The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
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| I. |
| II. | II.
MY SWORD
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| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
198
II.
MY SWORD
God says that I may send thee, sweet, my sword.—
Its use is nearly over,—let the hilt
Be held once in thy white hand if thou wilt;—
That touch will be its owner's high reward.
Black-stained it is with blood of foemen spilt,
Dinted and jagged, and snapped anigh the point,
And all the tassel is of rusted gilt;
The scabbard gapes with wear at every joint.
Its use is nearly over,—let the hilt
Be held once in thy white hand if thou wilt;—
That touch will be its owner's high reward.
Black-stained it is with blood of foemen spilt,
Dinted and jagged, and snapped anigh the point,
And all the tassel is of rusted gilt;
The scabbard gapes with wear at every joint.
I shall not need it more. The highest gift
That I can give, it is; the tenderest too.
No more in battle shall it glitter swift,
And, after, streak its sheath with crimson dew.
The sword is dead and victor,—as am I:
Take thou the weary steel, and put it by.
That I can give, it is; the tenderest too.
No more in battle shall it glitter swift,
And, after, streak its sheath with crimson dew.
The sword is dead and victor,—as am I:
Take thou the weary steel, and put it by.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |