The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
![]() | I. |
![]() | II. |
![]() | III. |
![]() | IV. |
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![]() | V. |
![]() | VI. |
![]() | VII. |
![]() | VIII. |
![]() | IX. |
![]() | X. |
![]() | XI. |
![]() | The Poetical Works of George Barlow | ![]() |
XLVIII.
We dream of angel-forms;
Heaven is to us some wondrous land afar,
Lighted by rays of many a distant star,
Remote, untroubled by our dark-winged storms.
Heaven is to us some wondrous land afar,
Lighted by rays of many a distant star,
Remote, untroubled by our dark-winged storms.
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Aye, so we dream—the truth we little heed.
The angel-voice spake clear;
The heaven we sought was here;
We see it now, too late,—too late indeed!
The angel-voice spake clear;
The heaven we sought was here;
We see it now, too late,—too late indeed!
![]() | The Poetical Works of George Barlow | ![]() |