The Golden Treasury: Selected from the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language, and Arranged with Notes by Francis T. Palgrave
Francis Turner Palgrave
Macmillan, 1908 - English poetry - 387 pages
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The Golden Treasury Selected from the Best Songs and Lyrical, Poems in the ...
Francis Turner Palgrave
No preview available - 2017
beauty beneath birds breath bright bring close clouds comes dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eyes face fair fear feel field flowers gentle give glory gone Gray green hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hope hour kiss land leaves less light live look Lord meet mind morn Nature never night notes o'er once passion pleasure poem Poetry poets rest roses round seen shade Shakespeare sight silent sing sleep smile soft song soon sorrow soul sound spirit Spring star stream sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thought tree true voice waves weep wild winds wings wish woods Wordsworth youth
Page 77 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be ; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night — It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see ; And in short measures life may perfect be.
Page 10 - Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Page 281 - EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will:...
Page 70 - Alas ! what boots it with uncessant care To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse ? Were it not better done, as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair ? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days ; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred...
Page 342 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong: I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May...
Page 2 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie : There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Page 173 - Th' applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride...
Page 325 - Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them!
Page 174 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.