The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
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| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. | XXX. HOPELESS
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| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| II. |
| III. |
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| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
34
XXX. HOPELESS
My high hope passes. What is left me now?
Yea, what is all the guerdon of my song?
Why have I laboured, resolute and strong,
Building, with blood-sweat from my weary brow,
This Temple time doth spurn and disallow?—
What recompence is there for suffering long?
What justice in the world,—what wrath for wrong,—
What corn to ingather for the hands that plough?
Yea, what is all the guerdon of my song?
Why have I laboured, resolute and strong,
Building, with blood-sweat from my weary brow,
This Temple time doth spurn and disallow?—
What recompence is there for suffering long?
What justice in the world,—what wrath for wrong,—
What corn to ingather for the hands that plough?
The old old question: yea, the sad old story.
Just one more spirit passing towards the tomb,
Crowned, yet uncrowned,—brown-haired, yet aged and hoary,—
With every flower of passion in full bloom,
Filled with the poet's sense of life's wild glory,
Yet burthened, likewise, with the poet's doom.
Just one more spirit passing towards the tomb,
Crowned, yet uncrowned,—brown-haired, yet aged and hoary,—
With every flower of passion in full bloom,
Filled with the poet's sense of life's wild glory,
Yet burthened, likewise, with the poet's doom.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |