The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | VII. |
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FAREWELL!
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| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
187
FAREWELL!
When morning comes, the last pale star
Must crowd all sail and flee:
The wave that leaps the harbour-bar
Says “Farewell” to the sea.
The violet in the hollow lane
May long to linger there:
Nay, it must pass! The golden grain
Must leave the furrows bare.
Must crowd all sail and flee:
The wave that leaps the harbour-bar
Says “Farewell” to the sea.
The violet in the hollow lane
May long to linger there:
Nay, it must pass! The golden grain
Must leave the furrows bare.
“Farewell!” they say, “Adieu!” they cry,
All sweet sad earthly things:
The loveliest sun-kissed rose must die;
The swallow spreads her wings.
The crocus with its golden smile
Must vanish from the grass:
The tulip tarries for awhile,
And then it too must pass.
All sweet sad earthly things:
The loveliest sun-kissed rose must die;
The swallow spreads her wings.
The crocus with its golden smile
Must vanish from the grass:
The tulip tarries for awhile,
And then it too must pass.
188
Farewell! farewell!—the saddest cry
That ever earth has heard:
So says the sunset to the sky,
The green bough to the bird.
So says the rainbow to the spray,
The linnet to her nest;
So says the dying summer day
Unto the mountain's crest.
That ever earth has heard:
So says the sunset to the sky,
The green bough to the bird.
So says the rainbow to the spray,
The linnet to her nest;
So says the dying summer day
Unto the mountain's crest.
So many golden hours we've known,
May know so many yet;
We've seen the sun ascend his throne,
Have watched the same sun set:
Will there be one last hour of all?
Last hour of summer bloom,
Last green leaf trembling to its fall,
Last roseleaf to its doom?
May know so many yet;
We've seen the sun ascend his throne,
Have watched the same sun set:
Will there be one last hour of all?
Last hour of summer bloom,
Last green leaf trembling to its fall,
Last roseleaf to its doom?
Oh sweetheart, must we say “Farewell”?
Will all be over soon?
Will that green pathway through the dell
With dying leaves be strewn?
—Life's vessel glides away so fast,
Away from you and me:
We saw the hull—we see the mast—
That soon we shall not see!
Will all be over soon?
Will that green pathway through the dell
With dying leaves be strewn?
189
Away from you and me:
We saw the hull—we see the mast—
That soon we shall not see!
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |