The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
The Poetical Works of George Barlow | ||
97
TO WOMAN
I
Not of any wonderHigh in heaven clear,
Soaring beyond thunder,
Making for man's ear
Music that falls divinely through the azure sheer;
II
Not of any skylarkHigh in heaven I sing:
Loftier than the high lark
With my songful wing
I would travel, seeking yet a fairer thing.
98
III
Fairer thing, and sweeterThan the lark at dawn;
Tenderer, completer,—
Out of God's heart gone;
More silver-voiced than birds, swift-footed as a fawn.
IV
Glorious in the azure,White above the sea,
Man's supremest pleasure,
Grand in purity,
Woman thou art: and heaven I find, in seeking thee.
V
Marvellous thy singing;Sweet thy snow-white form
Ever to man's clinging,
Faithful through each storm,
Every surge of anguish, tender still and warm.
99
VI
Through the night of trouble,Through thy long sad past,
Thou hast sung; now double,
Sweet, thy song at last;
Sing, for thy night is over, thine enemies downcast.
VII
Bring to man the gladnessThat he fain would know;
Banish all our sadness;
Make an end of woe;
Create a perfect heaven amid thy bowers below.
VIII
Sweet, create God's heaven,Golden, glad, and clear,
In earth's valleys even;
Yea, love, even here:
Bring the divine redemption with thy presence near.
100
IX
Be to man a saviourGentle-souled and white,
Sweet in pure behaviour,
Glad in modest might;
Assert thy woman's sceptre, claim thy queenly right.
X
Be to earth a blossomSoft, divine indeed;
Take man to thy bosom,
Man, in utmost need;
Give to his endless yearning, gentle lady, heed.
XI
Build thy bower of roses,Golden, sweet, divine
On earth: where love reposes
'Neath ivy and woodbine
Build thou thy palace, made imperishably thine.
101
XII
Let thy wondrous singingSound o'er earthly seas;
Lo! thy voice is ringing
Silver in each breeze
Of summer, and amid the green thick-foliaged trees.
XIII
God in thee revealingAll his tender grace
Shines; his love is stealing,
Love, throughout thy face;
Thine hand upon earth's meadows, blossoms in each place.
XIV
Where thou art, the lilyStraightway doth appear;
Roses o'er the hilly
Rocky fields and sheer
Bloom; thou bringest eternal glory, sweetheart, here.
102
XV
All my song I render,Lady, unto thee;
Worshipping thy splendour,
All thy purity:
Listening to thy low laughter and thy magic glee.
XVI
All the bending gloryOf the golden corn,
Crests of billows hoary,
Crimson clouds at morn,—
And all earth's countless splendours, for thy sake are born.
XVII
Not, like Shelley's wonder,Singing in the sky,
Not sad thoughts from yonder
Bringest thou, sweet, nigh;
But only utter gladness laughing in thine eye.
103
XVIII
Only utter gladnessSounding in thy voice,
Now thy former sadness
Letteth thee rejoice,
Having fled back for ever, like a tempest-noise.
XIX
Bring us sweet redemption,Sweet one, in thy breast;
Virtue and exemption
From the weary quest
For what might be more fitting, what the eternal best.
XX
Thou the eternal best art,Thou the endless queen,—
Thou man's perfect rest art,
Tender, white, serene,
The sweetest of all songsters that have ever been.
104
XXI
Sweetest of all singers,Softest of all birds,
Flowers within thy fingers,
Laughter in thy words;
Lo! for thy service now his sword man's spirit girds.
XXII
Not an angel—fairer;Lovelier, thou art:
Not a skylark—rarer;
Gifted with a heart
Even more full of songs that down the deep blue dart.
XXIII
All my heart and fireUnto thee I bring;
Bless thou, love, my lyre,—
Let it nobly sing
Thee the eternal queen of every poet-king.
105
XXIV
All my yearning spirit,Love, to-night I raise;
Let my soul inherit
At the end of days
That heaven whence thou stoopest, coveting our lays.
XXV
For our lays thou lovest,Though thou art a queen,
Woman; though thou movest
Over floors serene,
Golden in skies untroubled, measureless in sheen.
XXVI
Yet our songs thou hearest,And thou dost bestow
Power; yea, love, thou carest
For thy bards below
Snatching at sacred joys they may not fully know.
106
XXVII
O thou rose eternal,Heavenly love, made fair
Not as flowers diurnal,—
Filling all the air
Of purest heaven with fragrance passing man's speech rare;
XXVIII
Take this song and bear itThrough the clouds of night;
For thy garland wear it,—
Smile with smile most bright
Upon my soul, and make it, as thy soul is, white!
1878.
The Poetical Works of George Barlow | ||