The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | X. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
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| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
139
XLIII. OLD DREAMS
Old dreams of fairy-land, pure boyish dreams delightful,
Returned along with thee. My soul once more with rightful
Strong energy took flame.
Old dancing glancing thoughts the long sad years had hidden
Sprang forth to life renewed, at thy sweet mandate bidden:
Along thy path the dead romances came.
Returned along with thee. My soul once more with rightful
Strong energy took flame.
Old dancing glancing thoughts the long sad years had hidden
Sprang forth to life renewed, at thy sweet mandate bidden:
Along thy path the dead romances came.
These all leapt up alive, and sang in chorus round thee.
The boyish woods took leaf, and bloom of old flowers found thee
And pure old dreams once more
Filled all my heart. Again I longed with knightly daring
To carry thee away, through some green forest faring,
Captive and hostage of some border war.
The boyish woods took leaf, and bloom of old flowers found thee
And pure old dreams once more
Filled all my heart. Again I longed with knightly daring
To carry thee away, through some green forest faring,
Captive and hostage of some border war.
140
Ah! those old days are dead. We cannot reillume them,
Nor wake their worn-out hearts; we cannot disentomb them;
We cannot bring them back,
Nor mark once more, divine, and bright with laughter airy,
Titania, loveliest queen and most delicious fairy,
Weaving red heather-bloom beside the track.
Nor wake their worn-out hearts; we cannot disentomb them;
We cannot bring them back,
Nor mark once more, divine, and bright with laughter airy,
Titania, loveliest queen and most delicious fairy,
Weaving red heather-bloom beside the track.
But thou hast brought them back. Thou in triumphant measure
Hast quite renewed for me the lost days' boyish pleasure
And given me heart to hear
Slow, sweet, throughout the woods the fairy voices calling,
And thine own laugh is like Titania's laughter, falling
With lovelier cadence on my ravished ear.
Hast quite renewed for me the lost days' boyish pleasure
And given me heart to hear
Slow, sweet, throughout the woods the fairy voices calling,
And thine own laugh is like Titania's laughter, falling
With lovelier cadence on my ravished ear.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |