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University of Virginia Library

Poems and Sonnets

By George Barlow

Barlow, George

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POEMS AND SONNETS

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I.

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PSYCHE AND MERCURY, ONE OF RAPHAEL'S FRESCOES.

THE SONG OF THE BLIND POET.

THE ECSTACY OF THE HAIR.

IN SPITE OF ME.

A KISS FOR EVER.

TO A YELLOW ROSE.

THE BAY-LEAF CROWN.

ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

MISS THACKERAY'S “REINE.”

ABSTRACT TO CONCRETE.

KATE AT THE WINDOW, “GRIFFITH GAUNT.”

WHAT THE SONNET NEEDS.

THE POET'S CROWN.

DEATH'S LIPS AND PALMS.

A VISION OF THE PAST.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF LOVE.

THE PROMISED LAND.

NORTH AND SOUTH.

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THE POET'S GRAVE.

THE POET'S GRAVE.

THE POET'S GRAVE.

A CONTEMPLATED VOYAGE.

THE SUPERNAL LOVELINESS.

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THE SPARROW AND THE THRUSH.

THE SPARROW AND THE THRUSH.

DANTE AND BEATRICE.

“AND KEEP OUR SOULS IN ONE ETERNAL PANT.”

THE PEARL NECKLACE.

THE LOVE-PHILTRE.

THE LAST SONNET.

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II.

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THE SONNET-THRONE.

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BROWN AND GOLD.

THE SAME AS EVER.

HARMONIA AND THE HANDMAIDEN.

MY FIRST PROOF-SHEETS.

PYGMALION'S DOOM REVERSED.

THE LOVE-NOTES.

THE HANDMAIDEN WITH THE GREEN GREEN EYES.

WHAT SHALL I DO?

THOU COULDST NOT WATCH WITH ME.

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THE POET'S GARDEN.

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THE POET'S AVIARY.

THE FIRST WOMAN.

WHAT CAN I GIVE YOU?

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GRAINS OF SAND.

YESTERDAY'S DEW.

A LOVER'S APOLOGY FOR KISSING HIS MISTRESS' HANDWRITING.

WHAT A SMILE CAN DO.

THE HOT CLEAR WEATHER.

GONE IS THE BEAUTY.

THE ROSE.

VERILY THEY HAVE THEIR REWARD.

SURELY TO DIE IS GOOD!

SUNSET OVER THE MULGRAVE WOODS.

THE MAN OF GENIUS.

THE IMAGE OF EACH.

THE ENGLISH MAIDENS.

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BEAUTY WITH GREEN EYES.

THE WHOLE NIGHT LONG.

A DREAM OF ROSES.

WHEN WE ARE LEFT ALONE!

AS ROSES ARE TO JUNE.

AUGUST—AN IDYLL.

THE SONG OF THE LONELY SOUL.

IT'S ALL GONE AWAY.

ACROSS THE SEA.

THREE—ONLY THREE.

VICTOR HUGO INSIDE PARIS.

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BREAKERS THREE.

WHEN SUNS ARE BRIGHT.

AH, WELL-A-DAY!

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MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.

THE BRIGAND'S LETTER.

THE AGONY OF THE AGE.

A NINETEENTH-CENTURY “EPITHALAMION.”

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PANTHEISTIC EFFUSIONS.

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WHAT THE DEAD MAN SAW.

II.

A COOL WET RIPPLE.

THE HOME OF LOVE.

THE POET'S BRIDE.

NORTH AND SOUTH.

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72

THE ROSE.

Where is the Rose I gave you, sir?
Is this the sorry way
You treat the gifts that I confer?
Come—have you lost it, eh?
Or—valued it as much as her
You used to love—in play?

The Rose is gone, but, sweet, the fact
Is such a flower scatters
So easily its petals packed,
Your gift so highly flatters,
That—in one wild impulsive act
I kissed it all to tatters!