The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
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| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | X. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | VI.
“SUMMER IN HIS SONG” |
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| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
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| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
84
VI. “SUMMER IN HIS SONG”
Not for thee the rose with sudden bloom
Springs from out the grass around a tomb,
Not for thee.
All the world for thee is glad and bright:
Still the stars adore the purple night;
Still the purple night adores the sea.
Springs from out the grass around a tomb,
Not for thee.
All the world for thee is glad and bright:
Still the stars adore the purple night;
Still the purple night adores the sea.
Still the birds' blue eggs within the nest,
Girdled by the heart of spring-time, rest
Safe and warm.
Still the sun is full of golden rays;
Still the ceaseless light of summer days
Cows the storm.
Girdled by the heart of spring-time, rest
Safe and warm.
Still the sun is full of golden rays;
Still the ceaseless light of summer days
Cows the storm.
Not for thee the ever-darkening years
Weave their wayward crowns with pearls of tears,
Crowns of grief.
When the autumn's fiery glory gleams,
'Tis to thee a season full of dreams
Fluttering round in every crimson leaf.
Weave their wayward crowns with pearls of tears,
Crowns of grief.
85
'Tis to thee a season full of dreams
Fluttering round in every crimson leaf.
Spring that clothes the glowing meads in gold
Takes thy girlish hand in hers to hold,
Holds it tight:—
Quitting April, hand in hand with May,
Spring will smile and whisper through the day,
Through the night.
Takes thy girlish hand in hers to hold,
Holds it tight:—
Quitting April, hand in hand with May,
Spring will smile and whisper through the day,
Through the night.
Every year's each season brings its charm:
June hath starry bracelets for thine arm,
For thine hair
Snowy circlets of the vestal rose.
Summer nights that bring to thee repose
Bring to singers sleepless-eyed despair.
June hath starry bracelets for thine arm,
For thine hair
Snowy circlets of the vestal rose.
Summer nights that bring to thee repose
Bring to singers sleepless-eyed despair.
Not for thee the bitter wreaths of thorns,
But the golden flowers of golden morns
Glad and long.
Though the singer's locks are touched with grey
Spring-time in his heart he gives to May,
Summer in his song.
But the golden flowers of golden morns
Glad and long.
Though the singer's locks are touched with grey
Spring-time in his heart he gives to May,
Summer in his song.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |