The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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THOU ART THE SUMMER
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
63
THOU ART THE SUMMER
O love, thou art the summer; thy sweet breast
Is summer in its softest tenderest glow:—
Oh, what are lilies to thy neck of snow?
The bosom wherein all my pain I rest,
Soothed past all speaking, infinitely blest!
Delivered now from every dart of woe
And tribulation:—yea, sweet, kiss me so—
Now blush again, shaming the blushing west!
Is summer in its softest tenderest glow:—
Oh, what are lilies to thy neck of snow?
The bosom wherein all my pain I rest,
Soothed past all speaking, infinitely blest!
Delivered now from every dart of woe
And tribulation:—yea, sweet, kiss me so—
Now blush again, shaming the blushing west!
Thou art the summer; mine eternal rose
Thou art of heavenly summers yet unseen.
Bear thou thy love-soft sceptre, O my queen!
Thy more than regal beauty now disclose;
Sway all my pulses with imperial sway,
A white moon moving my heart's tidal way.
Thou art of heavenly summers yet unseen.
Bear thou thy love-soft sceptre, O my queen!
Thy more than regal beauty now disclose;
Sway all my pulses with imperial sway,
A white moon moving my heart's tidal way.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |