Palgrave's The Golden Treasury

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Walter Barnes
Row, Peterson, 1915 - English poetry - 592 pages
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Page 338 - Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : Already with thee! tender is the night...
Page 333 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Page 392 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce. My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
Page 284 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore When the stormy winds do blow ; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow!
Page 415 - We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May...
Page 399 - Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
Page 333 - We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Page 290 - Two Voices are there ; one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains ; each a mighty Voice : In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen Music, Liberty ! There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee Thou fough'tst against Him ; but hast vainly striven , Thou from thy Alpine Holds at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft : Then cleave...
Page 276 - Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores...
Page 393 - Ah! THEN — if mine had been the Painter's hand To express what then I saw; and add the gleam, The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream, — I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile, Amid a world how different from this!

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