Poems Real and Ideal By George Barlow |
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| XIV. |
| XVII. |
| XIX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XLIV, XLV, XLVI. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| XLVII. |
| LI. |
| LIV. |
| LVII. |
| LIX. |
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| IV. |
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| II. |
| IV. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| IX. |
| XII. |
| XXII. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. | III.
“BEYOND.” |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | Poems Real and Ideal |  |
382
III. “BEYOND.”
I am so old.—But thou hast stolen from Spring the power
Whereby he clothes in robes of leaf and bud and flower
Each new year without fail.
Not even Death, I think, could meet thee and not tremble:
Yea, surely he would turn, and sorrow and dissemble:
At sight of thy flushed cheek his hand would quail.
Whereby he clothes in robes of leaf and bud and flower
Each new year without fail.
Not even Death, I think, could meet thee and not tremble:
Yea, surely he would turn, and sorrow and dissemble:
At sight of thy flushed cheek his hand would quail.
It seems to me that thou hast endless life within thee;
That never heart of man, nor poet's heart, must win thee,
But souls of flowers and seas:
The living voice of Spring within the woods and mountains:
The laughter of the morn in rivers and in fountains:
The deathless love-song of the thornless breeze:
That never heart of man, nor poet's heart, must win thee,
But souls of flowers and seas:
383
The laughter of the morn in rivers and in fountains:
The deathless love-song of the thornless breeze:
These are thine own.—But I,—what can I bring but sadness?
Thou gazest at the plain with young heart full of gladness,
The plain so bright with flowers:
I see beyond the plain the solemn mountains rising
Height beyond awful height, with tiers and shelfs surprising
And snow-capped vast indomitable towers.
Thou gazest at the plain with young heart full of gladness,
The plain so bright with flowers:
I see beyond the plain the solemn mountains rising
Height beyond awful height, with tiers and shelfs surprising
And snow-capped vast indomitable towers.
Life's joys are all thine own.—Thou gazest at the sunlight:
And I with only love for sunshine and for one light
Gaze at thee, rapt and fond.
Yet ever is it true that thou art gazing only
At the broad flowerful plain,—while I with vision lonely
(So lonely!) mark the unscaled rocks beyond.
And I with only love for sunshine and for one light
Gaze at thee, rapt and fond.
Yet ever is it true that thou art gazing only
At the broad flowerful plain,—while I with vision lonely
(So lonely!) mark the unscaled rocks beyond.
| Poems Real and Ideal | |