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. |
| LVII. |
SONNET LVII.
HEAVEN AND WOMAN. |
| LIX. |
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 | Poems Real and Ideal |  |
99
SONNET LVII. HEAVEN AND WOMAN.
And what are twenty centuries unto God!
Just one swift starry night, and nothing more;
Just one light speedy footfall on the floor
Of time: one summer blossoming the sod.
So mused I in Bond Street: and the ceaseless roar
Of carriages seemed like the centuries wheeling
Red ranks round God's throne, with wet eyes appealing
For pity,—crime on crime and war on war.
Just one swift starry night, and nothing more;
Just one light speedy footfall on the floor
Of time: one summer blossoming the sod.
So mused I in Bond Street: and the ceaseless roar
Of carriages seemed like the centuries wheeling
Red ranks round God's throne, with wet eyes appealing
For pity,—crime on crime and war on war.
Through the blue sky I gazed as in a dream:—
Then my eyes fell, and in a carriage lo!
An olive-skinned clear face and lips that glow
With loveliest power of passion, and a gleam
Of Italy in the eyes, and forehead low
And shapely.—How far-off those star-thoughts seem!
Then my eyes fell, and in a carriage lo!
An olive-skinned clear face and lips that glow
With loveliest power of passion, and a gleam
Of Italy in the eyes, and forehead low
And shapely.—How far-off those star-thoughts seem!
| Poems Real and Ideal | |