Letters and Literary Remains of Edward FitzGerald, Volume 1

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Macmillan and Company, 1889 - Authors, English - 492 pages
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Page 88 - If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. Ban. New honours come upon him Like our strange garments ; cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use. Macb. Come what come may ; Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
Page 11 - Ask me no more where those stars 'light That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become as in their sphere. Ask me no more if east or west The Phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies.
Page 14 - Fountain heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves ! Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Are warmly housed save bats and owls ! A midnight bell, a parting groan ! These are the sounds we feed upon ; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley ; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
Page 14 - HENCE, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly ! There's nought in this life sweet, If man were wise to see't, But only melancholy ; Oh ! sweetest melancholy.
Page 11 - ... atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale when May is past; For in your sweet dividing throat She winters and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more where those stars 'light That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become as in their sphere.
Page 280 - Mrs. Browning's death is rather a relief to me, I must say : no more Aurora Leighs, thank God ! A woman of real genius, I know ; but what is the upshot of it all ! She and her sex had better mind the kitchen and the children ; and perhaps the poor. Except in such things as little novels, they only devote themselves to what men do much better, leaving that which men do worse or not at all.
Page 337 - But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
Page 50 - T will murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. " And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. " My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
Page 10 - ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty's orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more...
Page 7 - Nought passes between us, Save a brown jug — Sometimes ! And sometimes a tear Will rise in each eye, Seeing the two old friends So merrily — So merrily ! And ere to bed Go we, go we, Down on the ashes We kneel on the knee, Praying together ! Thus, then, live I, Till, 'mid all the gloom, By heaven ! the bold sun Is with me in the room, Shining, shining! Then the clouds part, Swallows soaring between ; The spring is alive, And the meadows are green ! I jump up, like mad, Break the old pipe in twain,...

About the author (1889)

Edward FitzGerald (March 31, 1809-June 14, 1883), English man of letters. A dilettante and scholar, FitzGerald went to Trinity College, Cambridge, and spent most of his life living in seclusion in Suffolk. His masterpiece, a translation of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, appeared anonymously in 1859 and passed unnoticed until Dante Gabriel Rossetti made it famous. Revised editions followed in 1868, 1872, and 1879. FitzGerald's Rubaiyat has long been one of the most popular English poems. Although actually a paraphrase rather than a translation of a poem by the 11th-century Persian poet Omar Khayyam , it retains the spirit of the original in its poignant expression of a philosophy counseling man to live life to the fullest while he can. Among FitzGerald's other works are Euphranor (1851), a Platonic dialogue, and Polonius (1852), a collection of aphorisms.

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