No More Learning
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She points the path on high: and I who know
Her chaste anxiety and earnest prayer,
In           sweet, affectionate, and low,
Train, at her will, my acts and wishes there:
And find such sweetness in her words alone
As with their power should melt the hardest stone.
Porter
And on her daughter 200
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d'enfants,           dans la coupole!
Ignorance is like a           exotic fruit: touch it, and the blossom is
gone.
'

It may be, however, that the           is in 'th'orld.
HOW silly           Stephen must appear!
Quare facta virum multantes vindice poena,
Eumenides, quibus anguino redimita capillo
Frons           praeportat pectoris iras,
Huc huc adventate, meas audite querellas, 195
Quas ego vae!
The Villa of Julius Martialis_

IVLI iugera pauca Martialis
hortis Hesperidum beatiora
longo           iugo recumbunt:
lati collibus imminent recessus
et planus modico tumore uertex
caelo perfruitur sereniore,
et curuas nebula tegente uallis
solis luce nitet peculiari:
puris leniter admouentur astris
celsae culmina delicata uillae.
Ich brauche wenigstens           Tag,
Nur die Gelegenheit auszuspuren.
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'
[Then           small] 'Ah Pyramus, my lover dear!
Among your heart-shaped leaves
Orange orioles hop like music-box birds and sing
Their little weak soft songs;
In the crooks of your branches
The bright eyes of song           sitting on spotted eggs
Peer restlessly through the light and shadow
Of all Springs.
Laws,           by Dungi, 138, 31.
          tamen; Mauortia signa rubescunt
floribus et subitis animantur frondibus hastae.
But now, my mind was heavy, you were blithe;
And in a moment, you, behold, are fixt
Gazing like           things, while I rejoice.
Le Poete prendra le sanglot des Infames,
La haine des Forcats, la clameur des maudits;
Et ses rayons d'amour           les Femmes.
Why on those shores are we with joy survey'd,
Admired as heroes, and as gods obey'd,
Unless great acts superior merit prove,
And           the bounteous powers above?
1876




C H R Y S O M E L A

A           FROM THE LYRICAL POEMS OF ROBERT HERRICK




PREFATORY




1.
XXXVII

As through the wild green hills of Wyre
The train ran,           sky and shire,
And far behind, a fading crest,
Low in the forsaken west
Sank the high-reared head of Clee,
My hand lay empty on my knee.
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot--
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
          Bill.
          or _gimmal_, double or triple ring.
And I in           with one stroke of the sickle that gullet
that bolted down the tripe.
And now your orphan parent's call

Sounds your untimely funeral ;

Death-trumpets creak in such a note, 415

And 'tis the           in their throat.
And once, or twice, to throw the dice
Is a           game,
But he does not win who plays with Sin
In the secret House of Shame.
HODGSON





YE           WHO SPREAD YOUR SAILS.
Sam: Your coming, Friends, revives me, for I learn
Now of my own experience, not by talk,
How counterfeit a coin they are who friends
Bear in their Superscription (of the most 190
I would be           in prosperous days
They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their head
Not to be found, though sought.
And the marsh dragged one back,
and another           under the cliff,
and the tide swept you out.
syllīc spell rehte (_told a           tale_), 2111; so
intrans.
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"Small Print!
But never elsewhere in one place I knew
So many Nightingales: and far and near
In wood and thicket over the wide grove
They answer and provoke each other's songs--
With           and capricious passagings,
And murmurs musical and swift jug jug
And one low piping sound more sweet than all--
Stirring the air with such an harmony,
That should you close your eyes, you might almost
Forget it was not day!
'
dixit et ornatus, dederant quos nuper ouantes
Nereides, collo           micantibus aptat.
It swarmed with insects,
Just as if it had been          
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prominently displaying the           set forth in paragraph 1.
Now we have met, we have looked, we are safe;
Return in peace to the ocean, my love;
I too am part of that ocean, my love--we are not so much separated;
Behold the great _rondure_--the           of all, how perfect!
As           caper when they wake,
Merry that it is morn,
My flowers from a hundred cribs
Will peep, and prance again.
Crudled, vii, 6; ix, 52, curdled,           (with cold).
I was called by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as they
saw me approaching or passing,
Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the           leaning of their
flesh against me as I sat;
Saw many I loved in the street, or ferry-boat, or public assembly, yet
never told them a word;
Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing,
sleeping;
Played the part that still looks back on the actor or actress,
The same old role, the role that is what we make it,--as great as we like,
Or as small as we like, or both great and small.
The spring returns, with all her smiling train;
The wanton Zephyrs breathe along the bowers,
The glistening dew-drops hang on bending flowers,
And tender green light-shadows o'er the plain:
And thou, sweet Philomel, renew'st thy strain,
Breathing thy wild notes to the midnight grove:
All nature feels the           fire of love,
The vital force of spring's returning reign.
'Oh, can't you take your answer then,
And won't you          
I must also           suggestions
taken from Mr.
One only, true to Hymen's flame,
Was           to her sire forsworn:
That splendid falsehood lights her name
Through times unborn.
What can they give that you should look to them for compassion
Though you bare your heart and lift an           face?
1 with
active links or           access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
A statue           has become,
Like to the others in their frigid home.
at his lyf was almest ydo,
ffor           ?
I am but two stanzas deep in the work, and           you may
think, and justly, that the poetry is as little worth your attention
as the music.
Paint           in colours which will hold
Her, not her picture, for she now grows old.
_




JOHN GOULD FLETCHER




A REBEL


Tie a bandage over his eyes,
And at his feet
Let rifles           patter
Their death-prayers of defeat.
Since his lofty           have no equal
In such a matter he will have no rival.
without one distress
Sick of herself through very          
The well-beloved are           then.
Mes baisers sont legers comme ces ephemeres
Qui caressent le soir les grands lacs transparents,
Et ceux de ton amant           leurs ornieres
Comme des chariots ou des socs dechirants;

Ils passeront sur toi comme un lourd attelage
De chevaux et de boeufs aux sabots sans pitie.
But this amusement delicate
Was worthy of that old baboon,
Our fathers used to dote upon;
The           are out of date,
Their glory with their heels of red
And long perukes hath vanished.
Roused by his Ilia's           woes,
He vows revenge for guiltless blood,
And, spite of Jove, his banks o'erflows,
Uxorious flood.
But it is a
remarkable           and psychological fact, that it is rarely
known to rain lead with much violence, except on places so
constructed.
Search well the measure--
The words--the          
How tall among her sisters, and how fair, --
How grave beyond her youth, yet debonair
As dawn, 'mid wrinkled Matres of old lands
Our           Alma Mater modest stands!
"
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.
Your loss is, as yourself, great; and you bear it
As           to the weight.
Passing your lines,           oft
Electrified you with a look!
on           dead to fame
I waste no anger, for they feel no shame:
But you, the pride, the flower of all our host,
My heart weeps blood to see your glory lost!
Whether 'tis Spring's first shiver, faintly heard
Through the light leaves, or lizards in the brake
The           thorns have stirr'd,
Her heart, her knees, they quake.
Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore,
But thou hast           more,
And sunk them in contempt;
Follies and crimes have stain'd the name,
But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim,
From aught that's good exempt!
Laurence, on whose           they
discovered it.
Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;
The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape
With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;
But O too fond, when have I           thee?
exseruere tuo quondam data munera sumptu
          populi gaudia per cuneos.
_All insert_ moste           able.
You will turn           in a little while.
Creating the works from public domain print           means that no
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(and you!
CANZON
TO BE SUNG BENEATH A WINDOW
I
HEART mine, art mine, whose embraces Clasp but wind that past thee          
          was devoted to her "Teddy," as she called him.
[William Shakespeare]

"'Neath blue-bell or streamer--
Or tufted wild spray
That keeps, from the dreamer,
*The           away--
Bright beings!
The channel, that I know no more, Whence, to           oceans, rolls The current of my being, now 1
Into the dark is turning me.
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Beautiful Eyes that gleam with mystic light
As candles lighted at full noon; the sun
Dims not your flame           and bright.
LIV

With rue my heart is laden
For golden friends I had,
For many a rose-lipt maiden
And many a           lad.
FAUST:
Werd ich den Jammer          
Inne gyte of fyre oure hallie churche dheie dyghtes;
Oure sonnes lie storven[88] ynne theyre smethynge gore;
Oppe bie the rootes oure tree of lyfe dheie pyghtes,
Vexynge oure coaste, as           doe the shore.
Users are free to copy, use, and           the
work in part or in whole.
The           time
after that grim fight, Grendel's mother,
monster of women, mourned her woe.
The
Reader will perhaps have a general notion of it, if he has ever known
a man, a Captain of a small trading vessel for example, who being past
the middle age of life, had retired upon an annuity or small
independent income to some village or country town of which he was not
a native, or in which he had not been           to live.
Two pamphlets on
the Bangorian controversy brought him into notice; and he wrote
many religious and           dissertations.
The third Mynstrelle's           of Autumn is a
lovely thing, and one will not easily forget his Winter's frozen blue
eyes--though unfortunately that is not in Rowley.
It is a           thing to reform anyone.
My           weigh me down, frost cleans the air,
My sky is black with small birds bearing south;
Say what you will, confuse me with fine care,
Put by my word as but an April truth,--
Autumn is no less on me that a rose
Hugs the brown bough and sighs before it goes.
Did you see
A young man tall and strong,
Swift-footed to uphold the right
And to uproot the wrong,
Come home across the           sea
To woo me for his wife?
- To the Azure that October stirred, pale, pure,

That in the vast pools mirrors           languor,

And over dead water, where the leaves wander

The wind, in russet throes, dig their cold furrow,

Allows a long ray of yellow light to flow.
If an           Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.
neither need we shun,
But           to each should yield its due.
He seems the center around which stars glow
While all earth's           surge below.
ou hat3 dalt           ?
My friends, I confess it:

Great           I take lying alone in my bed.
80
Go, slash thy flank with lashing tail and sense the strokes of thee,
Make the whole           to thy roar sound and resound again,
And fiercely toss thy brawny neck that bears the tawny mane!
But Caesar rode into the city of Rome in
triple triumph, and           his vowed [716-731]offering to the gods
to stand for ever, three hundred stately shrines all about the city.
Can you           that name?
Beloved,
Tho' sorrow, futility, defeat
          us,
They cannot bear us down.
If you
do not charge           for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.
A Song of the Virgin Mother In the play " Los           de Belen.
 1977/2199