Verse > Anthologies > Francis T. Palgrave, ed. > The Golden Treasury
Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.
P. B. Shelley
CCXXVI. Invocation
RARELY, rarely, comest thou, 
  Spirit of Delight! 
Wherefore hast thou left me now 
  Many a day and night? 
Many a weary night and day         5
'Tis since thou art fled away. 
How shall ever one like me 
  Win thee back again? 
With the joyous and the free 
  Thou wilt scoff at pain.  10
Spirit false! thou hast forgot 
All but those who need thee not. 
As a lizard with the shade 
  Of a trembling leaf, 
Thou with sorrow art dismay'd;  15
  Even the sighs of grief 
Reproach thee, that thou art not near, 
And reproach thou wilt not hear. 
Let me set my mournful ditty 
  To a merry measure;  20
Thou wilt never come for pity, 
  Thou wilt come for pleasure: 
Pity then will cut away 
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. 
I love all that thou lovest,  25
  Spirit of Delight! 
The fresh earth in new leaves drest 
  And the starry night; 
Autumn evening, and the morn 
When the golden mists are born.  30
I love snow, and all the forms 
  Of the radiant frost; 
I love waves, and winds, and storms, 
  Everything almost 
Which is Nature's, and may be  35
Untainted by man's misery. 
I love tranquil solitude, 
  And such society 
As is quiet, wise, and good; 
  Between thee and me  40
What diff'rence? but thou dost possess 
The things I seek, not love them less. 
I love Love—though he has wings, 
  And like light can flee, 
But above all other things,  45
  Spirit, I love thee— 
Thou art love and life! O come! 
Make once more my heart thy home! 

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