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 |  |
150
LI. “EVER UPON THY LIPS A GLEAM OF SADNESS LINGERS”
Ever upon thy lips a gleam of sadness lingers.—
As if the god of love when with caressing fingers
He touched thy lips and cheek
Had sad thoughts in his mind, and some of these had wandered
To thee,—and thou hadst since, upon the sad thoughts pondered
And ceased sweet dreams to seek.
As if the god of love when with caressing fingers
He touched thy lips and cheek
Had sad thoughts in his mind, and some of these had wandered
To thee,—and thou hadst since, upon the sad thoughts pondered
And ceased sweet dreams to seek.
More beautiful thou art for this one touch of sadness.
Not all God's blossoms speak of infinite heaven-gladness:
Not all the rivers dream
Of joy. The blue waves sing, and laughter rings above them:
Yet though we smile as well, and in our souls' depths love them,
Far-off faint foam-crests gleam.
Not all God's blossoms speak of infinite heaven-gladness:
Not all the rivers dream
Of joy. The blue waves sing, and laughter rings above them:
Yet though we smile as well, and in our souls' depths love them,
Far-off faint foam-crests gleam.
151
Not all the woods are bright. Deep forest-arches darken.
Not to the songs of birds do all the dense leaves hearken:
Nay, some are sombre green.
Sweeter they are for this.—With tenderer fascination
The forest-vistas lure our love and admiration
For shadows through them seen.
Not to the songs of birds do all the dense leaves hearken:
Nay, some are sombre green.
Sweeter they are for this.—With tenderer fascination
The forest-vistas lure our love and admiration
For shadows through them seen.
So thou art sweeter far for this strange touch of sadness
Upon thy lips and cheek.—It is as if when gladness
Flushed all the rose's bloom
One petal still was left devoid of scent and colour,
In that behind sweet thought lurks ever the cold duller
Dark sad thought of the tomb.
Upon thy lips and cheek.—It is as if when gladness
Flushed all the rose's bloom
One petal still was left devoid of scent and colour,
In that behind sweet thought lurks ever the cold duller
Dark sad thought of the tomb.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |