The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| XX. |
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| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
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| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXXIV. |
| III. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
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| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
123
TO SEPTEMBER
I love the soft September days.—
When summer's ardent life is done,
I love to see the red leaves fall
And know that death is lord of all;
Lord of the green-grassed flowery ways,
Lord even of the sun.
When summer's ardent life is done,
I love to see the red leaves fall
And know that death is lord of all;
Lord of the green-grassed flowery ways,
Lord even of the sun.
As Wordsworth loved and worshipped May,
I love the calm autumnal time.
The gift most needed at the close
Of this sad century is repose:
Rapture was for a former day
And for another's rhyme.
I love the calm autumnal time.
The gift most needed at the close
Of this sad century is repose:
Rapture was for a former day
And for another's rhyme.
As bright May cheers the buoyant soul
And fills the glad with gladder thought,
So thou, September, cheer'st my heart;
For in this world all joys depart,
And endless effort wins no goal
And labour counts for nought.
And fills the glad with gladder thought,
So thou, September, cheer'st my heart;
For in this world all joys depart,
And endless effort wins no goal
And labour counts for nought.
124
I love thee, pale September, well.
The summer flaunted flower on flower
And filled the hedges with its bloom,
But thou, September, bringest gloom,
And gloom is heaven and light is hell
In this the world's dark hour.
The summer flaunted flower on flower
And filled the hedges with its bloom,
But thou, September, bringest gloom,
And gloom is heaven and light is hell
In this the world's dark hour.
When Wordsworth sang his song to May,
The world had hardly learnt to doubt—
God smiled from heaven: he loved us all:
Without his will no leaf could fall:
But in this later darker day
Despair has found us out.
The world had hardly learnt to doubt—
God smiled from heaven: he loved us all:
Without his will no leaf could fall:
But in this later darker day
Despair has found us out.
We realise that we may be,
We human sufferers, quite alone:
Created by no conscious will,
Doomed to live on and suffer still,
Without a heavenly eye to see
Or ear to hear us groan.
We human sufferers, quite alone:
Created by no conscious will,
Doomed to live on and suffer still,
Without a heavenly eye to see
Or ear to hear us groan.
We realise that star on star
May mock us from the depths of space,
But that in star or moon or sun
There may be none to aid us, none:
In regions near or regions far
No voice, no human face.
May mock us from the depths of space,
But that in star or moon or sun
There may be none to aid us, none:
125
No voice, no human face.
We deem perhaps that human life
Alone in our star buds and flowers,
Here having been evolved alone:
No whispers on the night-winds blown
Bring messages of love or strife
From other worlds than ours.
Alone in our star buds and flowers,
Here having been evolved alone:
No whispers on the night-winds blown
Bring messages of love or strife
From other worlds than ours.
But Wordsworth in that happier day
Knew not that ere his century's close
Dark doubt so deadly would arise.
He watched the heavens with tranquil eyes,
And sang his loving song to May
And to the summer's rose.
Knew not that ere his century's close
Dark doubt so deadly would arise.
He watched the heavens with tranquil eyes,
And sang his loving song to May
And to the summer's rose.
Ah! dark September suits us best.
It meets our humour to behold
The bright hues fade on flower and leaf:
God knows we are most at home with grief,
And in despair are most at rest!
We and the age are old.
It meets our humour to behold
The bright hues fade on flower and leaf:
God knows we are most at home with grief,
And in despair are most at rest!
We and the age are old.
126
So, sad September, I love thee:
The lessening sunshine on the rills,
The winds that toss the shuddering leaves,
The wind-swept withered sedge that grieves,
The chillier sunlight on the sea
And on the darkening hills.
The lessening sunshine on the rills,
The winds that toss the shuddering leaves,
The wind-swept withered sedge that grieves,
The chillier sunlight on the sea
And on the darkening hills.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |