The Poetical Works of George Barlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

Have the roses died completely,—are the voices silent quite
That led Keats along the highway towards the heaven's far starry light?
Are there glimpses left no longer 'mid the waves of bosoms white?

II

May a poet sing no longer as that Grecian singer sung,
Keats,—whose brow was ever laurelled as his soul was ever young;
To whose hand Queen Venus rising from the waters might have clung.

III

Am I cursed and held a Pagan when I tread the self-same road
Where that singer's genial fancy flamed and thrilled and throbbed and flowed,
Burned and leaped up heavenward ever, sighed in music soft and glowed?

IV

Is there room for me too, singing in this weary latter day
Of the flowers that Greece saw budding on so many a vernal spray,—
Singing of the morning rose-flush though the skies around be grey?

V

Hath she vanished,—she who held him to her bosom sweet and warm;
Shielded Keats in bower sequestered from the harsh world's hail-winged storm;
Stood before him, white and awful, an inviolate goddess-form?

VI

Are not fields as green as ever and the morning airs as sweet
And our waves as blue as waters that laughed round her shell-white feet
When she sprang from foam untrodden and a world made haste to greet?

VII

Is not love as tender ever,—are the star-lands not the same?
Is the sunrise less resplendent, is the sunset robbed of flame?
Were the hills more radiant, think you, when their queen and goddess came?

VIII

Hath the heart of woman altered,—is her impulse less divine
Than when once with love she worshipped only thee, for love was thine?
Hath her foot forgot the pathway through the roses to thy shrine?

IX

Sweet as cowslips are our maidens: were the Grecian girls more fair?
Were their soft cheeks touched to beauty by the bright sea's loving air?
Had they scent of wave and mountain folded deep in breast and hair?

X

Surely there are handmaids for thee! singers too, if unafraid
We may sing thee and may love thee, not by cares of life down-weighed,
Seeking towards thine altar gleaming through the sacred leafy shade.

XI

Pour thine help and love upon us; as to Keats thou didst disclose
All thine hidden beauty blushing like a sudden-opened rose
When against the fierce-eyed sunlight it responsive laughs and glows:—

XII

As to him thou wast for ever new-born, freaked with dainty foam,
So for us be maiden-comely, and thy maiden tresses comb
On our shores, and make our forests thy tree-pillared endless home.

1881.