The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | IV. |
|
|
|
|
|
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
192
FATE'S EQUAL MEASURE
We need not envy fern and daisy,
Nor summer's wealth of bloom:
October's days come, dark and hazy,
And clothed about with gloom.
Nor summer's wealth of bloom:
October's days come, dark and hazy,
And clothed about with gloom.
We need not envy summer's roses:
The bleak autumnal wind
Sweeps through the frightened shuddering closes
And leaves no flowers behind.
The bleak autumnal wind
Sweeps through the frightened shuddering closes
And leaves no flowers behind.
No lives we see are worth our longing:
Through every golden dream
The pallid morning thoughts come thronging
In one long ghostly stream.
Through every golden dream
The pallid morning thoughts come thronging
In one long ghostly stream.
Some seem to win one happy season:
But envy not their fate!
Sorrow and blank dismay and treason
Upon their threshold wait.
But envy not their fate!
Sorrow and blank dismay and treason
Upon their threshold wait.
193
Are lovers happy? Not for ever
The clinging kiss shall last.
A thousand foemen wait to sever:
One rapture—then 'tis past!
The clinging kiss shall last.
A thousand foemen wait to sever:
One rapture—then 'tis past!
The blue sea turns to storm and madness;
The still lake boils with foam:
Spent is the green-leafed summer's gladness;
Afar the red leaves roam!
The still lake boils with foam:
Spent is the green-leafed summer's gladness;
Afar the red leaves roam!
So envy no man.—Happiest lovers
Have death beside their feet.
Lo! what a strange flower-raiment covers
The supple snake's retreat.
Have death beside their feet.
Lo! what a strange flower-raiment covers
The supple snake's retreat.
At least in this an equal measure
Fate's grim unbribed hand deals,
Bestowing pain, and stealing pleasure
From every heart that feels.
Fate's grim unbribed hand deals,
Bestowing pain, and stealing pleasure
From every heart that feels.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |