The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
224
THE REAL AND THE IDEAL
Some live through many lives. Some pass at once
Beyond the region of our stars and suns
Into a higher air.
Back some return, and ever back again—
Renew their pleasures, and renew their pain;
Their foreheads once again are grooved with care.
Beyond the region of our stars and suns
Into a higher air.
Back some return, and ever back again—
Renew their pleasures, and renew their pain;
Their foreheads once again are grooved with care.
With lust some souls for countless ages burn:
Some after earth's high prizes pant and yearn
And toil for years untold,
Some seek for raptures won at point of sword
And for wild battle's turbulent reward
For ages. Some for centuries worship gold.
Some after earth's high prizes pant and yearn
And toil for years untold,
Some seek for raptures won at point of sword
And for wild battle's turbulent reward
For ages. Some for centuries worship gold.
The beauty of form that womanhood reveals,
A robe which half displays and half conceals
The spirit's deeper charm—
The glory of this may keep a soul spell-bound
For centuries that lapse past without a sound.
His heaven is in sweet curve of breast or arm.
A robe which half displays and half conceals
The spirit's deeper charm—
225
For centuries that lapse past without a sound.
His heaven is in sweet curve of breast or arm.
The joy of holding manhood's heart enchained—
For this joy many a woman has remained
On earth for centuries long.
A robin here and there repeats one note
Till, wildly in love with his own throbbing throat,
He greets eternal mornings with his song.
For this joy many a woman has remained
On earth for centuries long.
A robin here and there repeats one note
Till, wildly in love with his own throbbing throat,
He greets eternal mornings with his song.
There are, I doubt not, souls on earth to-day
Who watched the waves in many a Grecian bay
Break, with their ripples blue.
Some hearts have loved a woman's form so well
That only to possess her soul were hell:—
These tarry on earth for a myriad ages too.
Who watched the waves in many a Grecian bay
Break, with their ripples blue.
Some hearts have loved a woman's form so well
That only to possess her soul were hell:—
These tarry on earth for a myriad ages too.
Helen is here mayhap, and Paris' face
Troubled to madness by her changeless grace.
Napoleon haunts the field
Of ominous Waterloo. He is not dead:
He still confronts the line of moveless red,
And cannot die because he will not yield.
Troubled to madness by her changeless grace.
Napoleon haunts the field
Of ominous Waterloo. He is not dead:
He still confronts the line of moveless red,
And cannot die because he will not yield.
226
Hosts of uneasy spirits cannot pass.
All souls who fail in the earth-sphere to amass
Sufficient spirit-power,
Too weak to enter on the life beyond,
Still travail here, and sorrow, and despond:
For ever in the bud, they cannot flower.
All souls who fail in the earth-sphere to amass
Sufficient spirit-power,
Too weak to enter on the life beyond,
Still travail here, and sorrow, and despond:
For ever in the bud, they cannot flower.
Lovers have found their ladies' lips so sweet
That they have prayed for nothing save to meet
Those lips eternally.
God grants their prayer; for back to life they come
And haunt unalterably their earthly home
And watch the same sun light the same grey sea.
That they have prayed for nothing save to meet
Those lips eternally.
God grants their prayer; for back to life they come
And haunt unalterably their earthly home
And watch the same sun light the same grey sea.
But those who pass and never need to turn
Back to this earth-sphere, live and love and yearn
And labour in higher ways.
Theirs is reality. Ours is the dream.
They live and love indeed. We only seem
To live and love. We twine pale phantom-bays.
Back to this earth-sphere, live and love and yearn
And labour in higher ways.
Theirs is reality. Ours is the dream.
They live and love indeed. We only seem
To live and love. We twine pale phantom-bays.
The soul's eternal never-cloying kiss,
This has the true possession in it,—this
Is sweeter than the dream,
The phantom of a kiss that has detained
Millions of lingering hearts its ghost-touch gained
While earth-suns glimmered on green wood or blue stream.
This has the true possession in it,—this
Is sweeter than the dream,
227
Millions of lingering hearts its ghost-touch gained
While earth-suns glimmered on green wood or blue stream.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |