The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | IX. |
“HER LAST COURT”
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| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
94
“HER LAST COURT”
If thou wert dead, there could be no to-morrow!
Darkness would veil the glory of the sun.
—If thou wert dead, the bright blue sky would sorrow:
Summer would shiver on his lonely throne.
Darkness would veil the glory of the sun.
—If thou wert dead, the bright blue sky would sorrow:
Summer would shiver on his lonely throne.
Spring, with its hosts of buds and flowers advancing
Alert and joyous to the bare earth's siege,
Would miss thy laughter's old clear sound entrancing
And pause upon some forest's leafless edge.
Alert and joyous to the bare earth's siege,
Would miss thy laughter's old clear sound entrancing
And pause upon some forest's leafless edge.
Autumn in vain, with crowns of crimson splendour
In sunburnt grasp, would gaze around for thee.
Winter would miss thy touch so warm and tender:
Despair would chill the light heart of the sea.
In sunburnt grasp, would gaze around for thee.
Winter would miss thy touch so warm and tender:
Despair would chill the light heart of the sea.
95
The fairies in the woods would whisper, weeping:
“Earth's sweetest lady, and most to us akin,
Lies now beneath the grass, for ever sleeping.
What prize is left on earth for man to win?
“Earth's sweetest lady, and most to us akin,
Lies now beneath the grass, for ever sleeping.
What prize is left on earth for man to win?
“The hair whose lustrous black might once have maddened
The hearts of kings, before the worms is spread.
Death's lips at touch of lovelier lips are gladdened:
Death's cold hand rests beneath the stately head.
The hearts of kings, before the worms is spread.
Death's lips at touch of lovelier lips are gladdened:
Death's cold hand rests beneath the stately head.
“The voice that won the soul of Art to love it,
That thrilled men like the music of the wave,
Is silent as the soulless weeds above it:
Beauty now holds her last court...in her grave.”
That thrilled men like the music of the wave,
Is silent as the soulless weeds above it:
Beauty now holds her last court...in her grave.”
March 27, 1890.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |