The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
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| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
35
LOVE-BLOOM:
TWENTY-TWO SONNETS (1881)
37
I.
A SAINT-FLOWER
Because thou art a saint, and clothed in white,
Thou art to me the sweetest of all flowers,
And far more fragrant are thy beauty's bowers
Than those that flaunt their bloom to daily sight.
Love is a small thing, when the love is light,—
But the great love that mocketh mortal hours
And sings the clearer when the storm-cloud lowers,
Endures beyond earth's day, beyond death's night.
Thou art to me the sweetest of all flowers,
And far more fragrant are thy beauty's bowers
Than those that flaunt their bloom to daily sight.
Love is a small thing, when the love is light,—
But the great love that mocketh mortal hours
And sings the clearer when the storm-cloud lowers,
Endures beyond earth's day, beyond death's night.
Because thou art a saint, thou art a flower,
And thou art woman in that thou art saint,
And angel in thy womanhood's pure power,
Lily and rose, rich yet most free from taint;
Because thou art so pure, lo! love's mouth saith,
“Thou art more dainty than a rose's breath!”
And thou art woman in that thou art saint,
And angel in thy womanhood's pure power,
Lily and rose, rich yet most free from taint;
Because thou art so pure, lo! love's mouth saith,
“Thou art more dainty than a rose's breath!”
38
II.
THY YOUNG BEAUTY
Didst thou, sweet, wait for me when thou wast young?
Yea, have we yearned across the bitter seas,
Heart wailing out to heart,—and hath the breeze
Of summer round two souls expectant sung?
Have the pale past years with one weary tongue
Cried out for soul-companionship? the trees
Waved with forlorn grey frondage o'er waste leas,
And through the stars one hopeless music rung?
Yea, have we yearned across the bitter seas,
Heart wailing out to heart,—and hath the breeze
Of summer round two souls expectant sung?
Have the pale past years with one weary tongue
Cried out for soul-companionship? the trees
Waved with forlorn grey frondage o'er waste leas,
And through the stars one hopeless music rung?
And, now we find each other, we are barred,—
Barred from each other, though the sad souls cry
“At length, at length, a recompence is nigh,
At length we rest victorious;” weird and hard
Seems to our souls the iron hand of Fate,
Denying love's bliss at love's very gate.
Barred from each other, though the sad souls cry
“At length, at length, a recompence is nigh,
At length we rest victorious;” weird and hard
Seems to our souls the iron hand of Fate,
Denying love's bliss at love's very gate.
39
III.
THE EARLY WOODS
Oh, sweetheart, had I known thee in those days!
How sweet thine eyes were in the early air
Of life when all fair things are yet more fair;
How softly thou didst thread the forest-ways.
The breeze of morning wantoned with thy hair
As thou didst wander through the wooded hollow:
Oh, had mine eager heart been there to follow,
What fruit of joy life might have had to bear!
How sweet thine eyes were in the early air
Of life when all fair things are yet more fair;
How softly thou didst thread the forest-ways.
The breeze of morning wantoned with thy hair
As thou didst wander through the wooded hollow:
Oh, had mine eager heart been there to follow,
What fruit of joy life might have had to bear!
'Tis late to meet when the chill woods are grey,
No longer rose-flushed with the dawn of day
And beautiful with bloom of early dreams;
The rose is not so red, the lily shines
Less white, less fragrant are the forest-pines,
And hushed is half the laughter of the streams.
No longer rose-flushed with the dawn of day
And beautiful with bloom of early dreams;
The rose is not so red, the lily shines
Less white, less fragrant are the forest-pines,
And hushed is half the laughter of the streams.
40
IV.
“I WAITED FOR THEE”
I waited for thee: ever did I wait.
No music sounded through the shades of night
Or when the moon upon the waves was bright
Or when the sun swept through the morning's gate
Or when the innumerable breakers white
Flung at the scowling clouds their angry hate,—
But, maddened by the loneliness of fate,
I yearned towards thee as towards my soul's own light.
No music sounded through the shades of night
Or when the moon upon the waves was bright
Or when the sun swept through the morning's gate
Or when the innumerable breakers white
Flung at the scowling clouds their angry hate,—
But, maddened by the loneliness of fate,
I yearned towards thee as towards my soul's own light.
I knew thee not,—but music spake of thee
And of the sacred beauty of thy breast,
And all the voices of the mournful sea
Said, “Here is peace for ever, here is rest;
Thou shalt outstrip the foot of pain when She
Crowneth and endeth thy life's fevered quest.”
And of the sacred beauty of thy breast,
And all the voices of the mournful sea
Said, “Here is peace for ever, here is rest;
Thou shalt outstrip the foot of pain when She
Crowneth and endeth thy life's fevered quest.”
41
V.
THE MOUNTAINS AND THE SEA
We strive together the far heights to reach.
The longing for the mountains and the sea
Doth ever, sweetheart, overshadow thee;
Ever their music ringeth through my speech.
Ours is the rapture of the lonely beach
When the white breakers surge tumultuously,
And ours the glory of the pine-clad lea;
The mountains and the ocean chant to each.
The longing for the mountains and the sea
Doth ever, sweetheart, overshadow thee;
Ever their music ringeth through my speech.
Ours is the rapture of the lonely beach
When the white breakers surge tumultuously,
And ours the glory of the pine-clad lea;
The mountains and the ocean chant to each.
Thou art the mountain-air: I am the sea:
Thou bringest me the breath of all thy pines
And all thy blossoms' beauty and their glee
And all the glory of fern-draped inclines
And all thy white-plumed streams:—I give to thee
My sea-song, born where the grey water shines.
Thou bringest me the breath of all thy pines
And all thy blossoms' beauty and their glee
And all the glory of fern-draped inclines
And all thy white-plumed streams:—I give to thee
My sea-song, born where the grey water shines.
42
VI.
OUR SELF-EXISTENCE
Through pain we reach a lonely region fair
With the immortal mountain-winds of God,
Whereunto winds a weird untravelled road,
Thrilled by the high song of the mountain-air.
The altar of our faithful love is there
On the sheer hill-side trackless and untrod;
By power of earnest endless passion shod
Our feet have climbed the rocks and glaciers bare.
With the immortal mountain-winds of God,
Whereunto winds a weird untravelled road,
Thrilled by the high song of the mountain-air.
The altar of our faithful love is there
On the sheer hill-side trackless and untrod;
By power of earnest endless passion shod
Our feet have climbed the rocks and glaciers bare.
And now we stand together on the height
And sweeter than the singing of the vale
Is this my harp-string that the keen airs smite,
And sweeter art thou, rose, though thou art pale
Than all the blossoms spread for love's delight
Where through green meads the dull-winged zephyrs sail.
And sweeter than the singing of the vale
Is this my harp-string that the keen airs smite,
And sweeter art thou, rose, though thou art pale
Than all the blossoms spread for love's delight
Where through green meads the dull-winged zephyrs sail.
43
VII.
“IS IT NOT WONDERFUL?”
Is it not wonderful that when we meet
The whole surrounding world-scene fades away!
We are sufficient each to each: we say,
“Now do the weary rest,—and rest is sweet.”
Thou hast the tenderness of Christlike feet
That flush with rose the worldly waters grey;
And I? God gives me manhood to convey
To thy time-frozen heart new vital heat.
The whole surrounding world-scene fades away!
We are sufficient each to each: we say,
“Now do the weary rest,—and rest is sweet.”
Thou hast the tenderness of Christlike feet
That flush with rose the worldly waters grey;
And I? God gives me manhood to convey
To thy time-frozen heart new vital heat.
So like two gods we blend our souls in one,
Lords of all seasons, kings of the wide land,
A queen and king with wedded hand in hand,—
Gazing triumphant at our long work done,
And fearless at the leagues that yet expand
Between us and the setting of the sun.
Lords of all seasons, kings of the wide land,
A queen and king with wedded hand in hand,—
Gazing triumphant at our long work done,
And fearless at the leagues that yet expand
Between us and the setting of the sun.
44
VIII.
“THOU ART SO GREAT”
Thou art so great in spirit and yet so sweet
In spirit that whoso lists to sing of thee
Must mix his song with the sweet singing sea
That surges ever adoring round thy feet,
And with the passion of the winds that beat
Upon the rocky echoing mountain-sides:
Oh, thou art not possessed like common brides
Whose hearts at love's tumultuous tides retreat!
In spirit that whoso lists to sing of thee
Must mix his song with the sweet singing sea
That surges ever adoring round thy feet,
And with the passion of the winds that beat
Upon the rocky echoing mountain-sides:
Oh, thou art not possessed like common brides
Whose hearts at love's tumultuous tides retreat!
Nay! thou art as the spirit of the storm,
Sublime yet fragrant, wonderful yet warm,
Gentle yet terrible, most sweet yet great,
Dainty and white as half unfolded flower
Yet full of fire and force and life and power,
A flame-fledged eagle, and an eagle's mate.
Sublime yet fragrant, wonderful yet warm,
Gentle yet terrible, most sweet yet great,
Dainty and white as half unfolded flower
Yet full of fire and force and life and power,
A flame-fledged eagle, and an eagle's mate.
