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. | XIX. A YEAR AGO
|
| 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 |  |
110
XIX. A YEAR AGO
A year ago to-day we met: and yet it seemeth
That in thine eyes, as then, to-day my whole soul dreameth—
And ever, evermore,
I shall dream in thine eyes, and call to mind our meeting;
Not only through the years of earth-life pale and fleeting,
But where blue heaven's waves strike a golden shore.
That in thine eyes, as then, to-day my whole soul dreameth—
And ever, evermore,
I shall dream in thine eyes, and call to mind our meeting;
Not only through the years of earth-life pale and fleeting,
But where blue heaven's waves strike a golden shore.
Thy beauty never fades: thine eyes will never darken:
Still to thy silvery laugh with my whole soul I hearken:
Yes, in a thousand years,
If I could be alive, the mere thought of our meeting
Would set my ancient heart's each giant pulse a-beating
And fill my eyes with the forgotten tears.
Still to thy silvery laugh with my whole soul I hearken:
Yes, in a thousand years,
If I could be alive, the mere thought of our meeting
Would set my ancient heart's each giant pulse a-beating
And fill my eyes with the forgotten tears.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |