The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| XX. |
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| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
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| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
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| XL. |
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| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
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| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
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| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXXIV. |
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| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
81
“DREAM-LOVE”
When round the paths of boyhood fell the eternal
Pure light of morning, mixed with heaven's own gleams;
When heaven's own emeralds through the foliage vernal
Shone, heaven's own sapphires on the sunlit streams;
Pure light of morning, mixed with heaven's own gleams;
When heaven's own emeralds through the foliage vernal
Shone, heaven's own sapphires on the sunlit streams;
Then, in those days when all the world was fairer
Than ever again this sombre world will be;
Then, when the silver moon, love's standard-bearer,
Poured stainless light upon a sinless sea;
Than ever again this sombre world will be;
Then, when the silver moon, love's standard-bearer,
Poured stainless light upon a sinless sea;
Then, in those days, I loved—and in strong fashion.
“Dream-love,” you say? But dream-love is sublime.
Ofttimes I think a boy's exalted passion
Is the only love that stands the test of time.
“Dream-love,” you say? But dream-love is sublime.
Ofttimes I think a boy's exalted passion
Is the only love that stands the test of time.
82
For then the sense of love with mystery blended
Brings heaven to earth, makes all existence grand:
But passion understood is passion ended;
Love's realm is loveliest as an unknown land.
Brings heaven to earth, makes all existence grand:
But passion understood is passion ended;
Love's realm is loveliest as an unknown land.
Yet is it ever known? What heart of poet
Has ached not as its splendour disappears!
Can mortal ever with full knowledge know it,—
The land whose sweetness moves the soul to tears?
Has ached not as its splendour disappears!
Can mortal ever with full knowledge know it,—
The land whose sweetness moves the soul to tears?
How often have I with eager gaze and burning
Striven but once more that far-off land to see:
In vain the effort! Fruitless is the yearning—
That prize is lost for all eternity.
Striven but once more that far-off land to see:
In vain the effort! Fruitless is the yearning—
That prize is lost for all eternity.
Man's eager gifts bribe not the mute stern warders:
The boy might enter, but the man must stand
For ever waiting just outside the borders
—Angels with flaming swords safeguard the land.
The boy might enter, but the man must stand
For ever waiting just outside the borders
—Angels with flaming swords safeguard the land.
O forest-glades wherethrough one fair form wandered!
O flower-clad land which I shall ne'er behold!
How often have I in riper sad years pondered,
Striving again to pass your gates of gold.
O flower-clad land which I shall ne'er behold!
How often have I in riper sad years pondered,
Striving again to pass your gates of gold.
83
Alas! the gates are barred, the spell is broken:
The purest passion of my life is o'er.
O love of dreams, thy soft last word is spoken!
O land of light, thy light is mine no more!
The purest passion of my life is o'er.
O love of dreams, thy soft last word is spoken!
O land of light, thy light is mine no more!
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |