The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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THE MYSTERY
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
55
THE MYSTERY
The mystery is half the beauty, sweet.
Thou art no mortal woman, and I know
Only thy spirit-touch, and wonder so
What fashion of sweet face I have to meet
One day, what bosom whiter than white snow!
Softer thou art, I doubt not, than the loves
Of earth, though these be tender-wingéd doves;
More exquisite thy touch in passionate glow.
Thou art no mortal woman, and I know
Only thy spirit-touch, and wonder so
What fashion of sweet face I have to meet
One day, what bosom whiter than white snow!
Softer thou art, I doubt not, than the loves
Of earth, though these be tender-wingéd doves;
More exquisite thy touch in passionate glow.
Art thou a rose of women or a lily?
And is thy voice more tuneful than a lute?
Art thou as white flowers that in earth's wild hilly
Regions towards mountain airs their tendrils shoot?
I care not what thou art: I feel thy touch
Upon me, raising high, bestowing much.
And is thy voice more tuneful than a lute?
Art thou as white flowers that in earth's wild hilly
Regions towards mountain airs their tendrils shoot?
I care not what thou art: I feel thy touch
Upon me, raising high, bestowing much.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |