The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | IX. |
|
THE LONG PARTING
|
|
|
|
|
|
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
76
THE LONG PARTING
They parted beside the cottage door
On a beautiful night in June.
The soft sea sang to the listening shore
And the silver ripples sang to the oar
And the dark trees sang to the moon.
She said “Good-bye” to her sailor lad
And she kissed him with all her heart:
And she said, “God speed. It is but for a year..
One year...that we have to part.”
On a beautiful night in June.
The soft sea sang to the listening shore
And the silver ripples sang to the oar
And the dark trees sang to the moon.
She said “Good-bye” to her sailor lad
And she kissed him with all her heart:
And she said, “God speed. It is but for a year..
One year...that we have to part.”
A year passed on, and she stood once more
On a beautiful moonlit night
In the cottage garden as before,
And she said, “The sorrowful time is o'er;
To-morrow will bring delight.
To-morrow my sailor-love will be here;
I shall see white sails in the bay:
And the long long months of the long long year
Will seem but as one short day!”
On a beautiful moonlit night
In the cottage garden as before,
And she said, “The sorrowful time is o'er;
To-morrow will bring delight.
To-morrow my sailor-love will be here;
I shall see white sails in the bay:
And the long long months of the long long year
Will seem but as one short day!”
77
To-morrow!...The bright sun smiled in its glee
And the rose smelt sweet by the gate.
The thrush bustled out of the great elm-tree:
He thought he had news of a wedding to be
And he dreaded to start too late.
A girl's eyes waited the long day through
And the rose smelt sweet by the gate.
The thrush bustled out of the great elm-tree:
He thought he had news of a wedding to be
And he dreaded to start too late.
And the sea-gulls' wings flashed white
—When the stars and the moon gleamed out in the blue
Clear sky, and the rose was kissed by the dew,
Over the wires this message flew:
Lost—with all hands—in the night!
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |