The Poetical Works of George Barlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

Some love endures a season;
It blossoms as the rose:
It blooms without a reason,
Without a thought it goes.
It comes through dreamland's portal;
It flashes on our eyes;
It makes some song immortal,
Then in an hour it dies.

Such love, though brief and hollow,
Wins worship as of old:
A thousand lovers follow
The form they may not hold.
“The fairest love is fleetest
And soonest lost in gloom;
Love's dawn,” they say, “is sweetest
When sunset brings its doom.”

If pleasure's white hand beckons,
What eager hearts pursue!
The pain, the cost, who reckons?
Who asks if love be true?
That love is sweet is certain,
The noontide sun is bright—
Why lift the future's curtain?
Why peer into the night?

Yet with immortal passion,
Though not in all men's ears,
A love of nobler fashion
Sings—as to one that hears.
To live,—if life be needed;
To die,—if she may gain;
For this my heart hath pleaded:
Will passion's prayer be vain?