The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
XCIV.
But yet a greater host
Of silent mourners seems to encompass me:
They cross the wastes of many a shadowy sea
Swift-hovering, ghost on ghost.
Of silent mourners seems to encompass me:
They cross the wastes of many a shadowy sea
Swift-hovering, ghost on ghost.
147
They cross the unknown years;
They say, with grasp of hand or loving look,
“From each of us death took
A mother”—then their eyes grow dim with tears.
They say, with grasp of hand or loving look,
“From each of us death took
A mother”—then their eyes grow dim with tears.
Then through the darkness starlight slowly flows,
A strange sense thrills me as of love drawn nigh:
They say, “Thou knowest not what it is to die;
What warrior dreams of rest 'mid shouts and blows?
A strange sense thrills me as of love drawn nigh:
They say, “Thou knowest not what it is to die;
What warrior dreams of rest 'mid shouts and blows?
“From each of us death stole
Our dearest,—but to each did Love restore
That dearest spirit:” I wait to gather more;
Nay, silence—but less strife within the soul.
Our dearest,—but to each did Love restore
That dearest spirit:” I wait to gather more;
Nay, silence—but less strife within the soul.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |