The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| 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. |
| III. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
78
LXXII. FROM HEAVEN TO EARTH
Though joys of heaven around me in a throng
Should glitter,—though the past might far away
Fade, like the evening of a stormy day
When darkness gathers quickly,—though the strong
Delights of heaven might make the earth wax cold
In thought, and e'en the memory of my song
Like something far behind, forgotten and old,—
Yet one remembrance no deep joy could wrong.
Should glitter,—though the past might far away
Fade, like the evening of a stormy day
When darkness gathers quickly,—though the strong
Delights of heaven might make the earth wax cold
In thought, and e'en the memory of my song
Like something far behind, forgotten and old,—
Yet one remembrance no deep joy could wrong.
I still should see thee, as I saw thee first,
When first I knew mine own eternal queen
And felt the insatiable and ardent thirst
Of passion:—the sweet girlish face, serene
With placid thoughts in sunniest leisure nursed;
The gentle perfect maiden of sixteen.
When first I knew mine own eternal queen
And felt the insatiable and ardent thirst
Of passion:—the sweet girlish face, serene
With placid thoughts in sunniest leisure nursed;
The gentle perfect maiden of sixteen.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |