The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXXIV. |
| III. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
230
SONNET XVIII
“IF I DIE FIRST”
If I die first, I would unbar the tomb
And fill its gateways full of flowers for thee
If such a gift in mortal love might be:
I'd make for thee the iron meadows bloom
And scatter with my wingéd songs the gloom
That now pervades and chills eternity.
I'd touch to blue the sable-crested sea
Whose waves through night's dark arches peer and loom.
And fill its gateways full of flowers for thee
If such a gift in mortal love might be:
I'd make for thee the iron meadows bloom
And scatter with my wingéd songs the gloom
That now pervades and chills eternity.
I'd touch to blue the sable-crested sea
Whose waves through night's dark arches peer and loom.
But if no longing may give love the power
To ope death's gateways for another soul
I would leave with thee these few songs in flower
That, when my feet have passed the songless goal,
Death who would rush with harsh tread through thy bower
Destroying part, may not destroy the whole.
To ope death's gateways for another soul
I would leave with thee these few songs in flower
That, when my feet have passed the songless goal,
Death who would rush with harsh tread through thy bower
Destroying part, may not destroy the whole.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |