Poems Real and Ideal By George Barlow |
XIV. |
XVII. |
XIX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XLIV, XLV, XLVI. |
XLVII. |
LI. |
LIV. |
SONNET LIV.
THE COQUETTE-WORLD. |
LVII. |
LIX. |
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 | ||