The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | VI. “WHAT CAN I DO FOR THEE?”
|
| 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 |  |
92
VI. “WHAT CAN I DO FOR THEE?”
This much at least, O love, for thee I do.—
I give thee songlight round about thine head:
Song's starlight and song's moonlight round thy bed
And song's strong sunlight when the skies are blue.
I hold thy beauty up to the world's view:—
Death thou hast feared: I give thee life instead;
Yea, life that shall not pause though we be dead
And o'er our graves falls the soft tearless dew.
I give thee songlight round about thine head:
Song's starlight and song's moonlight round thy bed
And song's strong sunlight when the skies are blue.
I hold thy beauty up to the world's view:—
Death thou hast feared: I give thee life instead;
Yea, life that shall not pause though we be dead
And o'er our graves falls the soft tearless dew.
Beautiful eyes and blue-black lovely hair!
Sweet is it just to think that but for me
Few might have known how passing sweet ye were.
Even as no eyes might deem, far out at sea,
The white sea-bird so nobly fair a thing
Save for yon cloud that outlines breast and wing.
Sweet is it just to think that but for me
Few might have known how passing sweet ye were.
Even as no eyes might deem, far out at sea,
The white sea-bird so nobly fair a thing
Save for yon cloud that outlines breast and wing.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |