to pass
It kindled into fire.
And what blue bruises Sense had left
And sad remains of redder stains are banished,
And the dim blotch of heart-committed theft.
Shall Lyctian Aegon and Damoetas sing,
And Alphesiboeus emulate in dance
The dancing Satyrs.
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project.
Of a in search of his flock.
Fill the lake with images,--
As garment draws the garment's hem,
Men their fortunes bring with them.
I hid the love within my heart,
And lit the in my eyes,
That when we meet he may not know
My love that never dies.
And star-dials pointed to morn--
As the star-dials hinted of morn--
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn--
Astarte's bediamonded crescent,
with its duplicate horn.
Though tired in heart and limb:
He loved no other place, and yet
Home was no home to him.
Edged by a impulse of revenge?
bonjour sans quitter leur costume d'interieur et flanaient en neglige
sur le quai Bourbon et sur le quai d'Anjou, si parfaitement deserts que
c'etait une joie d'y regarder couler l'eau et d'y boire la lumiere.
More than ever twisted braid,
Or sigh'd, or blush'd, or on spring-flowered lea
Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy:
A virgin purest lipp'd, yet in the lore
Of love deep learned to the red heart's core:
Not one hour old, yet of sciential brain
To unperplex bliss from its neighbour pain;
Define their pettish limits, and estrange
Their points of contact, and swift counterchange;
Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart
Its most ambiguous atoms with sure art;
As though in Cupid's college she had spent
Sweet days a lovely graduate, still unshent,
And kept his rosy terms in idle languishment.
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of your slight breast:
your feet are citron-flowers,
your knees, cut from white-ash,
your thighs are rock-cistus.
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editions, all of which are as Public Domain in the U.
Then falling down.
ate a cherry, and did not make two bites of it, you must have
perceived it,--right in the centre of the morsel, a large
earthy residuum left on the tongue.
Orpheus and Eurydice
'Orpheus and Eurydice'
Etienne Baudet, Nicolas Poussin, 1648 - 1711, The Rijksmuseun
Look at this pestilential tribe
Its thousand feet, its hundred eyes:
Beetles, insects, lice
And microbes more amazing
Than the world's seventh wonder
And the palace of
"Her heart has unto thine;
She comes, to-night.
The breeze, that takes you, lifts me up alive,
And I'll follow those I loved, I the exile.
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
and he knew that it was mine, --
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe beneath the tree.
Since, with his sister, he forsook
The world's affairs.
segnato avea lo suo bianco,
mi disse: <
Such is its
works.
[Sub-Footnote i: The italics only occur in the of 1798 and
1800.
One solemn shower began;
They bore as heroes, but they felt as man.
What need of armes, where peace doth ay remaine,
(Said he,) and none are to be fought?
In these long winter nights when the idle Moon
Steers her chariot so slowly on its way,
When the cockerel so tardily calls the day,
When night to the soul seems years through:
I would have died of misery if not for you,
In shadowy form, coming to ease my fate,
Utterly naked in my arms, to lie and wait,
Sweetly deceiving me with a specious view.
We are wed to one eternity.
You set against beauty.
afraid of the little stream as though it were the Yellow River, the
largest river in China.
and of all the little squazes that I got in return?
And bleeding hosts before him shrunk aghast.
Are finger-tips of ranges round
And holding up the Romany's wide sky.
They wolden seye, and swere it, out of doute,
That love ne droof yow nought to doon this dede,
But lust and coward drede.
My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The sickly appetite to please.
Where I was reared; [H] in Nature's primitive gifts
Favoured no less, and more to every sense 100
Delicious, seeing that the sun and sky,
The elements, and seasons as they change,
Do find a worthy fellow-labourer there--
Man free, man working for himself, with choice
Of time, and place, and object; by his wants, 105
His comforts, native occupations, cares,
Cheerfully led to ends
Or social, and still followed by a train
Unwooed, unthought-of even--simplicity,
And beauty, and inevitable grace.
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A thousand years with backward glance
Has marked our footprints in fire,
Delicate gold that only fairies see.
The bard's enthusiastic strain,
Nor precepts sage nor pictures e'en,
Yet neither Virgil nor Racine
Nor Byron, Walter Scott, nor Seneca,
Nor the _Journal des Modes_, I vouch,
Ever a maid so much:
Its name, my friends, was Martin Zadeka,
The chief of the Chaldean wise,
Who dreams expound and prophecies.
sīð Bēowulfes snūde gecȳðed,
þæt þǣr on worðig wīgendra hlēo,
lind-gestealla lifigende cwōm,
1975 heaðo-lāces hāl tō hofe gongan.
In ev'ry part, in all ears
The suitors' horrid fate.
Today in the last battle, and when wounded,
How swiftly bore me.
I trained, and docile service of the rein,
Steeds, the delight of wealth and pomp and pride.
agony which was in that ghastly face of his, so lately rubicund
with triumph and wine.
of Replacement or Refund" described in 1.
1
Sauntering the or riding the country by-road, faces!
[Allowing for the difference 'twixt prose and rhymed exaggeration, this ought
to the sense of what Sir A-- told the nation sometime ago, when the
Government struck from our incomes two per cent.
A virtuous may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd isle.
To imitate her; but misjoyning shapes,
Wilde work oft, and most in dreams,
Ill matching words and deeds long past or late.
Yet I feel it my duty to say
Some are Boojums--" The Bellman broke off in alarm,
For the Baker had fainted away.
--Yea from that I never knew--
And slightly glazed,
Since to our winter from the spring he came.
And many in the Afghan land,
And many where the Ganges falls
Through seven mouths of sand.
But
O O O O that Rag--
It's so elegant
So intelligent 130
"What shall I do now?
Not reprinted till 1884 when it was unaltered, as it has remained since:
but the poem appended and printed by Tennyson (in the has not
been reprinted.
He Losanswer'd, darkning more with indignation hid in smiles *
I die not Enitharmon tho thou singst thy Song of Death *
Nor shalt thou me torment For I behold the Fallen Man *
Seeking to comfort Vala [[word]]she will not be comforted *
She rises from his throne and seeks the shadows of her garden
Weeping for Luvah lost, in the bloody beams of your false morning
Sickning lies the Fallen Man his head sick his heart faint *
Mighty of your power!
As fits give vigour, just when they destroy.
They have a proud and air.
Setting in your lava her heels so artless,
When a sad slumber where the flame burns low.
Starts up, and beams
Its glance,--
To make our sad hearts dance,
And wake in woods hushed long
The wild bird's song.
These still, yet it must be that Time
In the end, both works and names, will flaw.
concept of a library of works that could be freely shared
with anyone.
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smooths her hair with hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
Into the shining spousal ecstasy
Of sun and wind, riseth in cloudy gleam,
So let the knowing of my flesh be clouds
Of fire, mounting up the height of my spirit,
Fire clouding with flame the marriage hour
Wherein my spirit keeps thy light
Away from Heaven in a bridal kiss,--
Fire of bodily sense in spiritual glee
Held, as fire of water in sunlit air.
Chinese have reproached Po with ingratitude to his Imperial patron,
but it would appear that he Prince Lin as soon as the latter
joined the revolution.
whose plan would look best.
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