The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
67
XXXIII. THE GIFTLESS DAYS
The days whereon I bring no gifts to thee
Seem wasted days; like days wherethrough there blows
No soft wind laden with the scent of rose,
But only salt strange vapours from the sea.
All gifts I give thee are sweet gifts to me:
When I bring no gift, not mine own heart knows
The stream of strong despair that through it flows,
For it transcends all measuring potency.
Seem wasted days; like days wherethrough there blows
No soft wind laden with the scent of rose,
But only salt strange vapours from the sea.
All gifts I give thee are sweet gifts to me:
When I bring no gift, not mine own heart knows
The stream of strong despair that through it flows,
For it transcends all measuring potency.
It is my grief that I can give no more.
When God had given its crown of stars to night
And to the sea its awful robe of white
And golden raiment to the glittering shore,
What then was left? This only:—to deplore
That no new gifts could give God new delight.
When God had given its crown of stars to night
And to the sea its awful robe of white
And golden raiment to the glittering shore,
What then was left? This only:—to deplore
That no new gifts could give God new delight.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |