The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
28
IX. OTHER LOVES
Yes, there are other loves.—This world is full of flowers.
Because to-night is fair, are there no moonlit hours
In front? Because to-night
Gives thee thy love, are there no loves in other cities?
If thou hast sung, is thine the last of all love-ditties?
Not woman,—rather womanhood,—is white.
Because to-night is fair, are there no moonlit hours
In front? Because to-night
Gives thee thy love, are there no loves in other cities?
If thou hast sung, is thine the last of all love-ditties?
Not woman,—rather womanhood,—is white.
Ah! so a man might plead. And yet how hollow a fashion
Of thought and word it seems, when once real deep live passion
Has risen and set its seal
Upon the spirit!—How little I care for next year's roses
If my flower-dream of this sweet year in darkness closes
And passes far beyond song's wild appeal!
Of thought and word it seems, when once real deep live passion
Has risen and set its seal
Upon the spirit!—How little I care for next year's roses
If my flower-dream of this sweet year in darkness closes
And passes far beyond song's wild appeal!
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Yes, there are other loves. I have no heart to take them.—
Yes, there are other flowers. I have no heart to break them
From their soft supple stems.—
Yes, there are other stars,—and golden moonlight quivers
To-night upon green waves of white-bridged Southern rivers;
But all my moonlight falls across the Thames.
Yes, there are other flowers. I have no heart to break them
From their soft supple stems.—
Yes, there are other stars,—and golden moonlight quivers
To-night upon green waves of white-bridged Southern rivers;
But all my moonlight falls across the Thames.
Pass on, ye lovers all. Choose ye your glad hereafter.
I follow along the track my dead dream's ghostlike laughter.
Pass on, ye suns and stars.—
I only know that just one hour sweet Freedom gave me
Her light of eyes, and light of soul and heart, to save me;
But now I see all light through prison-bars.
I follow along the track my dead dream's ghostlike laughter.
Pass on, ye suns and stars.—
I only know that just one hour sweet Freedom gave me
Her light of eyes, and light of soul and heart, to save me;
But now I see all light through prison-bars.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |