Phyllidula and the Spoils of Gouvernet
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(Ex libris Graecæ)
Theodorus will be pleased at my death,
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A poor clerk I, 'Arnaut the less' they call me,
And because I have small mind to sit
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‘I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have watched
These five millennia, and thy dead eyes
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Golden rose the house, in the portal I saw
thee, a marvel, carven in subtle stuff, a
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FROM CHARLES D'ORLEANS
God! that mad'st her well regard her,
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Who am I to condemn you, O Dives,
I who am as much embittered
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Ha! sir, I have seen you sniffing and snoozling
about among my flowers.
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After Valerius Catullus
All Hail! young lady with a nose
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Why does the horse-faced lady of just the unmentionable age
Walk down Longacre reciting Swinburne to herself, inaudibly?
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That was the top of the walk, when he said:
'Have you seen any others, any of our lot,
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At Rochecoart,
Where the hills part
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March has come to the bridge head,
Peach boughs and apricot boughs hang over a thousand
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The phoenix are at play on their terrace.
The phoenix are gone, the river Hows on alone.
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The Dai horse neighs against the bleak wind of Etsu,
The birds of Etsu have no love for En, in the north,
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Let us deride the smugness of 'The Times': GUFFAW!
So much for the gagged reviewers,
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With minds still hovering above their testicles
Certain poets here and in France
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Good ‘Hedgethorn', for we'll anglicize your name
Until the last slut's hanged and the last pig disembowelled,
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When the nightingale to his mate
Sings day-long and night late
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Mr. Styrax 1
Mr. Hecatomb Styrax, the owner of
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‘Tis but a vague, invarious delight
As gold that rains about some buried king.
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From the French of Jules Laforgue
(Scene courte mais typique)
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My name is Nunty Cormorant
And my finance is sound,
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‘We are 'ere met together
in this momentous hower,
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When I was only a youngster,
Sing: toodle doodlede ootl
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What if I know thy speeches word by word?
And if thou knew'st I knew them wouldst thou speak?
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On a certain one's departure
‘Time's bitter flood'! Oh, that's all very well,
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The very small children in patched clothing,
Being smitten with an unusual wisdom,
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The good Bellaires
Do not understand the conduct of this world's affairs.
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Come, my songs, let us speak of perfection
We shall get ourselves rather disliked.
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