The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | IX. |
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| “THROUGH WOMAN”
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| II. |
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| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
201
“THROUGH WOMAN”
TWO SONNETS
I.
Through woman still the eternal God-power pours
Its wealth of passion and its glory of form.
God's breast is in the white breast, sweet and warm,
And subtle flower-scents from far heavenly shores
That who inhales in rapturous trance adores.
The impassioned sense of “conjugal repose”
God only, being perfect sex-God, knows
And gives to man from his exhaustless stores.
Its wealth of passion and its glory of form.
God's breast is in the white breast, sweet and warm,
And subtle flower-scents from far heavenly shores
That who inhales in rapturous trance adores.
The impassioned sense of “conjugal repose”
God only, being perfect sex-God, knows
And gives to man from his exhaustless stores.
Dim-seen religions of ancestral lands
Erring, it may be, none the less were nearer
In this to God's heart, and the truth proclaimed
With vision larger and with voice far clearer:
God's own Bride's soft touch thrills through woman's hands
And through her eyes the deathless glance has flamed.
Erring, it may be, none the less were nearer
In this to God's heart, and the truth proclaimed
With vision larger and with voice far clearer:
God's own Bride's soft touch thrills through woman's hands
And through her eyes the deathless glance has flamed.
202
II.
Man, over-coarse and gross of heart and head,
Can only lust, or love with slight thin flame.
He knows not that all blossoms' fragrance came,
Yea, every scent of rose of white or red
Or tender breath of lily's gold-crowned head,
Straight from the bloom of God's own Bride. Oh, shame
On creeds that mock at woman's love, and claim
Life, when they grope amid their countless dead.
Can only lust, or love with slight thin flame.
He knows not that all blossoms' fragrance came,
Yea, every scent of rose of white or red
Or tender breath of lily's gold-crowned head,
Straight from the bloom of God's own Bride. Oh, shame
On creeds that mock at woman's love, and claim
Life, when they grope amid their countless dead.
This is the message that has yet to come
Flinging new light across the sea and land,
The fragrant gospel hidden in woman's bloom;
The blossom-perfumed message of her hand
Sent forth by God to open every tomb
For him who hath the soul to understand.
Flinging new light across the sea and land,
The fragrant gospel hidden in woman's bloom;
The blossom-perfumed message of her hand
Sent forth by God to open every tomb
For him who hath the soul to understand.
July 30, 1901.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |