The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | II. |
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| II. |
| III. |
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| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
40
II.
And yet the sadness! All the flowers are dead.
The blue skies bend above us,—but no more
They fill with strange glad light the laughing shore,
Nor buoyant swings the lily's orange head,
Nor smiles the moss-rose, large and sweet and red:
Hushed are the joyous sounds we heard of yore;
The planet's sweet spring-days of love are o'er;
The planet's summer-jocund days have fled.
The blue skies bend above us,—but no more
They fill with strange glad light the laughing shore,
Nor buoyant swings the lily's orange head,
Nor smiles the moss-rose, large and sweet and red:
Hushed are the joyous sounds we heard of yore;
The planet's sweet spring-days of love are o'er;
The planet's summer-jocund days have fled.
We know, and knowing, cease to love and feel:—
O great God, art thou dead,—canst thou not be?
May we no more adore thy face and kneel?
Grim is our triumph, and forlorn are we.
Mournful the silvery moonrays round us steal,
And very mournful shines the Godless sea.
O great God, art thou dead,—canst thou not be?
May we no more adore thy face and kneel?
Grim is our triumph, and forlorn are we.
Mournful the silvery moonrays round us steal,
And very mournful shines the Godless sea.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |