The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| 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. |
| III. |
|
|
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|
|
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
112
II.
THE SENSE OF DEATH
The sense of death is nothing;—for it brings
A perfect vision of things seen already.
I recognise with eyesight cleansed and steady
A gold-clad chorus of familiar things,
And feel the fluttering of your sweet wings
And touching of your hands,—and your glad breath
Makes a rose-garden of the vale of death,
And heaven it is for your glad voice that sings.
A perfect vision of things seen already.
I recognise with eyesight cleansed and steady
A gold-clad chorus of familiar things,
And feel the fluttering of your sweet wings
And touching of your hands,—and your glad breath
Makes a rose-garden of the vale of death,
And heaven it is for your glad voice that sings.
God, this is nothing new. I passed, before,
The gate of death,—and felt upon my face
The subtle airs of heaven, and the grace
And golden glamour of the open door
That leads to the eternal unbound shore,—
When hand in hand of mine She came to place.
The gate of death,—and felt upon my face
The subtle airs of heaven, and the grace
And golden glamour of the open door
That leads to the eternal unbound shore,—
When hand in hand of mine She came to place.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |