The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| I. |
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| III. |
| IV. |
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| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. | XXIX.
“I AM NOT WORTHY”
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| XXX. |
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| VII. |
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| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
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XXIX.
“I AM NOT WORTHY”
I am not worthy of thy worship, love!—
There are within me hosts of passions yet
Whose angry serried spear-ranks must be met:
Fierce warriors whose keen swords against me move.
Oh, we have talked in many a blossomy grove
Of happiness,—but am I worthy thee?
O love, love, love of mine,—if thou couldst see
My whole grim life, wouldst thou that life approve?
There are within me hosts of passions yet
Whose angry serried spear-ranks must be met:
Fierce warriors whose keen swords against me move.
Oh, we have talked in many a blossomy grove
Of happiness,—but am I worthy thee?
O love, love, love of mine,—if thou couldst see
My whole grim life, wouldst thou that life approve?
Oh, thou art white, and thou wouldst shrink away!
The whitest thing about me is the red:
Thy wings are golden,—mine are gaunt and grey;
Sins black and endless beat about my head
With flapping plumes and urgent lips that say,
“Dark would thy soul be, had that soul not bled.”
The whitest thing about me is the red:
Thy wings are golden,—mine are gaunt and grey;
Sins black and endless beat about my head
With flapping plumes and urgent lips that say,
“Dark would thy soul be, had that soul not bled.”
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |