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

A moment I yield thee; 'tis but to shield thee
The better; 'tis but to be free to proclaim
To men that shall listen, soft eyes that shall glisten
As thine eyes glistened, thine own sweet name.

II

'Tis but to make greater our pleasure later,
When both our hearts and our minds have grown.
Some spirit has told me that I shall enfold thee
One day, my lost one—but still mine own.

III

I feel, through the weary days, dismal and dreary,
The far keen rapture of that embrace!
Its far keen glory—when life's dull story
Is quickened, by thine imperial face.

102

IV

I will be ready, my voice shall be steady,
And all the airs around shall be sweet;
To the dim soft bower of love's first hour
We two will hasten, we twain will retreat.

V

There we will linger; I, the singer,
Thou the singer's glory and crown;
And all life's labour, and life's red sabre,
In those far meadows I will lay down.

103

TO THE UNCHANGED GOD

I

Thou changest never
Though men change ever,
Yea, veer as waves of the shifting tides;
Our seasons pass,
We wither as grass
That lies burnt brown on the mountain's sides;
But thou remainest
And death disdainest,—
Thy firm foot over the centuries strides.

II

When Rome was young
Thy lips in it sung,
The Grecian hill-sides caught from thee
Their rose-red light
Of joy; in the night
Of unknown eras thou wast, and the sea
Has known thee, O Lord,
And its music has poured
Forth for thee since ever it came to be.

104

III

Thou art in the bowers
Of memory, the flowers
The long years gather and treasure and keep:
In first love's tender
And infinite splendour,
O infinite God, thine eyes too weep:
And thou dost delight
In the calm of the night
When lovers upon thy soft breast sleep.

IV

Not one white rose
Without thee blows,
Thou art in the meadows that smile in the morn;
The long grey hills
Thy presence fills,
And the roar of the breakers is thy strong scorn;
And summer divine
Is surely thine,
And all its scents at thy word are born.

105

V

To-day we sing to you,
Our swift songs cling to you,
O world of blossoms we soon shall leave.
But what of to-morrow?
Will it bring sorrow?
Will some for our passing sigh once and grieve?
A singer to-day
Like a bird on a spray
Clings to the world's branch; will it receive?

VI

Will it receive him,
Sadden or leave him,—
He for a day sings, only a day;
Others shall follow,
Never Apollo
Hath not a song-word potent to say;
But what world takes them
As this forsakes them,
The singers whom this world's gods betray?

106

VII

We pass through the flowers,
World, of your bowers,
And some we gather and some disdain;
We pluck in your valleys
The flower-wreath that tallies
Best with the song-flowers born in our strain;
And then we fold
Our plumelets of gold,
Or of grey, and quit you; our songs remain.

VIII

But oh whither we
Depart, to what sea
With strange dark waves, what garden, what bower,
Who knows or can say?
What summer-sweet day
Awaits us, or wintry companionless hour?
What guerdon to win?
What joys gathered in?
What rose of new passion, unspeakable flower?

107

IX

Are there women as white
In the bowers of the night
Of death as in rose-hung bowers of the day?
Are there faces as fair
In that desolate air
Where the wings of the hours hang sodden and grey?
Are there mouths that can kiss?
Is there infinite bliss
Of love, or doth all love vanish away?

X

No soul can reply:
From that mystical sky
Come but faint murmurs, no clear voice rings
Downward in answer,
And but a romancer
Seems each one who doubtful or arrogant brings
Word from that far land,
Weirder than star-land,
Whence throbs all music on monstrous wings.

108

XI

For music is death,
And God, and the breath
Of flowers who make fragrant the death they defy;
The lips of the Lord
Through its cadences poured
In it thunder and laugh and reward and reply;
In it seas of the speech
Of God on the beach
Of time plunge downward from fathomless sky.

XII

But all else changes
As time's foot ranges
Pitiless, ceaseless, over our plains;
His barren relentless
Blossomless scentless
Finger the date of our death retains;
And lo! as we sing
A sudden soft wing,
Death's, darkens the chamber and hushed are our strains.

1880.

109

THE WRESTLE FOR A SOUL

I

This I have won by my fight
With the spirits of sorrow and night:
To be followed, ever hereafter,
By a girl's glad sinless laughter.

II

Through my dream I heard
Her maidenly new-born word:
Her virginal fresh-wrought speech.
It had power my heart to reach.

III

And now I am well content
That the veil of life be rent.
For though I pass to the grave
This wonderful soul I save.

110

IV

Though I, dead, pass to the night,
This blossom henceforth is white.
Though I am forgotten, I give
To her leave to laugh and to live.

111

TO THE REV. STOPFORD A. BROOKE, ON HIS LEAVING THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND

Now, where the high hills are
And all the airs with mountain flowers are sweet,
Tread thou; the valleys yearn not for thy feet:
Their wreathed mists bar
The stars from thee, and thee from sight of star.

Now, where the clear streams run,
Seek thou with ever more familiar tread
The utmost summits where the sun burns red,
The strong free sun,
And where in air most fair God's crowns are won.

Beyond all earthly creeds
Thou passest now to the utmost peak, O friend,
Where in love's vision all our visions blend:
Our dreams and deeds
Fail us,—the undying love alone succeeds.

112

With deep sigh of relief
We watch at last the unimprisoned stars
Seen face to face and not through Church-forged bars:
Sweet even if brief
The hour when power doth shower from sun to sheaf.

The one gold autumn hour
Whose glory compensates for all the year
Of mingled pain and labour and swift fear;
When thought to flower
Springs, and the autumnal woodbine rings life's bower.

To pour our souls away
In passionate perfect love; this joy alone
Sets the divine sweet soul on God's pure throne:
This in our day
We yearn and burn to compass, as we may.

August 22, 1880.

113

THE ONLY REST

There is a land where roses fade not ever,
Where hearts once joined in one turn traitors never,
The land of death.
There all is silent: through that pure dominion
Flies never a bird with wandering wistful pinion
And wistful breath.

Our flowers betray us, fading with the summer,
Each sunset darkens for the night, sure-comer,
Pursues each hard:
Life robs us fast of sweet familiar faces,
Robs us of health, endows and then displaces
Each aging bard.

Beauty is sweet: tender the fair white shoulder;
But beauty groweth dim,—the lips wax colder
That once were warm:
The flower-scent quits the neck and leaves the bosom
That once was wordless wealth a bloomless blossom,
Quits mouth and arm.

114

The winter groweth apace: our loves escape us;
In mantle of chill gloom the dark days drape us;
The dark short days:—
The old summer thoughts and dreams are no more valid;
By autumn walls the autumn daisies pallid
Their dank heads raise.

Women we loved are weary or dead or faithless;
Blossoms we loved the bleak wind leaves not scatheless,
It dims their cheeks:
In front of us lies mist-winged drear December;
Behind, the months we care not to remember,
The flower-filled weeks.

So is it in life: God seems to have forgotten;
The very roots of hope and faith seem rotten
And rotten their leaves:
Death's kingdom seemeth to our spirit lonely
The one thing that abideth,—yea the only
Rest man achieves.

115

NO MORE

The sweet green flowerful laughing summers coming
Again shall shine;
Again the June wind's subtle fingers strumming
Shall shake the pine;
Again the yellow-banded bee go humming
O'er clover and vine.

Again the long waves, wonderful in whiteness,
Shall storm the shore;
Again the moon pour forth her regal brightness
For stars to adore;
Yea, some shall love with the old unchanged heart-lightness,
But we no more.

Weary the world seems; like a woman colder,
Whose soft lips said
“I love you” yestereve,—against whose shoulder
We leaned our head:
She is changed to-day; and all the world's grown older!
Its charm is fled!

116

NOT CHRIST, BUT CHRIST'S GOD

SONNET

Though Christ we need not, yet the God of morn,
The Lord of mountains and of stars, we need.
Though we despise the grey-beard Church's creed,
Christ we despise not,—nor his crown of thorn,
Nor loving heart that took the shafts of scorn.
We loathe the Church's lies, the Church's greed,
But unto Christ's pure genius we give heed,
Yet do no despite to the Christs unborn.
The God of Christ we yearn for more than we
Desire the Hebrew. 'Mid our lanes of rose,—
Where the soft clinging honeysuckle grows
And scents the shoreside,—by our own wild sea,—
We would with God the eternal Father be;—
Christ's God hath other secrets to disclose.

1881.

117

PANTHEISTIC DREAMS

SONNET

What is the worth of Pantheistic dreams?—
Oh, what avails it at the hour of death
To mix our souls with countless roses' breath,
Or with the shining June-sky's sunset-gleams,
Or with the glory of blue-rippling streams?
What joy is there in groping underneath
The soil, to spring in roots of purple heath,—
What human rapture in the moon's white beams?
One hour of human life, though it be wild
And mad and sinful, is a nobler spell
Than long eternities in green deep dell,
Or ages where the autumnal leaves are piled.
The human form, degraded or defiled,
Is still the human soul's one citadel.

1881.

118

HEAVEN AND WOMAN

SONNET

What are ten thousand centuries unto God!
Just one swift starry night, and nothing more;
Just one light speedy footfall on the floor
Of time: one flower beside a dusty road.
So mused I in Bond Street: and the ceaseless roar
Of carriages seemed like the centuries wheeling
Red ranks round God's throne, with wet eyes appealing
For pity,—crime on crime and war on war.
Through the blue sky I gazed as in a dream:—
Then my eyes fell, and in a carriage lo!
An olive-skinned clear face and lips that glow
With loveliest power of passion, and a gleam
Of Italy in the eyes, and forehead low
And shapely.—How far-off those star-thoughts seem!

1882.

119

ONE CHANCE

SONNET

One life; one chance; one woman to adore;
One rose to worship:—once and never again
Love to our bosom with sweet tears to strain;
Once to kiss soft lips on some moonlit shore:
Once all our soul in music to outpour,
And once to enter Passion's golden fane,
And once to launch upon the stormy main
Of wild Romance where poets sank of yore:—
Just once, and then the end;—one chance we have,
One life for singing,—then our lips are sealed,
And over us the green grass of the field
And the green fern-fronds and white roses wave:
One life for music,—then the silent grave,
And lands where never morning bugle pealed.

1881.

120

LOVE'S IMMORTALITY

SONNET

Some say that passion dwindles with the years,
Grows old and loses radiance,—but I say
That noble love can never pass away,
Made strong by pain, made perfect through its tears.
Who dreads pale Time's attempts, who doubts and fears
Lest noon should mar morn's promise to the day,
Shall perish crownless, loveless, in the fray:
When weak hearts wail, nor Love nor woman hears.
Not all hell's poisonous spears or swords of flame
Shall harm the soul that loves, though love seem crime
In the eyes of those who love not, for his fame
Shall everlasting be, his joy sublime,
And Love shall write in gold his deathless name:
He who would conquer Love, must conquer Time.

121

“TO-MORROW'S ROSE”

One woman doth forsake?
Let not thy lone heart break.
Thy lips so full of pain
Fresh lips shall heal again.
To-morrow's rose is fair
As that which brought despair.

1881.

122

QUESTION AND ANSWER

She.
He thinks me just a common wayside flower,
Not fitted e'er to bloom on poet's bower:
Is that not so?

He.
And you,—you are a rose of dainty hues
Whose petals tints most exquisite suffuse:
Is that not so?

She.
Ah no! I spread but common weary wings.
But you,—you deal with grand eternal things:
Is that not so?

He.
The grandest most eternal thing in Art
Is the sweet rendering of woman's heart—

She.
Yes, that is so!

1881.

123

A DEDICATION TO LOUISA S. BEVINGTON

Thou art among the chief of those who lead
The way; thou bringest woman's soul to bear
Upon our new-world thought and mak'st it fair,
Adding flower-softness to the future's creed.
And thou hast taken part with those who bleed
Battling amid the turrets of despair,
And hast borne arrows of the high keen air,—
Shafts that around thought's iciest summits speed.
Therefore I singing in the early day,
While yet the dew upon the grass is sweet
And our hill-paths are printed by few feet,
Bring thee these poems of the cloudland grey,
Written on the ridge where night and morning meet,
Ere the old faiths' stars have wholly passed away.

124

THE HUMAN LITANY

Christians.—
Hear us, Father! since within the garden
Christ wept tears of blood, be kind and pardon
Numberless misdeeds:

Men and Women.—
Hear us, Mother! by the pangs of nations,
By unknown unmeasured tribulations,
By each soul that bleeds!

Chr.—
Hear us, Father! since thy Son sank slowly
Into awful death-embrace, the Holy
And the spotless King!

M. and W.—
Hear us, Mother! hear us by the crying
Of the waste sad world in darkness lying;
Help the hands that cling!

125

Chr.—
By Christ's bloody sweat and cross and passion,
Father, we beseech thee mould and fashion
Man to work thy will!

M. and W.—
Mother! though their Christ were god and prophet,
Yet our modern world, he knew not of it;
Knew not doubts that kill!

Chr.—
Father! by thy dear Son's awful anguish,
Help the weary sheep that faint and languish
Left on the earth alone!

M. and W.—
Mother! by the awful speechless burden
Many souls bear, grant for rest and guerdon
Lands where no hearts groan!

Chr.—
By the patience that he showed in dying,
We beseech thee, pardon sinners lying
Under thy just ban!

M. and W.—
Holy Mother-God! Christ's pains were single:
In the human cup all sorrows mingle:
On the cross of Man!

126

Chr.—
By the cross of Jesus, Father hear us!
Help us, guard us, sanctify and cheer us,—
By the nails that slew!

M. and W.—
By the cross of Man, O Mother save us!
In Man's own deep red blood-ocean lave us,
Till our souls are new!

Chr.—
Father! by the spears and mocking speeches,
Lift our heart, we pray,—till heaven it reaches,
Following in Christ's tread!

M. and W.—
By the cross of Woman, Mother, aid us:
When the eyes of soulless saints betrayed us,
Woman's gleamed instead!

Chr.—
By his slow heart-beats now nearly stopping
And the pale head on the shoulder dropping,
Hear us, O our Lord!

M. and W.—
By the strange weird glimmer of Her whiteness
Mingled on the Cross with that blood-brightness,—
Save from sorrow's sword!

127

Chr.—
By Christ's pain all human pains exceeding;
By his sacred body bruised and bleeding,
We beseech thee, hear!

M. and W.—
By the Cross where Woman through the ages
Hangs and dies, while round the rough crowd rages,
Soothe away our fear!

Chr.—
By Christ's goodness greater than of mortal,
We beseech thee, ope thou heaven's high portal;
Let us enter in!

M. and W.—
By the endless gentle heart of Woman
Christ-surpassing, and all valour human,
Wash away our sin!

Chr.—
By Christ's glory all things else excelling
And his love compassionate and compelling.
Make the far fields bright!

M. and W.—
Hear us, Mother-God! by Woman's glory,
We beseech thee; through the ages' story
See! she shines so white!

128

Chr.—
White is Christ: than man or woman whiter:
And his eyes than mortal eyes are brighter:
Hear us for his sake!

M. and W.—
Deeper eyes than Christ's we have among us:
Shafts of fiercer pain than his have stung us;
Do not our hearts break?

Chr.—
By the deep sweet eyes and by the splendour
Of Christ's heart and all his bounty tender,
Father, be our stay!

M. and W.—
By the heart of Man the Saviour riven,
And by Woman's heart which hath forgiven,
Help us on our way!

Chr.—
By the soul of Christ and all the treasure
Of his love-deep heart that knows no measure,
We beseech thee, save!

M. and W.—
By the grief that hallows all things human,
By the double cross of Man and Woman,—
Lift us from the grave!

129

FROM CHURCH TO THE SEA

I heard a preacher preach of hell
With tongue that raved right well:
I left the Church and sought the sea,—
Its hand laid hold of me.

The welcoming sea-waves bathed me round
With mystic soothing sound:
The stars shone forth from flameless sky;
I knew hell was a lie.

I knew the preacher was a liar,—
He and his lake of fire:
The cool sweet sea put out his lake;
My worn heart ceased to ache.

The living God was in the sea,—
His hand laid hold of me:
In all the waves that rose and fell
I saw no shadow of hell.

130

Far stretched the boundless hell-less blue;
No hell-flames glittered through:
Above me bent the clear night-sky;
I heard no prisoners' sigh.

The preacher died, and God arose
Sweet in his grand repose:
“Heed not these fools and liars,” he said,
“Whose souls are worse than dead.

“Meet Me by night beside the seas
Or in the wind-waved trees
And I will teach thee line by line
Secrets of love's and mine.”

So God spoke through the sky and sea
That strange great night to me:
And hell-fire ceased for evermore,—
All slavish fear was o'er.

131

THE SEA

Away from leaves and bowers
And love's soft summer hours,
Fragrance of girls and flowers,
To the sea
I pass: its great waves greet me;
Its salt pure strong winds meet me;
I am free.

Free from the town-oppression;
Its ceaseless dull progression
Of hot days in procession
That weigh down:
The glad blue waters cheer me;
No flower or leaf is near me,
Red or brown.

132

No flowers are here: the breathing
Wide mass of waters seething
Around my feet is wreathing
Flowers of foam:
All other bloom forsakes me
As the sweet sea's breath takes me
To its home.

No voice of love beseecheth:
No enemy impeacheth:
The grey wild water reacheth
To the sky:
Whatever time be bringing,
To hear no sea's chant ringing
Is to die.

133

SEA-POPPIES

I

From preachers preaching by the sea,
Good Lord, deliver me!
They preach of Christ and heaven and hell,
But the white sea-waves swell;
I turn from heaven—and sweet the drop is—
To the great gold sea-poppies!

II

They fill the air with fiery lies;
I watch the grey clear skies:
The wreaths of sea-weed sweeter smell
Than their foul fumes of hell!
From preachers lying by the sea,
Sea-God, deliver me!

134

III

Sky-spaces stretch forth calm and far
Waiting for crown of star;
These preachers belch their venom out
With ribald prayer and shout;
From preachers blustering by the sea,
Sky-God, deliver me!

IV

Fairer to me is one fair face
Than all their gold-harped place:
Blue bugloss and the pink rest-harrow
Laugh at their poisoned arrow!
The sun, the all-golden giant, copies
The golden-cheeked beach-poppies!

V

From vulgar narrowing thoughts of men,
Lord, lift us forth again!
Stretch out thy sunlike gracious hand
Over the sea and land:
Blend our unfettered souls with thy
Great chainless sea and sky!

135

VI

From foolish tongues belying thee,
Good Lord, deliver me!
Let the blue-leaved gold-faced sea-flowers
That kiss the sun for hours
And seek no crown and fear no hell
Proclaim that all is well!

136

A SEA-DAY

The laughing waves are green and white;
They surge with limitless delight;
To-day
What can one dream of but their might?
What flower-word can one say?

No thought of lady's bower of rose
To-day around the rapt heart goes;
To-day
Before us the wide water flows
Green, blue, and wild and grey.

O measureless majestic sea
Thou layest hand and breath on me
To-day:
I join the reckless plangent glee
Of thy far-reaching spray.

All thoughts of passion cease,—and flowers
Fade out beneath these salt strong showers
To-day:
And all the buds on woman's bowers
Fade swiftly quite away.

137

No woman now with supple white
Smooth inland body gives delight;
To-day
I join thy curling swirling might,
Sea, filling all this bay!

No woman now with massed black hair
And ripe red mouth is soft and fair:
To-day
Thy buoyant breath fills all the air,
Sea, and thy coursers play!

No inland bower receives me, deep,
And full of scents that lull to sleep,
To-day:
I stand upon the shingle steep
Where gold sea-poppies stray.

What is a woman to the sea
Whose loving hand lays hold of me,
Spray-wet:
Let no white arms around me be!
And yet—and yet—and yet—

138

ANTIPHONES

Christians.
In wondrous white attire we stand,
And round us gleams the heavenly land,
And faces by sweet airs are fanned—

Chorus of Greeks.
And we kiss Venus' snow-white hand!

Christians.
Saved from the flames of raging hell
With us and with our souls 'tis well;
Now for the lost world sounds its knell—

Chorus of Greeks.
How sweet these rain-washed roses smell!

139

Christians.
No flowers of earth,—no lily or rose
That in pale temporal garden blows,—
Are sweet or white or pure as those—

Chorus of Greeks.
That Venus' flower-sweet lips disclose!

Christians.
Not gardens girt with earthly walls,
But heavenly lustrous sun-crowned halls
We have for dwelling: Venus falls—

Chorus of Greeks.
Nay, siluer-voiced her sons she calls!

Christians.
Hear us, O God! Thy face is bright
And we shrink backward from its light;
But Christ gives courage, power, and might—

Chorus of Greeks.
Her breast as moonlit foam is white!

140

Christians.
Hear us, O tender Jesus! Red
Thy side is with the blood-drops shed
For us upon the hill-top dread—

Chorus of Greeks.
Praise Venus with the golden head!

141

AN ACTOR'S TRIUMPH

I

The lights, the music, and the crowd
Of eager hearts and eyes:—
I had failed before,—to-night I vowed
To hold both weak and wise
And silence all applauding loud
Conventionalities,
And make the house one temple deep
Where men should yearn and women weep.

II

To-night my spirit-force should seize
Their spirits,—hold them bound.
I swore it;—through the scenic trees
Whose green boughs waved around
I gazed,—She came:—upon my knees
I fell—my love was found;
My love who (in the drama) fled
For years, and who, I thought, was dead.

142

III

She came:—I lifted earnest gaze
And all my heart grew cold;
'Twas not the actress' well-known face,
But one I loved of old;
(How through the crowded heated place
The fiery music rolled!)
I saw her,—and I saw the sea
Shine, when her eyes fell swift on me.

IV

Ten years had passed since we had met:
But her grey changeless eyes
Flashed into mine and held me yet;
Through the gilt walls the skies
Gleamed, and a moonlit sea-shore wet
Before me seemed to rise—
(And still the orchestral music rolled
And wound about me, fold on fold!)

V

For months another had been there
And played that part with me:
To-night this woman with the old hair
And eyes,—how could it be?

143

(And then again that beach shone fair
And rolled that far-off sea
In unison with all the sound
Of music here that held me bound!)

VI

Then in a flash I saw that she
This single night had come,
Sent by the gods to act with me,—
And wonder held me dumb;
Her dark hair fluttered loose and free,
Full of a strange perfume,
About me,—and my heart became
A godlike winged thrice-potent flame.

VII

This single night—no more again—
(I saw it in a gleam)
I held her; she would vanish then,
And with her all my dream:
I felt the power, the joy of men
Who cross some fatal stream:
My nerves were iron, stretched and strung:
All heaven upon one moment hung.

144

VIII

To-night! to-night! then never more—
To-night the prize must fall
Unto my lot; once let me soar,
Or ever, worm-like, crawl!
(Gods! give me this—this, I implore—
This,—or nought else at all!)
Then all that crowded house to me
Grew silent,—like the silent sea.

IX

I never acted so of old,
And never shall again
Have force to seize and might to mould
The hearts of gazing men;—
My soul grew calm and great and bold,—
(Thundered the music then!)
I kissed her:—and through all the din
She knew I knew, and meant to win.

X

Her fiery lips clove fast to mine,
And my fire thrilled her deep—
(We saw the white waves' laughing line
And the soft blossoms' sleep,—

145

The blossoms that we used to twine)
My being with one leap
Sprang to a height where never yet
Actor's and lover's foot was set.

XI

“To-night,” I whispered, “fly with me”—
(How soulless seemed the Play!)
I knew her sweet eyes saw the sea,
She could not but obey,
Mine was she this night,—nor could he,
Her husband, further sway
The heart that, mine throughout the years,
Filled mine this night with fire and tears.

XII

And, when the Play was over, out
We sprang,—and all the night
Around me seemed to laugh and shout
With mad divine delight,
And the gold stars shone every doubt
And tremor out of sight:
We swore that next night we would be
By the old white-winged love-sweet sea.

146

XIII

And next night not on any Stage
We stood,—but by the deep:
And passion's billows ceased to rage,
And love's head fell asleep
Upon her breast,—and age on age
Seemed past our bower to sweep
Harmless and soundless, while we lay
Rapt in wild joy till dawn of day.