“The purchasing public for poetry,” says Mr. Lang, “must now consist chiefly of poets, and they are usually poor.” The anthologist is the bee, therefore, to extract the honey from the fragrant garland of song, at the least fatigue to the reader. For every poet has not a hive of sweets to draw from; and though the blooms be many in the parterre of poesy, still these require to be plucked with reference not only to individual beauty, but to general harmony as well. A single line may sadly mar an otherwise flawless verse, as a single sonnet rendered immortal the name of Félix Arvers. Many no doubt will miss some favourites. Of such it may be observed that not a few lovely apostrophes have been omitted on account of too great length, or, as previously stated, owing to their being familiar to the great majority of readers. Some poems, moreover, beautiful in themselves, have not been included, despite their intrinsic merits, because they seemed to be out of accord with the prevailing key, as in the case of numerous lyrics approaching the form of so-termed _Vers de Société_. Still others, and many of these extremely beautiful amatory poems, somewhat free in _motif_ or treatment, have been excluded as not fulfilling the precise requirements of the present collection; these were more appropriate grouped in a volume by themselves.
A few translations only have been admitted; the satisfactory translation of verse being an art by itself, demanding special qualifications possessed only by the few. But though it is not often that a rendition does not suffer when compared with its original, it is equally true that in some hands a transcription may equal if not surpass its prototype. Witness, for example, Mr. Andrew Lang’s graceful stanzas entitled “An Old Tune,” adapted from Gérard de Nerval’s dreamy _Fantaisie_, and which although very closely rendered fully equal the original in colour and fragrance, while surpassing it in melodiousness and rhythm. Nearly as much might be said of Mr. Edmund Gosse’s version of Théophile de Viau’s lovely sonnet, _Au moins ay-ie songé que ie vous ay baisée_, as also of the late Thomas Ashe’s phrasing of _Ma vie a son secret, mon âme a son mystère_, which has been so variously rendered by various translators.