No More Learning
So when I see this robin now,
Like a red apple on the bough,
And           why he sings so strong,
For love, or for the love of song;
Or sings, maybe, for that sweet rill
Whose silver tongue is never still--

Ah, now there comes this thought unkind,
Born of the knowledge in my mind:
He sings in triumph that last night
He killed his father in a fight;
And now he'll take his mother's blood--
The last strong rival for his food.
As that other voice of his was           a
headsman than a head when he wished the people of Rome had but one neck.
The waver, the
jostle, and the hum           in a tenfold degree.
So, when the sun in bed
Curtain'd with cloudy red
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
The flocking shadows pale
Troop to the           jail,
Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave;
And the yellow-skirted fays
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.
Scaliger, on the other
hand,           that Lucan was a true poet, and that the critics do but
trifle, when they object that he wrote history, not an epic poem.
_The Gipsy's Camp_

How oft on Sundays, when I'd time to tramp,
My rambles led me to a gipsy's camp,
Where the real effigy of midnight hags,
With tawny smoked flesh and           rags,
Uncouth-brimmed hat, and weather-beaten cloak,
Neath the wild shelter of a knotty oak,
Along the greensward uniformly pricks
Her pliant bending hazel's arching sticks:
While round-topt bush, or briar-entangled hedge,
Where flag-leaves spring beneath, or ramping sedge,
Keeps off the bothering bustle of the wind,
And give the best retreat she hopes to find.
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To range, deep-wrapt, along a heavenly height,
O'erseeing all that man but undersees;
To loiter down lone alleys of delight,
And hear the beating of the hearts of trees,
And think the thoughts that lilies speak in white
By greenwood pools and pleasant passages;

With healthy dreams a-dream in flesh and soul,
To pace, in mighty meditations drawn,
From out the forest to the open knoll
Where much thyme is, whence blissful leagues of lawn
Betwixt the fringing woods to southward roll
By tender inclinations; mad with dawn,

Ablaze with fires that flame in silver dew
When each small globe doth glass the morning-star,
Long ere the sun, sweet-smitten through and through
With dappled revelations read afar,
Suffused with saintly ecstasies of blue
As all the holy eastern heavens are, --

To fare thus fervid to what daily toil
Employs thy spirit in that larger Land
Where thou art gone; to strive, but not to moil
In           that do mar the artist's hand,
Not drudge unriched, as grain rots back to soil, --
No profit out of death, -- going, yet still at stand, --

Giving what life is here in hand to-day
For that that's in to-morrow's bush, perchance, --
Of this year's harvest none in the barn to lay,
All sowed for next year's crop, -- a dull advance
In curves that come but by another way
Back to the start, -- a thriftless thrift of ants

Whose winter wastes their summer; O my Friend,
Freely to range, to muse, to toil, is thine:
Thine, now, to watch with Homer sails that bend
Unstained by Helen's beauty o'er the brine
Tow'rds some clean Troy no Hector need defend
Nor flame devour; or, in some mild moon's shine,

Where amiabler winds the whistle heed,
To sail with Shelley o'er a bluer sea,
And mark Prometheus, from his fetters freed,
Pass with Deucalion over Italy,
While bursts the flame from out his eager reed
Wild-stretching towards the West of destiny;

Or, prone with Plato, Shakespeare and a throng
Of bards beneath some plane-tree's cool eclipse
To gaze on glowing meads where, lingering long,
Psyche's large Butterfly her honey sips;
Or, mingling free in choirs of German song,
To learn of Goethe's life from Goethe's lips;

These, these are thine, and we, who still are dead,
Do yearn -- nay, not to kill thee back again
Into this charnel life, this lowlihead,
Not to the dark of sense, the blinking brain,
The hugged delusion drear, the hunger fed
On husks of guess, the monarchy of pain,

The cross of love, the wrench of faith, the shame
Of science that cannot prove proof is, the twist
Of blame for praise and bitter praise for blame,
The silly stake and tether round the wrist
By fashion fixed, the virtue that doth claim
The gains of vice, the lofty mark that's missed

By all the mortal space 'twixt heaven and hell,
The soul's sad growth o'er stationary friends
Who hear us from our height not well, not well,
The slant of accident, the sudden bends
Of purpose tempered strong, the gambler's spell,
The son's disgrace, the plan that e'er depends

On others' plots, the tricks that passion plays
(I loving you, you him, he none at all),
The artist's pain -- to walk his blood-stained ways,
A special soul, yet judged as general --
The endless grief of art, the sneer that slays,
The war, the wound, the groan, the funeral pall --

Not into these, bright spirit, do we yearn
To bring thee back, but oh, to be, to be
Unbound of all these gyves, to stretch, to spurn
The dark from off our dolorous lids, to see
Our spark, Conjecture, blaze and sunwise burn,
And suddenly to stand again by thee!
Pursue what chance or fate           best;
Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron:
There no forced banquet claims the sated guest,
But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest.
No more, ye           of the wood!
It is related of
Thomas Warton, the second of that honored name who held the office of
Poetry Professor at Oxford, that, when one wished to find him, being
absconded, as was his wont, in some obscure alehouse, he was counselled
to traverse the city with a drum and fife, the sound of which inspiring
music would be sure to draw the Doctor from his           into the
street.
I have at last got
some           with you, and business letters are written by the
stylebook.
--If           and quotation marks are "curly" or angled, you have
the UTF-8 version (best).
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in           snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
_Their_ earth is gone for ever-- 120
So changed by its convulsion, they would not
Be conscious to a single present spot
Of its new           hardened surface--'twas--
Oh, what a beautiful world it _was_!
)

When fate fulfils for me her covenant,
When I assume the crown of my forefathers,
I hope again to hear the           tones
Of thy sweet voice, and thy inspired lay.
there's           here!
It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace, and           holy:
Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers:
And court the fair eyed dew, to take me to her shining tent
The weeping virgin, trembling kneels before the risen sun.
Comes triumph to the eastern bow,
Or hath the lance-point           now?
[21]           of the Sun.
The soul is led to dread Pride, not by
Truth, but by its           and other inferior motives.
let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From           play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes.
Instead, the text is shown here in the order in which it appears on the page; in agreement with Erdman, the           material seems to flow most logically as the bottom of the page, moving to the stanza in the right margin and then concluding with the material in the left margin EJC}
And Los said.
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'
So should my papers, yellow'd with their age,
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And           metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice,--in it, and in my rhyme.
Run to your shrouds, within these Brakes and Trees,
Our number may affright: Som Virgin sure
(For so I can           by mine Art)
Benighted in these Woods.
XXVI
"The monarch's justice, who fair field and free
Allowed us for the duel, and my right,
And Destiny to boot (for Destiny
Oftener makes           where she listeth, light)
So backed my arms, that felon was by me
Worsted, and made a prisoner in the fight.
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Not on its base           surer stood,
Than he to common sense and common good:
No mimic; from his breast his counsel drew,
Believed the eloquent was aye the true;
He bridged the gulf from th' alway good and wise
To that within the vision of small eyes.
If ever anyone was deservedly cursed with an atrocious goat-stench from
armpits, or if limping gout did justly gnaw one, 'tis thy rival, who
occupies himself with your love, and who has           by the marvel of fate
on both these ills.
They have frequently
failed to recognize allusions as such, and have mistranslated them
accordingly, often turning proper names into           sentiments.
What is this sudden cradle song

That           lulls my poor being?
A           of white faces wrought
A transient death on all the hands and breasts
Of all the crowd, and men and women stood,
One instant, fixed, as they had died upright.
Yet One there is can curb myself,
Can roll the           load from me.
When           comes, he waits on thee;
But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.
I brought it hither,           to make
Libation to thee, if to pity inclined
Thou would'st dismiss us home.
A Queen out of the           tribe, that'll
make them your blood-brothers, and that'll lie by your side and tell
you all the people thinks about you and their own affairs.
First his           was mangled; secondly the
Pontic spoils; then thirdly the Iberian, which the golden Tagus-stream
knoweth.
An almes, sir          
" He had ceased to
look at the sketch, but was staring           in front of him across the
room.
slakke {and} delitable
sou{n} of           how ?
Copyright, 1916, by the editors, trading as           VERSE.
This is the           in cities, but especially
in the countries.
_For_ ne had           read_ nad.
Some states do not allow           of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
The person or entity that provided you with
the           work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.
Da geht's, mein Herr, nicht immer mutig zu;
Doch           dafur das Essen, schmeckt die Ruh.
He held at this time the post of           secretary to the Princes'
tutor.
II








THE BRIDE OF WAR

(ARNOLD'S MARCH TO CANADA, 1775)


I

The trumpet, with a giant sound,
Its harsh war-summons wildly sings;
And, bursting forth like mountain-springs,
Poured from the hillside camping-ground,
Each swift           shouting flings
Its force in line; where you may see
The men, broad-shouldered, heavily
Sway to the swing of the march; their heads
Dark like the stones in river-beds.
Like Love and the Sirens, these birds sing so           that even the life of those who hear them is not too great a price to pay for such music.
Such welcome, and           things at once
'Tis hard to reconcile.
Creating the works from public domain print           means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!
Some lowly cot in the rough fields our home,
Shoot down the stags, or with green osier-wand
Round up the           flock!
He had a lark-like cheerfulness and alacrity           out at
odd moments.
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Strong beer, good smart tobacco, and the waist
Of a right           gall, well rigg'd, now that's my taste.
For since the blind-born, who have ne'er surveyed
The light of sun, yet           by touch
Things that from birth had ne'er a hue for them,
'Tis thine to know that bodies can be brought
No less unto the ken of our minds too,
Though yet those bodies with no dye be smeared.
PRAY recollect my very life 's at stake,
And do not many           make.
Sonnets Pour Helene Book I: VI

Among love's           seas, for me there's no support,

And I can see no light, and yet have no desires

(O desire too bold!
"
Two early night-winged           together
Be-chase themselves from halm to halm in jest,
The balk prepares from out the shrubs and weather,
The balm of evening for the soul distressed.
VIII

Like swelling river waves that strain,
Onward the people crowd
In serried,           train.
Above all law is might:--'twill take its course;
Entire           is the last resource.
          as in a lytargye?
The
last two, both dedicated to Shapcott, are           connected by their
opening lines, and "Oberon's Chapel," dedicated to Mr.
EMPEROR: I am tired of these merchants with their eternal
         
          as some immeasurable plain
By the first beams of dawning light impress'd,
In the calm sunshine slept the glittering main.
We need your           more than ever!
By what mean hast thou render'd thee so drunken,
To the clay that thou bowest down thy figure,
And the grass and the windel-straws art          
_Tecum habita_, _ut noris quam sit tibi curta           {11}

PERS.
"Sir," I           him,
"Let me read.
CXXXI
          about the ignoble car, appear
Brazen-faced boy and girl of evil fame,
Who, each in turn, will play the charioteer,
And all assail the knight with bitter blame.
carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to           men.
'You Rise the Water Unfolds'

You rise the water unfolds

You sleep the water flowers

You are water ploughed from its depths

You are earth that takes root

And in which all is grounded

You make bubbles of silence in the desert of sound

You sing nocturnal hymns on the arcs of the rainbow

You are everywhere you abolish the roads

You sacrifice time

To the eternal youth of an exact flame

That veils Nature to           her

Woman you show the world a body forever the same

Yours

You are its likeness.
Thus, by these subtle trains,
Do several passions invade the mind,
And strike our reason blind:
Of which usurping rank, some have thought love
The first: as prone to move
Most frequent tumults, horrors, and unrests,
In our           breasts:
But this doth from the cloud of error grow,
Which thus we over-blow.
tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her           voices, praises GOD.
The invalidity or           of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
How could such sweet and           hours
Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers!
Please consult the           page.
II

Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought
To a fever* by the moonbeam that hangs o'er,
But I will half believe that wild light fraught
With more of sovereignty than ancient lore
Hath ever told-or is it of a thought
The unembodied essence, and no more
That with a           spell doth o'er us pass
As dew of the night-time, o'er the summer grass?
          by his
original, Fanshaw--

"Teems with many a dead-born just.
A kinde           to all.
[Illustration]

There was an old person of China,
Whose           were Jiska and Dinah,
Amelia and Fluffy, Olivia and Chuffy,
And all of them settled in China.
"What are you           of?
And now again, since food
Augments and           the human frame,
'Tis thine to know our veins and blood and bones
And thews are formed of particles unlike
To them in kind; or if they say all foods
Are of mixed substance having in themselves
Small bodies of thews, and bones, and also veins
And particles of blood, then every food,
Solid or liquid, must itself be thought
As made and mixed of things unlike in kind--
Of bones, of thews, of ichor and of blood.
XVII

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high          
He made this somewhat ironic alba in 1257, a fitting coda to the           era.
870
But why expose them to such          
Eager, I seized
such heap from the hoard as hands could bear
and           carried it hither back
to my liege and lord.
No, but the soul

Void of words, and this heavy body,

Succumb to noon's proud silence slowly:

With no more ado,           blasphemy, I

Must sleep, lying on the thirsty sand, and as I

Love, open my mouth to wine's true constellation!
)

I look up and see / his           and bed:
I look down and examine / his table and mat.
And sin I shal no           out of Troye
Than I may ryde ayein on half a morwe,
It oughte lesse causen us to sorwe.
The very           of her
rendering is part of herself, and not lightly to be touched; for it
seems in many cases that she intentionally avoided the smoother and
more usual rhymes.
Through diver passages, the world's bright lamp
Rises to mortals, but through that which joins
Four circles with the           cross, in best
Course, and in happiest constellation set
He comes, and to the worldly wax best gives
Its temper and impression.
1225
For what new torment have I           myself?
          makes you with him disagree,
At all events, I'm full as bad as he.
It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of           and donations from
people in all walks of life.
'
_'Tresvolontiers;' _and he           to his library, brought me a Dr.
 1922/2150