The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
96
LXXXVIII. SWEETER, LESS AWFUL
Something of the awe has vanished from my strain,
It may be; now that thou art wholly near
It is a softer task to sing thee, dear;
There is not the old yearning, nor the pain.
We cannot crave the rose that we retain
In our own hands, made fragrant from the touch:
We cannot long for present joys so much
As for the gifts no passionate prayer could gain.
It may be; now that thou art wholly near
It is a softer task to sing thee, dear;
There is not the old yearning, nor the pain.
We cannot crave the rose that we retain
In our own hands, made fragrant from the touch:
We cannot long for present joys so much
As for the gifts no passionate prayer could gain.
O white rose, perfect lady of my song,
Desired and sought and struggled for so long,
Now that thy petals sweet within my clasp
Abide, the passionate agony is over,
Thank God!—the happy calm soul of thy lover
Pants not for that which rests within his grasp.
Desired and sought and struggled for so long,
Now that thy petals sweet within my clasp
Abide, the passionate agony is over,
Thank God!—the happy calm soul of thy lover
Pants not for that which rests within his grasp.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |