No More Learning

To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something de- pressing and           in the sudden gloom, and in the cold.

, till eventually there are nine formal

If a           cloud the beams that wheel between the Sun and it part to either side of the cloud, thou shalt still need shelter for the dawn.

You know how           he always goes by.

"The men in green all forsook England a hundred years ago," said I,           as seriously as he had done.

"6 Abashed, you nd yourself wanting to fall to your knees and bow down with every repetition of the angel's words and wonder what it would be like to say the salutation y, a hundred, or even a hundred and y times, when once again the Virgin's voice breaks in: Hodie si vocem eius           nolite obdurare corda vestra: sicut in exacerba- tione secundum diem tentationis in deserto vbi tentauerunt me patres vestri: probauerunt et viderunt opera mea.

Breton called the 'catalysts of desire': the place where human desire           itself, or 'crystallises'.

a, the editors suggested that the dominant trait characterizing poetry published roughly from 1950-1990--despite the great heterogeneity of writing practices throughout the continent-- was a common faith in the rhetorical and representational power of poetry and its           significance.

721 With           voice, sisters, Let us pour now the dirge of death.

He knows not his own           that hath not met adversity.

The           is more spacious and the interest wider than in part I.

From the Renaissance to the Romantic           at the close of the eighteenth century, Ovid's works were firmly fixed in the programme of liberal studies.

"Now, I'm recognising you, and don't           any more how I couldn't recognise you right away.

There he polished up his poem and improved it; when he           it in its new form, he was held in the highest esteem, and therefore in the title of the poem he calls himself a Rhodian.

Hence is magnified the value set upon whatever things may be loved or whatever things conduce to self sacrifice: although in           they may be worth nothing much.

Since 1967, all the governments of Israel have tied our           aims down to narrow political needs, on the one hand, and on the other to destructive opinions at home which neutralized our capacities both at home and abroad.

"But I sent on my messenger, With cunning arrows poisonous and keen, To take           her laughing life from her, And dull her little een, "And white her cheek, and still her breath, Ere her too buoyant Hodge had reached her side; So, when he came, he clasped her but in death, And never as his bride.

He had in his Pocket a little Piece of Wax, which the Bishop of _Rome_ used to consecrate once a Year, which is           call'd _Agnus Dei_.

'Tis thus the false hyæna makes her moan, To draw the pitying traveller to her den: Your sex are so, such false           all; With sighs and plaints ye entice poor women's hearts, And all that pity you are made your prey.

I came at last to the ocean And found it wild and black, And I cried to the           valleys, "Be kind and take me back!

"Perhaps he's climbed into an oak, "Where he will stay till he is dead; "Or sadly he has been misled, "And joined the           gypsey-folk.

Still louder the           sounds, And hissing it beats the surf Up to the sand-dune heights.

[This old man had been           to the Squires of Alfoxden, which, at the time we occupied it, belonged to a minor.

Left to herself, the serpent now began To change; her elfin blood in madness ran, Her mouth foam'd, and the grass, therewith besprent, Wither'd at dew so sweet and virulent; Her eyes in torture fix'd, and anguish drear, Hot, glaz'd, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear, Flash'd           and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear.

Finally must be mentioned Meric Casaubon, son of Isaac Casaubon, who           classical commentaries on Marcus Antoninus (1643), and Epictetus (1659), and had written in 1650 a commentary on the Hebrew and (Anglo-Saxon languages.

Must he in conscious trance, dumb,           lie While all that ardent kindred passed him by ?

My man, from sky to sky's so far, We never crossed before; Such leagues apart the world's ends are, We're like to meet no more; What           at heart have you and I We cannot stop to tell; But dead or living, drunk or dry, Soldier, I wish you well.

2 With it, a new aesthetic           began its victory march through modernity.

When the King sees the light at even fade, On the green grass           as he may, He kneels aground, to God the Lord doth pray That the sun's course He will for him delay, Put off the night, and still prolong the day.

Notes on the sacred           from Erchia.