45
IX.
THE UNION IN NATURE AND IN MUSIC
Thine own soul is of Nature's realm a part,
And so we meet within that wide domain:
Our lips touch in the ripples of the rain,
Ocean's is our own ever-beating heart.
Thou crownest me with love,—I with mine Art
Crown thee, and with the music of my strain,
And with my inmost soul's thorn-crown of pain,
And with the dreams that through my spirit dart.
And so we meet within that wide domain:
Our lips touch in the ripples of the rain,
Ocean's is our own ever-beating heart.
Thou crownest me with love,—I with mine Art
Crown thee, and with the music of my strain,
And with my inmost soul's thorn-crown of pain,
And with the dreams that through my spirit dart.
Beneath the sacred stars our spirits meet
In union wonderful and calm and sweet;
But most of all when music floods the place
With its strange amorous rapture passing fair,
I feel the touch upon me of thine hair,
And sink into thy soul's superb embrace.
In union wonderful and calm and sweet;
But most of all when music floods the place
With its strange amorous rapture passing fair,
I feel the touch upon me of thine hair,
And sink into thy soul's superb embrace.
46
X.
“RAPTURE IS HOLINESS”
Rapture
is holiness: God's lips are near,
O tender woman, when thy lips are close
And when thy sweet voice ringeth in mine ear,—
And when I touch thy bosom's soft white rose
Mine heart the eternal Mother-Spirit knows,
And when thy beauty bathes my soul in bliss
It seems to me that through my spirit goes
The thrill of God's ineffable pure kiss:
Yea, having thee most surely I have this,—
And, holding thee, the heavenly land I hold
And hear the heavenly harps and cadences
Of sweet immortal song, and joy untold
Burns through me like a fiery river deep
When in thine arms, like Love's own arms, I sleep.
47
XI.
AN ENGLISH FLOWER
An English flower thou art and English scenes
Hath given thee half thy beauty, and thy face
From the wind's mouth that o'er our mountains leans
Hath gathered half its bright and wholesome grace;
Our rose and lily in lips and cheeks I trace;
And all the splendour of untrammelled seas
Hath passed into thy spirit,—and thine embrace
Is like the English sweet-limbed June-breathed breeze
That clings around the clover-scented leas,
Copious and gracious,—and thy heart is high
And pure and wide and fearless, and thy knees
Have never bent save under God's own sky:
Nor priest can tame nor frail creed fetter thee,
For thou art daughter of the untamed sea.
48
XII.
BREEZE, MOON, AND SUN
Thou art equal with me,—lo! thou art the breeze
That passes sighing o'er the water-way,
And I am the wild song within the seas
Driving up toward thee the sonorous spray
And glimmering sheet on sheet of sea-shine grey;
Thou art the moon above the tides at night
Glittering above them with most tender ray,
And I laugh underneath thy magic light
And clothe myself with limitless loud might
Of song: thou art the sun,—my free waves follow
Thine all-alluring splendour calm and bright,
Rising and falling fast in height and hollow;
Thou art breeze, moon, and sun,—and I the sea,
Swayed by the rapture, chainless soul, of thee!
49
XIII.
ALONE
On lovers loving in the silent night
The holy spirit of spotless God descends
And with their souls magnificently blends,
Till as their lips touch lo! their souls are white,
And as their eyes meet lo! those eyes are bright
With the eternal power God's spirit sends:
Far-off from home, apart from fame or friends,
They rest in God's unutterable light.
The holy spirit of spotless God descends
And with their souls magnificently blends,
Till as their lips touch lo! their souls are white,
And as their eyes meet lo! those eyes are bright
With the eternal power God's spirit sends:
Far-off from home, apart from fame or friends,
They rest in God's unutterable light.
O love, we were unspeakably alone
With Love and God: thou wast alone with me,
And I with God who claimed us for his own,
And thou with God, and I alone with thee,—
While both were summoned to some mystic throne
By the great wind of greeting from the sea.
With Love and God: thou wast alone with me,
And I with God who claimed us for his own,
And thou with God, and I alone with thee,—
While both were summoned to some mystic throne
By the great wind of greeting from the sea.
50
XIV.
JOINED SPIRITS
No more as separate souls we move along,—
The work of blending is divinely done;
From now till setting of our earthly sun
Joined are our voices in one wedding-song.
Thou art to me my whiteness,—I thy strong
Singer through whom thy laurel-wreath is won;
By thee my robe of victory is spun,
And mine are the swift thoughts that round thee throng.
The work of blending is divinely done;
From now till setting of our earthly sun
Joined are our voices in one wedding-song.
Thou art to me my whiteness,—I thy strong
Singer through whom thy laurel-wreath is won;
By thee my robe of victory is spun,
And mine are the swift thoughts that round thee throng.
Never, though all the ages stormed foam-white
Upon our path, should they the souls divide:
Through all eternity thou art my Bride
And I thy stronghold,—thou my soft delight,—
I am thine armour and thou art my shield;
Even so we traverse the hard-foughten field.
Upon our path, should they the souls divide:
Through all eternity thou art my Bride
And I thy stronghold,—thou my soft delight,—
I am thine armour and thou art my shield;
Even so we traverse the hard-foughten field.
51
XV.
IF THOU WERT DEAD!
If thou wert dead, O love,—if thou wert dead,—
How could one summer sunset dare to gleam
Above the ripples of the rosied stream?
How could one rose blush into mocking red?
If death's wreath whitened round thy dear dark head
No leaf of bay would lure my glance again:
For thou art as the fountain of my strain,
Whence buoyant waters towards the plains are led.
How could one summer sunset dare to gleam
Above the ripples of the rosied stream?
How could one rose blush into mocking red?
If death's wreath whitened round thy dear dark head
No leaf of bay would lure my glance again:
For thou art as the fountain of my strain,
Whence buoyant waters towards the plains are led.
If thou wert gone, O love,—if thou wert gone,—
How could the thoughtless heartless sun shine on!
How could the same chant fill the sea's dull soul
And thy same crested waves without thee roll!
Would not life's last and sweetest hope have fled,
If thou wert dead,—O love, if thou wert dead!
How could the thoughtless heartless sun shine on!
How could the same chant fill the sea's dull soul
And thy same crested waves without thee roll!
Would not life's last and sweetest hope have fled,
If thou wert dead,—O love, if thou wert dead!
52
XVI.
OUR SHIELD
We give to others,—give them day by day
Of our hearts' best: we strengthen and make whole:
We soothe the sorrows of the weary soul;
We pour our spirits in eager help away.
But for the strength our stronger souls convey
To theirs, what gift is ours? what glad return
Of strength is given us when our own hearts burn,
When we lie sleepless till the morning grey?
Of our hearts' best: we strengthen and make whole:
We soothe the sorrows of the weary soul;
We pour our spirits in eager help away.
But for the strength our stronger souls convey
To theirs, what gift is ours? what glad return
Of strength is given us when our own hearts burn,
When we lie sleepless till the morning grey?
If we shield others, God behind us stands,
A strength perpetual, a surpassing power,
And guards us with invincible great hands:
He seeks us out in sorrow's loneliest hour
And gives us, for our fellows' sympathy,
The sun's kiss and the friendship of the sea.
A strength perpetual, a surpassing power,
And guards us with invincible great hands:
He seeks us out in sorrow's loneliest hour
And gives us, for our fellows' sympathy,
The sun's kiss and the friendship of the sea.
53
XVII.
THE PROMISE OF SPRING
When spring's hand wakes the meadows and the plains,
And the bright cowslips in the wet low fields
Flash through the grass their shining yellow shields,
And the gay daffodils repay the rains,
And fern-fronds cluster in the high-banked lanes,
And, trembling at the sword the sun's hand wields,
Each morn the iron-footed North Wind yields,
While inch by inch the fragrant West Wind gains:—
Then, love, we too the promise of the air
Partake: we know that for our souls as well
Breathes forth in heaven the spring-tide, and the smell
Of violets, and that one day, calm and fair
Will burst upon us God's immortal sky
Beneath whose rays no soul-flowers ever die.
54
XVIII.
THE GLORY OF SUMMER
The glory of summer with its banks of rose
And fields of blossoms, and its moonlit night
Flooded with marvellous entrancing light,
And dewy plains whereover love's foot goes,
Is as our sacred love—wherethrough there glows
Passion, divine, and limitlessly bright:
Passion which deepens as the hours take flight;
Passion which scorns the pale thought of repose.
And fields of blossoms, and its moonlit night
Flooded with marvellous entrancing light,
And dewy plains whereover love's foot goes,
Is as our sacred love—wherethrough there glows
Passion, divine, and limitlessly bright:
Passion which deepens as the hours take flight;
Passion which scorns the pale thought of repose.
In all the life of summer we are one:
One in its splendour and triumphant power;
One with its every star and leaf and flower
And moon and wave and cloudless heaven and sun;
One with it in its most luxuriant hour,
And in its sorrow,—when its life is done.
One in its splendour and triumphant power;
One with its every star and leaf and flower
And moon and wave and cloudless heaven and sun;
One with it in its most luxuriant hour,
And in its sorrow,—when its life is done.
55
XIX.
THE CALM OF AUTUMN
Then autumn comes,—and the wild woods retain,
Sighing, their golden splendour for awhile,
Maddened at heart for lack of summer's smile
And all the reckless glory of her reign.
Calm settles down o'er valley, hill, and plain,
And quiet meadow and red-leafed defile,—
And fair blue glimpses in the skies beguile,
Nor yet the first frost stiffens in the lane.
Sighing, their golden splendour for awhile,
Maddened at heart for lack of summer's smile
And all the reckless glory of her reign.
Calm settles down o'er valley, hill, and plain,
And quiet meadow and red-leafed defile,—
And fair blue glimpses in the skies beguile,
Nor yet the first frost stiffens in the lane.
The calm of autumn round our brows we bind,
Love, for a circlet: not the summer day
Brought more of peace than this sky cold and grey
And this soft-whispering faint unfiery wind,
And, in the West, the sunset's tender rose,
Wherethrough the soul of all past passion glows.
Love, for a circlet: not the summer day
Brought more of peace than this sky cold and grey
And this soft-whispering faint unfiery wind,
And, in the West, the sunset's tender rose,
Wherethrough the soul of all past passion glows.
56
XX.
THE REST OF WINTER
And then comes perfect peace: the leaves are dead
And not one trace of summer lingers now
Within the woods; yet summer round our brow
Its own eternal coronet hath shed,
And we are summer-souled, and crowned with red
Blossoms that never for the winter bow
Fear-darkened petals or subservient head,
Or even the stress of autumn mists allow.
And not one trace of summer lingers now
Within the woods; yet summer round our brow
Its own eternal coronet hath shed,
And we are summer-souled, and crowned with red
Blossoms that never for the winter bow
Fear-darkened petals or subservient head,
Or even the stress of autumn mists allow.
Spring we have had, and summer, and the gay
Death-gilded foliage of the autumn day,
And winter now with snows about us stands;
But, dying into life, we heed him not,
For in our spirits great gold June-suns hot
Exult with great exuberant deathless hands.
Death-gilded foliage of the autumn day,
And winter now with snows about us stands;
But, dying into life, we heed him not,
For in our spirits great gold June-suns hot
Exult with great exuberant deathless hands.
57
XXI.
THE SEA-SANDS' GOLD
How
can I cease to sing? thou art not soon
Exhausted, fathomed, done with—like a girl
Who claims one sonnet on a golden curl,
And that's the scope and end of passion's tune!
Thou art as endless as the endless moon
That broods above the waters as they swirl,
Not twice the same,—now white, now silver-pearl,
Now golden-red: thou art my boundless June.
Exhausted, fathomed, done with—like a girl
Who claims one sonnet on a golden curl,
And that's the scope and end of passion's tune!
Thou art as endless as the endless moon
That broods above the waters as they swirl,
Not twice the same,—now white, now silver-pearl,
Now golden-red: thou art my boundless June.
Thou art my love, my summer, my delight;
If to the end of time my spirit sang,
Yea, chanted upward to the August night,
And if round listening stars my harp-string rang,
One half of all my love would not be told,—
For it is countless as the sea-sands' gold.
If to the end of time my spirit sang,
Yea, chanted upward to the August night,
And if round listening stars my harp-string rang,
One half of all my love would not be told,—
For it is countless as the sea-sands' gold.
58
XXII.
MEASURELESS
For thou art measureless as are the seas:
Thy soul is as the solemn waters grey
When ships traverse their spaces day by day
And mark their colour deepen with the breeze.
Blue now they are, afar from rocks and trees;
So thou art boundless, and thy spirit partakes
The silent force of silent mountain-lakes,
And all the passionate unrest of these.
Thy soul is as the solemn waters grey
When ships traverse their spaces day by day
And mark their colour deepen with the breeze.
Blue now they are, afar from rocks and trees;
So thou art boundless, and thy spirit partakes
The silent force of silent mountain-lakes,
And all the passionate unrest of these.
When the storm strikes thee lo! thou art divine.
Thy waves climb upward, seeking the dark sky,
And I stoop downward, yearning to be thine,
And rustle with my soul through mountain-pine,
Or in the depth of thy blue shadows lie
Cloudlike, till all thy moans are one with mine.
Thy waves climb upward, seeking the dark sky,
And I stoop downward, yearning to be thine,
And rustle with my soul through mountain-pine,
Or in the depth of thy blue shadows lie
Cloudlike, till all thy moans are one with mine.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |