The Marriage Before Death, And Other Poems By George Barlow |
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Scene 3.—Early Morning.
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 | The Marriage Before Death, And Other Poems |  |
Scene 3.—Early Morning.
—Bianca singing as she dresses.
I had a dream last night,
And all my heart is light,
Glad, as this dawn is bright.
And all my heart is light,
Glad, as this dawn is bright.
I dreamed that round me strong
Arms passed—and I could not wrestle
To pull and smite them away.
Mad years of sorrow and wrong
Fled, and I tried to nestle
In the arms, and laughed as I lay.
Arms passed—and I could not wrestle
To pull and smite them away.
Mad years of sorrow and wrong
Fled, and I tried to nestle
In the arms, and laughed as I lay.
I laughed as I lay, soft-smiling
To think I was found at last—
Conquered, and soothed, and at peace;
Freed from spirits defiling;
Let loose from the sins that are passed,
And granted a sweet release.
To think I was found at last—
Conquered, and soothed, and at peace;
Freed from spirits defiling;
Let loose from the sins that are passed,
And granted a sweet release.
187
So the strong arms wound right round me,
And I could not struggle or stir,
They were far too strong to evade.
In blossomy bands they bound me,
And I felt that to me they were
Like a soothing shield and a shade.
And I could not struggle or stir,
They were far too strong to evade.
In blossomy bands they bound me,
And I felt that to me they were
Like a soothing shield and a shade.
I felt the old fierce power
Of the former passions die
And vanish adown the wind:
I was glad as a glad glad flower,
And very content to lie
With those arms about me twined.
Of the former passions die
And vanish adown the wind:
I was glad as a glad glad flower,
And very content to lie
With those arms about me twined.
And now to-day I am changed,
Though I hardly know the reason—
Hardly can tell at all:
Fresh hopes round me are ranged,
And a fresh more summer-like season
Seems to be within call.
Though I hardly know the reason—
Hardly can tell at all:
Fresh hopes round me are ranged,
And a fresh more summer-like season
Seems to be within call.
I feel like a girl—my pillow
Is damp with a rain of tears;
(I had not cried for so long!)
Spent is the stormy billow
Of suffering: happier years
Smile round me, a rose-crowned throng.
Is damp with a rain of tears;
(I had not cried for so long!)
Spent is the stormy billow
Of suffering: happier years
Smile round me, a rose-crowned throng.
188
Why, my eyes were blue—
They are changed—changed—changed to grey,
To a greyer tinge than before.
And a look of one I knew
Is in them—Enrico whose lay
Of love once lisped at my door.
They are changed—changed—changed to grey,
To a greyer tinge than before.
And a look of one I knew
Is in them—Enrico whose lay
Of love once lisped at my door.
Softer I feel to the singer—
I know not—softer I feel:
More tender and grave than of old. [She hears passers-by speaking below the window. They say—
Enrico is dead—his finger
O'er the harp no more will steal:
The poet is crowned and is cold.
I know not—softer I feel:
More tender and grave than of old. [She hears passers-by speaking below the window. They say—
Enrico is dead—his finger
O'er the harp no more will steal:
The poet is crowned and is cold.
| The Marriage Before Death, And Other Poems | |