The Poetical Works of George Barlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

The flowers of summer died, the winter came
Clothing the hills in gloom, the fields in shame;
The groves, where stride by stride the frost-king won,
Pined for warm airs and clamoured for the sun.
But then, with regnant charm that smote dismay
And mocked June's flowers, a fairer came than they;
The sweetest rose of love that e'er was born
Bloomed 'mid the snow, and blossomed on a thorn!

134

II. A NEW YEAR'S GREETING

I

To thee far-off beside the waves
That even in winter gleam with light
This greeting from a realm of night
And streets like graves.

II

I send thee, love, the tenderest kiss
That ever thrilled across the air
To change December's gaunt despair
To summer's bliss.

III

All health, all gladness, love, be thine;
Bright days, soft slumbers, till we meet,—
Till laughter flashes from thy sweet
Young eyes on mine!

135

IV

To reach and cheer thee where thou art
I send my love, best hopes I send,
And New Year wishes without end,
And all my heart.

136

III. “THY LIPS ON MINE!”

I

When am I most at peace, when have I most
Of faith in sunlit heaven and light divine,
And least in death the shadowy sunless ghost?
—When, all the world shut out, with thee I sit;
The fire aglow, the red-shade candles lit,
Thy hand in mine.

II

When have I most of gladness here within
This stormy rain-dark town, where gas-jets shine
But for full many a year no star has been?
—When in thy glance I catch the sudden gleam
Of far-off waves, and pass into a dream,
Thine eyes on mine.

137

III

When have I most of joy's delicious throes,
The unearthly joy that baffles verse and line,—
Most sense of sweetness of the sovereign rose?
—When towards our bower of passion I retreat
And find love's mystic rapture strangely sweet,
Thy lips on mine!

138

IV. THE SIBYL

I

The sunless world seemed full of sound of doom;
Love's reign seemed well nigh done:
There came a bright-eyed sibyl through the gloom,
And with her came the sun.

II

Upon her brow the glory of youth was set
And from her eyes the morn
Flashed till it pierced the clouds of sombre jet,
Till laughter and song were born.

III

Before she came, all flowerless seemed the earth,
A silent waste of woes:
But with her came the silver flute of mirth
And with her came the rose.

139

IV

Yea, round her footstep fell the fostering dews;
Gold-girdled shone the shore;
The fields were jewelled in a thousand hues,
And death seemed slain once more.

140

V. A YEAR OF LOVE

I

A year of love, and not one quarrel yet!
Most strange it seems to some that this should be.
Nothing to pain us! nothing to regret!
Bright sunlight in the eyes that gaze at me!

II

Yet this is as it should be. Life is short:
Not long enough to make a loved one weep.
We love in sober earnest, not in sport;
Where quiet waters flow, the stream runs deep.

III

Love, who hast aided where so many failed
And given me rest and solace for awhile,
Light in the evening skies where sunshine paled,
At sunset's hour the sunrise of thy smile;

141

IV

Love, whom for thy sweet soul's sake I esteem
Seeing all the truth and pureness of thine heart
And in thine eyes fulfilment of love's dream,
Peace follows thee and sojourns where thou art.

V

Thine hazel eyes, so trustful and serene,
Have wondrous power to soothe me and to bless.
The night needs stars: I need thee, O my queen,—
Thy look, thy laughter, and thy soft caress.

VI

Life unto me is now an open scroll;
Life to thine eyes is still a tale unread:
I can expound life's mysteries to thy soul
And guard, while worshipping, thy young proud head.

VII

In all thy pride of beauty I am proud;
Proud when that stately snow-white neck I see,
Like some superb sweet lily untouched, unbowed,
Sovereign to all, but bending over me:

142

VIII

Proud am I of the voice that rings and charms
Thousands, my queen who givest the world delight;
Proud am I of thy throat and rounded arms
And hair more fragrant than a summer night:

IX

Proud am I most of all that, while dark days
Have spread wide wings of gloom o'er land and sea
This winter, thou with April in thy gaze
Hast given the springtide of thy love to me.

143

VI. MY “DUCHESS”

I

They call thee “Duchess.” Calm and proud
And cold, and full of high disdain,
Thou movest, starlike, through the crowd
Who scoff, and scoff in vain.

II

They know not, these, poor soulless clods
Whose vulgar touch and glance degrade,
That sovereign sweetness brings a God's
Most sovereign arm to aid.

III

They know not that the “Duchess”' power
From her own jewel of pureness springs;
That, while her lips are like a flower,
Her chainless soul has wings.

144

IV

Be “Duchess” ever—brave and strong,
Most cold to all unworthy of thee;
And charm the myriads with thy song,
But with thy kiss charm me!

145

VII. SINGER AND SINGER

I

You sing with voice, I sing with words:
But both are one
In loving music like the birds
And loving flowers and sun.

II

The voice of radiant youth is thine;
Youth's glance supreme,
Most sweet of all things, most divine,
That makes all life a dream.

III

Mine only this—the while I may
Before thy throne
To bend, and call the dawn of day
Within thy heart my own.

146

VIII. A BIRTHDAY

I

“Many and many bright returns,”
As runs the good old phrase,
Of this thy birthday, this that burns
Starlike 'mid dimmer days.

II

Just twenty-one! How strange it seems.
I who have outlived a thousand dreams,
Can I make love to one
Whose dreams are just begun?

III

O girlish heart, thou art sublime
In that thou comest straight
To this the shadowed land of time
From morning's timeless gate.

147

IV

Within thine eyes the morning's light
Shines softly proud, superbly bright:
We, gazing from afar,
Seem gazing at a star.

V

So fair, so pure the golden rays
Thy golden birthday brings;
Time loves and honours such birthdays
Who mocks the birth of kings.

VI

Time, sunless, pauses for awhile
To catch one sunbeam from thy smile.
I steal it!—Swift-winged rhyme
Can outwit even Time.

148

IX. “A YOUNG GIRL'S HEART”

I

The new spring comes again most bright;
Again our London squares behold
The snowdrop robed in white,
The crocus crowned with gold.

II

But sweeter than the spring to me
And thoughts of summer following after
It is thine eyes to see,
It is to hear thy laughter.

III

When summer and spring with pride and pleasure
Weave buds and flowers with daintiest art,
“I know a lovelier treasure”
I cry,—“a young girl's heart.”