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 |  |
130
XXXVI. “HAUNTED FOR EVER”
Not once in many days,—once in a generation,
Doth beauty such as thine dawn forth upon a nation:—
As, ever, Romney's art
Struggled, in vain, to paint the beauty that he cherished
Which but for him had past from the eyes of men and perished,
So would I picture thee ere I depart.
Doth beauty such as thine dawn forth upon a nation:—
As, ever, Romney's art
Struggled, in vain, to paint the beauty that he cherished
Which but for him had past from the eyes of men and perished,
So would I picture thee ere I depart.
Yes: I was born for this. Wherever now I wander,
Whatever dreams of life or dreams of Art I ponder,
Most surely I still shall see,
Down to my day of death, and far beyond (if over
The mystic stream may pass the soul of man or lover),
Through all far future time, the eyes of thee.
Whatever dreams of life or dreams of Art I ponder,
Most surely I still shall see,
Down to my day of death, and far beyond (if over
The mystic stream may pass the soul of man or lover),
Through all far future time, the eyes of thee.
131
For this end was I born, and sense of form and metre
God gave me,—that thy laugh, than all fair music sweeter,
Might in my song abide:
For this God let us meet,—that I might ever after
Be haunted by a dream—the dream of thy soft laughter,
And by one yearning—to be at thy side.
God gave me,—that thy laugh, than all fair music sweeter,
Might in my song abide:
For this God let us meet,—that I might ever after
Be haunted by a dream—the dream of thy soft laughter,
And by one yearning—to be at thy side.
God trained my soul for this, and gave me power of singing,
That when the moment came and thy soft laugh went ringing
Down valley and sunlit dell
My ear and soul might catch the deathless music in it
And through all time be thine, to death-land from that minute,
Haunted for ever by its mystic spell.
That when the moment came and thy soft laugh went ringing
Down valley and sunlit dell
My ear and soul might catch the deathless music in it
And through all time be thine, to death-land from that minute,
Haunted for ever by its mystic spell.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |