The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | VI. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| II. |
|
|
|
|
|
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
201
TWO SONNETS
TO L. Cranmer-Byng
I. LIFE
A thousand dreams will draw thy feet aside
And tempt the suffrage of thy ready lyre:
Fair life will proffer thee a fair empire,—
This world's wild splendour, all its power and pride.
Seek thou the untrodden paths, where none may guide
Save thine own soul's strong star that shines like fire:
Beyond our dying century's bards aspire
With Byron, be with Shelley deified.
And tempt the suffrage of thy ready lyre:
Fair life will proffer thee a fair empire,—
This world's wild splendour, all its power and pride.
Seek thou the untrodden paths, where none may guide
Save thine own soul's strong star that shines like fire:
Beyond our dying century's bards aspire
With Byron, be with Shelley deified.
England expects far greater things from thee
Than from the puny crew who chant and wail,
The club their heaven, and Primrose Hill their throne.
O'er wastes of thought whereon no glimmering sail
Has flashed she drives thee forth, and bids thee be
For ever fearless, though for ever alone.
Than from the puny crew who chant and wail,
The club their heaven, and Primrose Hill their throne.
O'er wastes of thought whereon no glimmering sail
Has flashed she drives thee forth, and bids thee be
For ever fearless, though for ever alone.
202
II. LOVE
But yet within life's ocean there are isles
Where for calm sunlit seasons thou mayest be
Safe from the cold arms of the sullen sea,
Press arms divine, and meet diviner smiles.
White hands shall beckon through dim forest-aisles,
And yet a fragrance not of flower or tree
Shall lure thee forth to roam eternally:
The known joy palls, the unknown joy beguiles.
Where for calm sunlit seasons thou mayest be
Safe from the cold arms of the sullen sea,
Press arms divine, and meet diviner smiles.
White hands shall beckon through dim forest-aisles,
And yet a fragrance not of flower or tree
Shall lure thee forth to roam eternally:
The known joy palls, the unknown joy beguiles.
In some fair island under sapphire skies
A woman waits, with queenly lips unkissed
And heart that throbs with unacknowledged flame.
That island still is wrapped in robes of mist:
No dream discloses yet the heavenly eyes;
Time whispers not as yet the sovereign name.
A woman waits, with queenly lips unkissed
And heart that throbs with unacknowledged flame.
That island still is wrapped in robes of mist:
No dream discloses yet the heavenly eyes;
Time whispers not as yet the sovereign name.
Oct. 21, 1894.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |