The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
80
LXXIV. THE FIRST TRUE BLOSSOMING
Far, far away from sympathy no flower
Can spread sweet petals into utmost bloom:
Her own desires, unanswered, must consume
The struggling pallid bud from hour to hour.
Not by the summer sun, by no spring shower,
Shall all the inner marvellous perfume
Be drawn to light; it lingers in a tomb,
Cold, sad, remorseless,—lacking joy and power.
Can spread sweet petals into utmost bloom:
Her own desires, unanswered, must consume
The struggling pallid bud from hour to hour.
Not by the summer sun, by no spring shower,
Shall all the inner marvellous perfume
Be drawn to light; it lingers in a tomb,
Cold, sad, remorseless,—lacking joy and power.
But some day comes a heart that understands;
He takes the tender stalk in yearning hands;
At one quick glance he apprehends the whole:—
Then touched by softer breezes, friendlier gales,
The sweet rose buds,—next blossoms, and exhales
The lavish perfume of her inmost soul.
He takes the tender stalk in yearning hands;
At one quick glance he apprehends the whole:—
Then touched by softer breezes, friendlier gales,
The sweet rose buds,—next blossoms, and exhales
The lavish perfume of her inmost soul.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |