Idyls and Songs by Francis Turner Palgrave: 1848-1854 |
 |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| XII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIII. | LXIII.
SONG. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXII. |
 | Idyls and Songs |  |
140
LXIII. SONG.
I.
Where Memory's backward-glancing eye
Beholds her costliest treasures lie,
O be that hour enshrined on high
When first I met her.
Beholds her costliest treasures lie,
O be that hour enshrined on high
When first I met her.
Though Time, ere Life be well o'erpast,
May rob her of herself at last,
Yet ne'er till Life with breath be past
Can I forget her.
May rob her of herself at last,
Yet ne'er till Life with breath be past
Can I forget her.
II.
Her happy eyes—her wavy hair—
Her glowing smiles, are pictured there:—
She was the fairest of the fair
In life's young season:
Her glowing smiles, are pictured there:—
She was the fairest of the fair
In life's young season:
Nor can I aught the praise deny,
Escape th' infection of her eye,
Or from th' enthralling presence fly,
In days of reason.
Escape th' infection of her eye,
Or from th' enthralling presence fly,
In days of reason.
III.
The winning ways of childly grace,
The all-confidingness of face,
Those unbought smiles, have yielded place
As years went o'er her:—
The all-confidingness of face,
Those unbought smiles, have yielded place
As years went o'er her:—
O that the days, when Love could dare
His native impulses to share,
The thoughtlessness of thoughts that were,
Were yet before her!
His native impulses to share,
The thoughtlessness of thoughts that were,
Were yet before her!
141
IV.
Her little treasures given of yore
Within my stillest shrine I store:—
Tho' proffer'd trifles, prized before,
Now but estrange her,
Within my stillest shrine I store:—
Tho' proffer'd trifles, prized before,
Now but estrange her,
Yet Love, that claim'd her gifts his own,
Hath o'er the shrine his radiance thrown—
A spell that Life cannot disown,
Or Time endanger.
Hath o'er the shrine his radiance thrown—
A spell that Life cannot disown,
Or Time endanger.
| Idyls and Songs | |