Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) By William Barnes |
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| XII. | SONNET XII. TO DEAD FRIENDS. |
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| XXXI. |
 | Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) |  |
87
SONNET XII. TO DEAD FRIENDS.
Departed spirits, living far away;
Oh! could ye hear my whispers where ye dwell,
Or could my prayer, like a magic spell,
Bring back your beaming forms to where I stray;
How would I meet you, when the garish day
Had left calm moonlight in the wood and dell,
And talk with you of other days, and tell
The joys and sorrows of this mortal clay.
Oh! could ye hear my whispers where ye dwell,
Or could my prayer, like a magic spell,
Bring back your beaming forms to where I stray;
How would I meet you, when the garish day
Had left calm moonlight in the wood and dell,
And talk with you of other days, and tell
The joys and sorrows of this mortal clay.
But ye are far away, no more to tread
The busy ways of men, or to be seen
In lonely path, or laughter-sounding room.
The busy ways of men, or to be seen
In lonely path, or laughter-sounding room.
A gulf between the living and the dead
Is fix'd for ever, and our Lord has been
Our resurrection only through the tomb.
Is fix'd for ever, and our Lord has been
Our resurrection only through the tomb.
| Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) | |