The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| VII. |
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| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. | XX.
THE REST OF WINTER
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| XXII. |
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
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.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |