Poems Real and Ideal By George Barlow |
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| XIV. |
| XVII. |
| XIX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
 | XLIV, XLV, XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| LI. |
| LIV. |
SONNET LIV.
THE COQUETTE-WORLD. |
| LVII. |
| LIX. |
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 | Poems Real and Ideal |  |
96
SONNET LIV. THE COQUETTE-WORLD.
The world is a coquette. She kissed, and clung
Round Jesus as an actress clings around
Her long-lost lover on a sudden found,—
And over him her tearful hands she wrung.
For nineteen centuries round his tomb she sung
And her strong passion seemed to know no bound:—
White craving supple lithesome arms she wound
About the throat that on the black cross hung.
Round Jesus as an actress clings around
Her long-lost lover on a sudden found,—
And over him her tearful hands she wrung.
For nineteen centuries round his tomb she sung
And her strong passion seemed to know no bound:—
White craving supple lithesome arms she wound
About the throat that on the black cross hung.
What was it worth?—She hath a new love now,
A young love,—and she marks within his eyes
The far-off light of summers of new skies,
And flowers unfaded ring his lineless brow:—
Christ and his centuries pass,—and, laughing, she
Flings white arms round the Twentieth Century.
A young love,—and she marks within his eyes
The far-off light of summers of new skies,
And flowers unfaded ring his lineless brow:—
Christ and his centuries pass,—and, laughing, she
Flings white arms round the Twentieth Century.
| Poems Real and Ideal | |