A book of English poetry; ed. by T. Shorter

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'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But beiDg too happy in thy happiness-
That thou, ligbt..wingM Dryad of the trees,
In eome melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberleu,
SiDgeat of aummer in fuJI-throated ease.

0 for a draught of vintage, that bath been
Cool'd a long age iD the deep-delvM earth,
Tuting (I{ FI<Jm and the oountr1·green,
Dauce, and Proven9al song, and sunburnt mlrth I
0 for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blusbiDg Rippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the bl'im,
And purple-iltaidu mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world UDieen,
And with thee fa.de away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, di88olve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariile88 1 the tever, and the fret
Here, where men sit an1:1. hear each other groan;
'Where palsy shake-s a few, aad, last grey hairs,
Where youth growe pale, and spectr&-tbin, and dies;
Whurll but to tbiuk is to be full o! HUrrow
And leaden•eyed d11spa.irs;
Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes.
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-monow.


Away I away! for I will fly to thee,
Not oh&rioted by Bacchus and hi.a peN.,
But on the viewless wings of Pooay,
Though the dull brain perpl~nes and retards:
Already with thee I tender ia the night,
Anrl haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Oluater'd arowtd by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven ia with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms a.nd Winding moeay waya.

I cannot see what ilowere are at my feet,
Nor wbat aot\ incense hangs upon the bought,
But, in embalmed dArkn888 0 gueBB each sweet
Wherewith t he aeuonable month eudowa
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