The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| 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. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXXIV. |
| III. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
218
THE MEADOW-SWEET SOUL
SONG
Thou art the meadow-sweet, love,
That bloomed anigh the rill
That flowed with ripples fleet, love,
Through the green cloven hill;
But fairer than the flower,
And fragrant not one hour
Alone, but through the ages vast and chill.
That bloomed anigh the rill
That flowed with ripples fleet, love,
Through the green cloven hill;
But fairer than the flower,
And fragrant not one hour
Alone, but through the ages vast and chill.
Thou art the white white rose, love,
That blooms in summer's nest:
Just as its beauty glows, love,
So gleams thy rose-white breast;
But sweeter than the rose,
And whiter than all snows,
A flower than flowers more fair, than dreams more blest.
That blooms in summer's nest:
Just as its beauty glows, love,
So gleams thy rose-white breast;
But sweeter than the rose,
And whiter than all snows,
A flower than flowers more fair, than dreams more blest.
219
Thy soul is meadow-sweet, love,
Thine eyes are starry rays;
The grasses kiss thy feet, love,
The honeysuckle sprays
A honeysuckle sister
Losing, have sobbed and missed her,
Till on thy lips they've kissed her,
There found more fragrant after many days.
Thine eyes are starry rays;
The grasses kiss thy feet, love,
The honeysuckle sprays
A honeysuckle sister
Losing, have sobbed and missed her,
Till on thy lips they've kissed her,
There found more fragrant after many days.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |