The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
 | XI. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
6
I. THE RAPTURE OF LOVE
This is the rapture of love:—To plunge one's soul in honey,—
Yet not one drop to spill:
To pass from night to dawn,—from darkness to the sunny
Broad belt of light that circles gleaming mount and hill.
Yet not one drop to spill:
To pass from night to dawn,—from darkness to the sunny
Broad belt of light that circles gleaming mount and hill.
This is the glory of love: this is the true possession;
When the clear soul-eyes meet.
When the strong soul leaps forth, at last from Time's oppression
Freed,—and first tastes its triumph large and full and sweet.
When the clear soul-eyes meet.
When the strong soul leaps forth, at last from Time's oppression
Freed,—and first tastes its triumph large and full and sweet.
For in the end the Soul is victor, and that only:
Though day press hard on day;
Though the long path be thick with thorns, and black, and lonely,
And all the stars' gold glances turned, for years, away.
Though day press hard on day;
Though the long path be thick with thorns, and black, and lonely,
And all the stars' gold glances turned, for years, away.
7
Yet there shall come a night when armies beyond counting
Of stars shall fill the deep
Of heaven, the far blue heights surpassing and surmounting
And all the dark fields where the soft dream-maidens sleep.
Of stars shall fill the deep
Of heaven, the far blue heights surpassing and surmounting
And all the dark fields where the soft dream-maidens sleep.
And we shall know that souls beyond our mortal scanning
Are marshalled on our side:
That measureless stout hosts the stars' bright yards are manning:
That all the heavens are watching, eager and swift-eyed.
Are marshalled on our side:
That measureless stout hosts the stars' bright yards are manning:
That all the heavens are watching, eager and swift-eyed.
Ah! we are not alone. The countless dead are near us:
Their warm strong hands we feel.
For fifty living souls, ten thousand dead souls hear us
And answer with their love our passionate appeal!
Their warm strong hands we feel.
For fifty living souls, ten thousand dead souls hear us
And answer with their love our passionate appeal!
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |