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. |
| 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. | LX. GIFTS
|
| 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 |  |
160
LX. GIFTS
And still I may bring gifts?—As, on a sudden waking,
God hears the same soft waves upon the same shores breaking
And knows that he may bring
Gifts to the waves, and laughs for very joy and pleasure,
I laugh for very joy in my small mortal measure,
Glad that my heart may still bring gifts, and sing.
God hears the same soft waves upon the same shores breaking
And knows that he may bring
Gifts to the waves, and laughs for very joy and pleasure,
I laugh for very joy in my small mortal measure,
Glad that my heart may still bring gifts, and sing.
The whole expanse of sea needs sea-birds, and the ocean
Of blue tumultuous air in wild incessant motion
Needs radiant plumes of stars:
The fiery vast superb broad-meadowed sunset-region
Needs flowers of crimson clouds and many a vaporous legion
And fleecy coronets and golden bars.
Of blue tumultuous air in wild incessant motion
Needs radiant plumes of stars:
The fiery vast superb broad-meadowed sunset-region
Needs flowers of crimson clouds and many a vaporous legion
And fleecy coronets and golden bars.
161
And ever God exults that day by day new-waking
The right to pour out stars and flowers with hand unshaking
Is his,—the right supreme.
The power and right to deck the world his love eternal
With infinite blue sky sun-lighted and diurnal
And stars her hand caresses in a dream.
The right to pour out stars and flowers with hand unshaking
Is his,—the right supreme.
The power and right to deck the world his love eternal
With infinite blue sky sun-lighted and diurnal
And stars her hand caresses in a dream.
The world is God's own love. He hastens to adorn her:
Her robe is bright with stars; it gleams at every corner;
And sunshine fires by day
The splendour of the world's illimitable raiment:—
God takes his own delight for amplest sweetest payment
When laughter flashes from her eyes of grey.
Her robe is bright with stars; it gleams at every corner;
And sunshine fires by day
The splendour of the world's illimitable raiment:—
God takes his own delight for amplest sweetest payment
When laughter flashes from her eyes of grey.
And, when thine eyes of brown flash tenderer sweeter pleasure,
I am repaid, O love, in measureless sweet measure
For any gifts I bring.—
God gives the world each day gifts sacred and eternal:
The glory of its noon; its moonlit peace nocturnal;
Its jewelled flash of many a sea-bird's wing.
I am repaid, O love, in measureless sweet measure
For any gifts I bring.—
God gives the world each day gifts sacred and eternal:
The glory of its noon; its moonlit peace nocturnal;
Its jewelled flash of many a sea-bird's wing.
162
And I,—I do rejoice to know that I may bring thee
Just one small gift or two; that, living, I may sing thee
With love's own tuneful breath:
That, living, I may love,—and if I die to-morrow
May love thee in the world that knows not change or sorrow
With love that bridges the abysm of death.
Just one small gift or two; that, living, I may sing thee
With love's own tuneful breath:
That, living, I may love,—and if I die to-morrow
May love thee in the world that knows not change or sorrow
With love that bridges the abysm of death.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |