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. |
| LXI. | LXI. STARS, AND STARS
|
| 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 |  |
163
LXI. STARS, AND STARS
I kept account of all the times we met,
Just as a prisoner watching through his bars
Might keep account of the few friendly stars
On which each night his longing eyes were set.
And each star-meeting was an endless debt
To God and Fate for infinite delight:—
Those sweet star-meetings! few and soft and bright
Upon life's background carved in starless jet.
Just as a prisoner watching through his bars
Might keep account of the few friendly stars
On which each night his longing eyes were set.
And each star-meeting was an endless debt
To God and Fate for infinite delight:—
Those sweet star-meetings! few and soft and bright
Upon life's background carved in starless jet.
But now it may be we may oftener meet.—
The thought thrills through me just as if there went
Along the prisoner's soul a large content
And sudden sense of something strangely sweet
When, free at last, outside his prison-door
He saw his five stars lost in millions more.
The thought thrills through me just as if there went
Along the prisoner's soul a large content
And sudden sense of something strangely sweet
When, free at last, outside his prison-door
He saw his five stars lost in millions more.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |