The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
LXXXVIII.
A child was gathering blossoms in a lane:
She turned now and again
To meet the mother's glance, the eyes that smiled
Their deep love on the child.
She turned now and again
To meet the mother's glance, the eyes that smiled
Their deep love on the child.
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Then all was well—one short sigh of relief—
No dread, no thought of grief.
Now back once more to search the grassy banks
And thin the cowslip-ranks!
No dread, no thought of grief.
Now back once more to search the grassy banks
And thin the cowslip-ranks!
I watched:—I heard a sudden cry,
“Mother!” The sun was sinking in the sky;
Dark clouds assailed him on his golden throne,
Evening approached: the child was now alone.
“Mother!” The sun was sinking in the sky;
Dark clouds assailed him on his golden throne,
Evening approached: the child was now alone.
The mother's form had passed beyond her sight:
I saw the blossoms just now held so tight
Dropped from the trembling fingers one by one.
...How is it, mother, with thy son?
I saw the blossoms just now held so tight
Dropped from the trembling fingers one by one.
...How is it, mother, with thy son?
One thought is left, but one—to overtake,
Though foot may weary, heart may break:
Once more, ere falls the darkness, lowers the storm,
To see, to clasp, the mother's form.
Though foot may weary, heart may break:
Once more, ere falls the darkness, lowers the storm,
To see, to clasp, the mother's form.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |