The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
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| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
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| XL. |
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| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXXIV. |
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| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
241
SONNET IX
TO VIOLET
To think that thou art hurt,—and hurt through me!
Thou—unto whom each gentle flower that blows,
White snowdrop, orange lily, crimson rose,
Each leaf, each breath of summer o'er the sea,
Brought thoughts divine with utter purity,
Dreams no man's coarser spirit shares or knows;
Thou—who didst in thy perfect trust repose
On God's own bosom, safe eternally,
So thou didst deem,—that I should wound or slay
The very spirit the tender Love-God gave
To lift me safely past sin and the grave,
To bring me surely to his heaven at last,
When I consider this, the sunlit day,
Darkens, and all God's skies seem overcast.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |