The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| A POET'S GETHSEMANE |
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| II. |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
71
A POET'S GETHSEMANE
73
Part I. THE AGONY OF YOUTH
I. IN LONDON.
“I love you not,” her letter says:
“You even insult me by the thought.”
Insult her!...I who had given my days,
My heart, my life, to please in aught
The woman who now writes to me
With a girl's perfect cruelty.
“You even insult me by the thought.”
Insult her!...I who had given my days,
My heart, my life, to please in aught
The woman who now writes to me
With a girl's perfect cruelty.
“My love is given to him whose wife
In some short weeks I am to be.”
Then why, in God's name, did she strive
To win my pure first love from me?
She found, no doubt, a light fierce joy,
Experimenting on a boy.
In some short weeks I am to be.”
Then why, in God's name, did she strive
To win my pure first love from me?
She found, no doubt, a light fierce joy,
Experimenting on a boy.
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A boy's heart! Yes, she thought, no doubt,
That I could take the thing in jest:
Could serve her, follow her about,
And give some love,—yet not my best.
My love was sweet in summer-time.
It lasts till winter—that's a crime!
That I could take the thing in jest:
Could serve her, follow her about,
And give some love,—yet not my best.
My love was sweet in summer-time.
It lasts till winter—that's a crime!
It pleased her in those summer hours:
The passionate worship that I brought
Was new to her.—We gathered flowers;
Her swift eyes searched for mine, unsought.
Her hand pressed mine. Its velvet touch
Thrilled through my palm,—and that was much.
The passionate worship that I brought
Was new to her.—We gathered flowers;
Her swift eyes searched for mine, unsought.
Her hand pressed mine. Its velvet touch
Thrilled through my palm,—and that was much.
It seems half lovely, as I look
With burning wild gaze back to-day
—The meadow-sweet beside the brook;
The broad sea-spaces, silver-grey;
The walks beneath the moon at night;
The boats' sails, brown or snowy white;
With burning wild gaze back to-day
—The meadow-sweet beside the brook;
The broad sea-spaces, silver-grey;
The walks beneath the moon at night;
The boats' sails, brown or snowy white;
The stream that gurgled past the mill;
The arbour at the garden's end;
Our quarrel on the corn-clad hill:
Her laughing anger with her friend;
Her knife—with which (with skill sublime!)
I carved our names, to mock at time;
The arbour at the garden's end;
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Her laughing anger with her friend;
Her knife—with which (with skill sublime!)
I carved our names, to mock at time;
The very robin, perching near
In the wide low-branched apple tree
And craving largess without fear
Of bread-crumbs as we sat at tea
Within the bower beside the stream;
These things flash on me as I dream!
In the wide low-branched apple tree
And craving largess without fear
Of bread-crumbs as we sat at tea
Within the bower beside the stream;
These things flash on me as I dream!
And yet I hold her letter—Yes,
It proves the former things were lies;
Her soft hand's touch,—like a caress!
Her glance,—like God's glance from the skies!
My castle of bright dreams must fall:
She never cared for me at all.
It proves the former things were lies;
Her soft hand's touch,—like a caress!
Her glance,—like God's glance from the skies!
My castle of bright dreams must fall:
She never cared for me at all.
And yet she did care—there's the pang,
The viewless horror. That's the spear
That rends my heart with iron fang,—
The crowning shattering maddening fear
That, after all, the woman's heart
Is, always, of my own a part.
The viewless horror. That's the spear
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The crowning shattering maddening fear
That, after all, the woman's heart
Is, always, of my own a part.
That is the terror. When a girl
So leads a youth's wild heart astray
God does not let her lightly curl
Herself to sleep for many a day
Within the bosom, or the bed,
Of him she now has chosen to wed.
So leads a youth's wild heart astray
God does not let her lightly curl
Herself to sleep for many a day
Within the bosom, or the bed,
Of him she now has chosen to wed.
No, God sends anguish. There's the fear:
She yet may rise and come to me;
Fierce passion yet may win her ear
And, murmuring therein constantly,
May make her hate the man for whom
She now consigns love to its tomb.
She yet may rise and come to me;
Fierce passion yet may win her ear
And, murmuring therein constantly,
May make her hate the man for whom
She now consigns love to its tomb.
For, when her eyes met mine, I know
There was a something in their gaze
Which, though long years may come and go
And many an autumn strew the ways
With wild leaves shivering at the rain,
Will never flash through them again.
There was a something in their gaze
Which, though long years may come and go
And many an autumn strew the ways
With wild leaves shivering at the rain,
Will never flash through them again.
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Never. He cannot draw her eyes
To his, as yesterday I drew
Their glance, and saw the tear-drops rise,
And laughed as through my soul I knew
That she who once those far shores trod
With me was given to me by God.
To his, as yesterday I drew
Their glance, and saw the tear-drops rise,
And laughed as through my soul I knew
That she who once those far shores trod
With me was given to me by God.
When once the soul has seen the soul,
The man and woman cannot part:
Another lover may control
The woman's body,—not her heart.
Of all things sad, I think that this
Sad thing by far the saddest is.
The man and woman cannot part:
Another lover may control
The woman's body,—not her heart.
Of all things sad, I think that this
Sad thing by far the saddest is.
And this is ever a poet's fate!
To know the woman his indeed,
And then to know she knows too late:
To know that God's will has decreed
That she shall learn what love implies
By murdering love before his eyes.
To know the woman his indeed,
And then to know she knows too late:
To know that God's will has decreed
That she shall learn what love implies
By murdering love before his eyes.
A poet by his subtle force
Of soul and being can discern
The woman's nature still in course
Of being created; he can burn
With passion for the soul half born—
The soul her “husband's” soul will scorn.
Of soul and being can discern
The woman's nature still in course
Of being created; he can burn
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The soul her “husband's” soul will scorn.
The poet sees what she can see
Hardly at all—her nature true:
He feels this linked eternally
In sweet communion ever-new
To his true nature; feels her wife;
Rooted in him: his breath; his life.
Hardly at all—her nature true:
He feels this linked eternally
In sweet communion ever-new
To his true nature; feels her wife;
Rooted in him: his breath; his life.
And then he sees the woman swerve
And, knowing not her counterpart,
Give touch of body, shock of nerve
(Never the shock of heart and heart!)
To some man who can only see
What's evident externally.
And, knowing not her counterpart,
Give touch of body, shock of nerve
(Never the shock of heart and heart!)
To some man who can only see
What's evident externally.
This man becomes her “husband”: though
The poet feels with sweet divine
Strange agony, “Though this be so,
In God's sight still the woman's mine.
Aye, though he hold her, hold her fast,
Her soul will fly to mine at last.”
The poet feels with sweet divine
Strange agony, “Though this be so,
In God's sight still the woman's mine.
Aye, though he hold her, hold her fast,
Her soul will fly to mine at last.”
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And then the Vision! Who sent that?
Was that some lying spirit's design?
—As in my lonely room I sat
(Her hand that day had thrilled through mine)
There came, one night, a sudden sense
Superb, engrossing, clear, intense,
Was that some lying spirit's design?
—As in my lonely room I sat
(Her hand that day had thrilled through mine)
There came, one night, a sudden sense
Superb, engrossing, clear, intense,
A sudden sense that she was there,
Close by me in that very room;
Herself, proud, queenly. While the air
Grew fragrant as with summer's bloom,
Through this sweet air the woman came
And touched my lips with lips of flame.
Close by me in that very room;
Herself, proud, queenly. While the air
Grew fragrant as with summer's bloom,
Through this sweet air the woman came
And touched my lips with lips of flame.
Then, through the long miraculous night
I lay awake, yet slept it seemed
A slumber broken by delight,
And through my soul her strange eyes gleamed.
I clasped her in our marriage-bed:
“How beautiful you are!” I said.
I lay awake, yet slept it seemed
A slumber broken by delight,
And through my soul her strange eyes gleamed.
I clasped her in our marriage-bed:
“How beautiful you are!” I said.
And then her body, wondrous, white,
Pure, full of maiden strength and calm,
Seemed to transfuse me with its light:
Glad mouth to mouth, warm palm to palm,
Quite till the crimson dawn of day
Wrapt in our marriage-bliss we lay.
Pure, full of maiden strength and calm,
Seemed to transfuse me with its light:
Glad mouth to mouth, warm palm to palm,
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Wrapt in our marriage-bliss we lay.
And night by night the woman came:
For some six nights the glory gleamed:
For some six nights all heaven aflame,
All earth aflower and fervent seemed.
Aye, night by night I seemed to rest
Triumphant on her very breast.
For some six nights the glory gleamed:
For some six nights all heaven aflame,
All earth aflower and fervent seemed.
Aye, night by night I seemed to rest
Triumphant on her very breast.
I closed my eyes each night,—and then
Unclosed my eyes, and she was there;
Ever the same: each night again
She seemed to watch me, noble, fair
Pure-wifely; and she laid her head
Beside mine in my lonely bed.
Unclosed my eyes, and she was there;
Ever the same: each night again
She seemed to watch me, noble, fair
Pure-wifely; and she laid her head
Beside mine in my lonely bed.
That was the Vision.—I believed
The living God had sent it me:
With joyous full heart I received
Its message of great ecstasy.
She was my wife. So God had said,
Who sent her angel to my bed.
The living God had sent it me:
With joyous full heart I received
Its message of great ecstasy.
She was my wife. So God had said,
Who sent her angel to my bed.
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And, now that God had done this thing,
Could any hold that God would lie?
That he would steal my wife, and fling
Deep into hell irrevocably
The soul who had believed his word?
Could God deny himself? Absurd!
Could any hold that God would lie?
That he would steal my wife, and fling
Deep into hell irrevocably
The soul who had believed his word?
Could God deny himself? Absurd!
Could God now prostitute my bride
By placing in another's bed,
Warm from the pressure of my side,
The form to mine but lately wed?
Could God thus rend her limb from limb?
Give soul to me—body to him?
By placing in another's bed,
Warm from the pressure of my side,
The form to mine but lately wed?
Could God thus rend her limb from limb?
Give soul to me—body to him?
Nay, never! For my Vision stood
Superb and strong, emphatic, clear.
If any dream of old held good,
If God once spake in Abraham's ear,
If he with Moses held discourse,
He had spoken to me with no less force.
Superb and strong, emphatic, clear.
If any dream of old held good,
If God once spake in Abraham's ear,
If he with Moses held discourse,
He had spoken to me with no less force.
In modern London just as clear
The Lord had spoken out to me
As where the heights of Sinai sheer
Rose in their grim austerity.
To me the Lord had spoken who spake
To fishers on the Eastern lake.
The Lord had spoken out to me
As where the heights of Sinai sheer
Rose in their grim austerity.
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To fishers on the Eastern lake.
There were not visions two or three,
Gods two or three, but only one.
God spake to Christ: God spake to me:
And what he promised would be done.
God lied to me? He lied to all.
By this his truth must stand or fall.
Gods two or three, but only one.
God spake to Christ: God spake to me:
And what he promised would be done.
God lied to me? He lied to all.
By this his truth must stand or fall.
So, full of faith, I went to her,
Believing that the Lord who sent
The sacred Vision could not err
And that his sovereign justice meant
That she should mar her mother's scheme
And bring fulfilment to my dream.
Believing that the Lord who sent
The sacred Vision could not err
And that his sovereign justice meant
That she should mar her mother's scheme
And bring fulfilment to my dream.
For, “surely now I see,” I said,
“She does not love him. She is mine.
Her white ghost slept within my bed:
Her ghost-arms round my neck did twine:
The woman's self must now fulfil
The high God's undisputed will.”
“She does not love him. She is mine.
Her white ghost slept within my bed:
Her ghost-arms round my neck did twine:
The woman's self must now fulfil
The high God's undisputed will.”
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She would not see me. But instead
She wrote the pencil scrap I hold.
I read it,—and my heart fell dead:
I, who had been so strong and bold,
So full of faith—that this should be
The end of all God's pageantry!
She wrote the pencil scrap I hold.
I read it,—and my heart fell dead:
I, who had been so strong and bold,
So full of faith—that this should be
The end of all God's pageantry!
“Leave me,” she said, “and be a man:
Yes, leave me and all thought of me.
I do not change: I never can.
To him whose wife I am to be
My love is given,—aye, all my heart.
For ever you and I must part.”
Yes, leave me and all thought of me.
I do not change: I never can.
To him whose wife I am to be
My love is given,—aye, all my heart.
For ever you and I must part.”
This on the Vision's very top!
This flung in God's face as reply!
My heart came to a sudden stop:
I did not reason, or ask why
So strange, so mad, an answer came,
Befouling her and God with shame.
This flung in God's face as reply!
My heart came to a sudden stop:
I did not reason, or ask why
So strange, so mad, an answer came,
Befouling her and God with shame.
I simply seemed turned quite to stone.
I left the house—I know not how—
Without a sigh, without a groan:
(I wonder at my calmness now)—
Crushed utterly; completely slain;
Too throughly stricken almost for pain.
I left the house—I know not how—
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(I wonder at my calmness now)—
Crushed utterly; completely slain;
Too throughly stricken almost for pain.
II. AT OXFORD. SIX WEEKS LATER.
Six weeks ago! How long it seems
Since through the quiet London square
I walked, bereft of hopes and dreams,
And felt my whole life leafless, bare,
Barren for ever. Now to-day
The earth is gladdened. It is May.
Since through the quiet London square
I walked, bereft of hopes and dreams,
And felt my whole life leafless, bare,
Barren for ever. Now to-day
The earth is gladdened. It is May.
I walk beside the river's marge;
I see the grey old Oxford towers;
Watch flashing skiff, and glittering barge,
And, on the banks, the same old flowers.
Town, river, fields—all are the same:
My only sameness is my name.
I see the grey old Oxford towers;
Watch flashing skiff, and glittering barge,
And, on the banks, the same old flowers.
Town, river, fields—all are the same:
My only sameness is my name.
I feel as if I bore within
My frame a corpse. With living eyes
I see the quick foam-bubbles spin
Adown the weir; I see the skies;
I see the flowers; I see the oars
Sweep by the old thyme-scented shores.
My frame a corpse. With living eyes
I see the quick foam-bubbles spin
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I see the flowers; I see the oars
Sweep by the old thyme-scented shores.
And yet I know that I am dead
And that the horror of despair
Grips all my heart...They must be wed
By now—and does he find her fair?
And does he twine with tender hands
The sweet long loosened brown hair-bands?
And that the horror of despair
Grips all my heart...They must be wed
By now—and does he find her fair?
And does he twine with tender hands
The sweet long loosened brown hair-bands?
Was last night—yes?—their wedding night,
Or will it be to-night? Will he
Win from her lips unknown delight
And find her sweet exceedingly?
So soft to touch? so good to kiss?
And was my darling born for this?
Or will it be to-night? Will he
Win from her lips unknown delight
And find her sweet exceedingly?
So soft to touch? so good to kiss?
And was my darling born for this?
And was I born to watch the oars
Flash by the thyme-sweet Isis' banks,
To pace these green sun-lighted shores,
To watch the tall reeds' dark-green ranks,
While, underneath the May-stars bright,
Such horror may take place to-night?
Flash by the thyme-sweet Isis' banks,
To pace these green sun-lighted shores,
To watch the tall reeds' dark-green ranks,
While, underneath the May-stars bright,
Such horror may take place to-night?
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The days pass on. I hate this place.
I hate the country green and fair;
I hate the bright swift boats that race;
I hate the pure sweet-smelling air;
I hate the river broad and blue;
I hate these trees the sun gleams through.
I hate the country green and fair;
I hate the bright swift boats that race;
I hate the pure sweet-smelling air;
I hate the river broad and blue;
I hate these trees the sun gleams through.
I'll back to London! There, at least
I shall feel nearer to the past:
The distance will have then decreased
Between me and where I saw her last.
I shall be happier near the spot
Where she so loved, yet loved me not.
I shall feel nearer to the past:
The distance will have then decreased
Between me and where I saw her last.
I shall be happier near the spot
Where she so loved, yet loved me not.
London! I died in town in March,
And I'll revisit town in May.
The flower-beds near the Marble Arch,
With hyacinths or tulips gay,
Are fairer than these country meads
Wherethrough the blue old Isis speeds.
And I'll revisit town in May.
The flower-beds near the Marble Arch,
With hyacinths or tulips gay,
Are fairer than these country meads
Wherethrough the blue old Isis speeds.
I shall be near the house wherein
I saw her last; saw those strange eyes,
In which I fancied love had been,—
In which I saw the tear-drops rise.
I'll turn once more that old sad page
Of life, and make my pilgrimage.
I saw her last; saw those strange eyes,
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In which I saw the tear-drops rise.
I'll turn once more that old sad page
Of life, and make my pilgrimage.
III. LONDON. IN JUNE AND JULY.
I saw her face again at Lord's.
Her eyes met mine. She grew quite pale.
Her eyes' expression ill accords
With happiness. The same old tale
I think it is. The mothers sell
Their daughters, and so people hell.
Her eyes met mine. She grew quite pale.
Her eyes' expression ill accords
With happiness. The same old tale
I think it is. The mothers sell
Their daughters, and so people hell.
I think she loves me.—Oh, her heart
Was sweet and grand and full of power!
She loved and worshipped all true Art:
She should have helped me tend to flower
The bud of poesy that she
Discerned and nurtured first in me.
Was sweet and grand and full of power!
She loved and worshipped all true Art:
She should have helped me tend to flower
The bud of poesy that she
Discerned and nurtured first in me.
In this strange age, when all is new,
When Thought arises from the tomb,
There was such glorious work to do:
But she shrinks back into the gloom.
What dulls for her Time's golden dawn?
The sunset o'er a Rectory lawn!
When Thought arises from the tomb,
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But she shrinks back into the gloom.
What dulls for her Time's golden dawn?
The sunset o'er a Rectory lawn!
She might have held a poet's heart,
Held it for ever. She and I,
Wedded in love and love of Art,
Married most sympathetically,
Might nobly have helped the world along,
She by brave thought, and I by song.
Held it for ever. She and I,
Wedded in love and love of Art,
Married most sympathetically,
Might nobly have helped the world along,
She by brave thought, and I by song.
The chance is over.—Though her eyes
Met mine at Lord's the other day,
They soon will meet the calm blue skies
In the green country, far away
From London smoke and London noise,
And far from action's rarest joys.
Met mine at Lord's the other day,
They soon will meet the calm blue skies
In the green country, far away
From London smoke and London noise,
And far from action's rarest joys.
High thought will quit her heart and brain;
Aye, gradually the thought of me,
At first a pang, a passionate pain,
Will change to a faint memory.
Then the dull prose of daily life
Will make her—just a parson's wife.
Aye, gradually the thought of me,
At first a pang, a passionate pain,
Will change to a faint memory.
Then the dull prose of daily life
Will make her—just a parson's wife.
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She will read Keble on the lawn,
And talk of Keble to his friends:
Our hearts will far apart be drawn;
We shall be seeking different ends;
Her husband-priest will weigh her down,
And scatter to the winds her crown.
And talk of Keble to his friends:
Our hearts will far apart be drawn;
We shall be seeking different ends;
Her husband-priest will weigh her down,
And scatter to the winds her crown.
I loved her so! I would have died
To help her thought,—to lift it on.
Upon the forehead of my bride
Thought's fairest circlet should have shone.
I loved in early days to see
Her young thought's budding potency.
To help her thought,—to lift it on.
Upon the forehead of my bride
Thought's fairest circlet should have shone.
I loved in early days to see
Her young thought's budding potency.
Now it is over. Day by day
Her thought must grow more dull and hard:
Winter will blight the blossoming spray;
The Church's keen frost will retard
The growth of blossom-thoughts and deeds
That would have widened past old creeds.
Her thought must grow more dull and hard:
Winter will blight the blossoming spray;
The Church's keen frost will retard
The growth of blossom-thoughts and deeds
That would have widened past old creeds.
Yes, she is his. His—evermore.
Not only body, lovely face,
Sweet lips a god's heart might adore,
Shoulders a god's arms might embrace,
Not only this—the mind as well
Is prostituted. That is hell.
Not only body, lovely face,
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Shoulders a god's arms might embrace,
Not only this—the mind as well
Is prostituted. That is hell.
The mind and body both must go:
The head, the heart, the young pure soul:
All will be, by a process slow
But sure, diverted to a goal
Far other than our young hearts dreamed
When at our feet the bright waves gleamed.
The head, the heart, the young pure soul:
All will be, by a process slow
But sure, diverted to a goal
Far other than our young hearts dreamed
When at our feet the bright waves gleamed.
The waves must all lament with me!
The flowers and sprays we gathered there;
The stars that shone above our sea;
The ferns I twisted in her hair;
How all must grieve, how all must weep,
That her young soul has fallen asleep!
The flowers and sprays we gathered there;
The stars that shone above our sea;
The ferns I twisted in her hair;
How all must grieve, how all must weep,
That her young soul has fallen asleep!
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Part II. THE AGONY OF MANHOOD
I. SUNLIGHT.
Thirteen long years have passed away
Since through those autumn woods we went:
It was a bright September day,
And I was full of sweet content;
So happy by her side to be—
In heaven, if she but looked at me.
Since through those autumn woods we went:
It was a bright September day,
And I was full of sweet content;
So happy by her side to be—
In heaven, if she but looked at me.
The leaves were turning golden-red;
The swift stream splashed along the dale;
In the far distance, blue, outspread,
Boundless, with here and there a sail,
The sunlit sea gleamed, saying, “To-night
Reseek my green cliff's moonlit height.”
The swift stream splashed along the dale;
In the far distance, blue, outspread,
Boundless, with here and there a sail,
The sunlit sea gleamed, saying, “To-night
Reseek my green cliff's moonlit height.”
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We were so happy, she and I!
There was no place for black despair
In all the world! clear was the sky,
The autumn flowers were sweet, the air
Was crisp and pure. In that green wood
It seemed to me God must be good.
There was no place for black despair
In all the world! clear was the sky,
The autumn flowers were sweet, the air
Was crisp and pure. In that green wood
It seemed to me God must be good.
I know she loved me then. Her eyes
Sought mine so constantly,—yet fell,
As if with maidenly surprise,
As if afraid their tale to tell,
When mine searched in their depths to see
If yet she was in love with me.
Sought mine so constantly,—yet fell,
As if with maidenly surprise,
As if afraid their tale to tell,
When mine searched in their depths to see
If yet she was in love with me.
Ah! thirteen years. To-day in town
My head reels with the strangest sense
That that, my first love's long-lost crown,
May yet by God's omnipotence
Be quite restored, returned to me,
In all its pristine purity.
My head reels with the strangest sense
That that, my first love's long-lost crown,
May yet by God's omnipotence
Be quite restored, returned to me,
In all its pristine purity.
I am in love. I feel it now:
I feel the sweet sense through each vein.
I am in love: I know not how;
And yet I am in love again.
I am in love. Yes, ten times more
Even than I ever loved before.
I feel the sweet sense through each vein.
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And yet I am in love again.
I am in love. Yes, ten times more
Even than I ever loved before.
I loved—those thirteen years ago—
With tenderest love. My love was slain.
I married, and I seemed to know
Some slight sweet respite from my pain.
I was beloved with passion wild,
And I,—I loved the gold-haired child.
With tenderest love. My love was slain.
I married, and I seemed to know
Some slight sweet respite from my pain.
I was beloved with passion wild,
And I,—I loved the gold-haired child.
But still through all my married life
The old fierce former dream prevailed,
And, though I loved my loving wife,
My heart was ceaselessly assailed
By memories strong. I loved; and yet
I could not stifle mad regret.
The old fierce former dream prevailed,
And, though I loved my loving wife,
My heart was ceaselessly assailed
By memories strong. I loved; and yet
I could not stifle mad regret.
The old hands drew me, and the eyes
Still drew me,—and I seemed to see
Ever the pale-blue Northern skies
And heard the wild wind's revelry
Along the Northern shores, and dreamed
That as of old the white moon gleamed.
Still drew me,—and I seemed to see
Ever the pale-blue Northern skies
And heard the wild wind's revelry
Along the Northern shores, and dreamed
That as of old the white moon gleamed.
94
But now to-day I am in love,
In love again,—and now I know
(For this new fact has served to prove
Beyond dispute that this is so)
That never, since those early hours,
Has my heart loved with all its powers.
In love again,—and now I know
(For this new fact has served to prove
Beyond dispute that this is so)
That never, since those early hours,
Has my heart loved with all its powers.
Strong manhood adds a newer force
To love to-day. I love at last
Once more with passion; gain of course
An added strength from all my past.
Past loves, like rivers, with their might
Swell the sea-passion of last night.
To love to-day. I love at last
Once more with passion; gain of course
An added strength from all my past.
Past loves, like rivers, with their might
Swell the sea-passion of last night.
It seemed so strange—the girlish trust
Of her who met me, quite alone.
The wild Strand, thronged with painted lust,
Seemed heavenlike when I heard her tone.
She met me, trusted me. Quite pure
She was. Her first look made me sure.
Of her who met me, quite alone.
The wild Strand, thronged with painted lust,
Seemed heavenlike when I heard her tone.
She met me, trusted me. Quite pure
She was. Her first look made me sure.
And then I loved her. That, you see,
Was just God's mystery—very sweet.
Her simple girlish purity
Brought the worn poet to her feet.
In a wild world of wrath and crime
She seemed half sweet, and half sublime.
Was just God's mystery—very sweet.
Her simple girlish purity
Brought the worn poet to her feet.
95
She seemed half sweet, and half sublime.
Then, at the play, I watched her face:
It seemed so strange—there, quite alone
With this girl full of girlish grace
And tenderest beauty, flower half-blown.
Alone,—no friend or guardian near;
And yet she seemed to have no fear.
It seemed so strange—there, quite alone
With this girl full of girlish grace
And tenderest beauty, flower half-blown.
Alone,—no friend or guardian near;
And yet she seemed to have no fear.
I think that changed me. That drew out
Life's poison from my veins in part.
She was a pure girl, not a doubt,
With loving eyes and loving heart,
And yet she sat there by the side
Of one in whom all faith had died.
Life's poison from my veins in part.
She was a pure girl, not a doubt,
With loving eyes and loving heart,
And yet she sat there by the side
Of one in whom all faith had died.
She sat there, knowing nought of me,
Yet trusting.—Then my whole heart grew
Softer: I loved her purity;
I felt it thrill me through and through.
I left her at her mother's door;
In love with her, for evermore.
Yet trusting.—Then my whole heart grew
Softer: I loved her purity;
I felt it thrill me through and through.
I left her at her mother's door;
In love with her, for evermore.
96
The days are passing swiftly on;
Some happiness returns to me:
I feel as if some light had shone
From out the deep obscurity.
It may be God has watched my pain,
And will restore my love again.
Some happiness returns to me:
I feel as if some light had shone
From out the deep obscurity.
It may be God has watched my pain,
And will restore my love again.
How if God has led up to this?
If from the first he thus designed,
And robbed me of my first love's kiss
To pay me back in higher kind?
I love this girl; and can it be
That God may let her love—even me?
If from the first he thus designed,
And robbed me of my first love's kiss
To pay me back in higher kind?
I love this girl; and can it be
That God may let her love—even me?
Even me—sad, care-worn, ill at ease,
At war with self, the world, and him;
Harassed by wild perplexities;
Weary with strife and suffering grim;
Can she—this young bright girl—be brought
To give my love one passing thought?
At war with self, the world, and him;
Harassed by wild perplexities;
Weary with strife and suffering grim;
Can she—this young bright girl—be brought
To give my love one passing thought?
I am so old and weary. She
Is young, fatigueless. Death, it seems,
Were far more fitting bride for me
Than this young girl, whose dark glance dreams
Sweet dreams of spring, and spring's flowers fair,
While I dream only of despair.
Is young, fatigueless. Death, it seems,
97
Than this young girl, whose dark glance dreams
Sweet dreams of spring, and spring's flowers fair,
While I dream only of despair.
Yet if it could be so? my prayer
Would then be answered, and I might
(I think I never saw such hair—
Coal-black: and then the brown eyes' light!)
—I might, perhaps, again believe
In God. The sun might shine at eve.
Would then be answered, and I might
(I think I never saw such hair—
Coal-black: and then the brown eyes' light!)
—I might, perhaps, again believe
In God. The sun might shine at eve.
I think God lets me love her too.
Perhaps God brought me to her side
With a distinct great work to do,
A true man's work, before I died.
It may be so. She's on the stage,
So round her all the man-wolves rage.
Perhaps God brought me to her side
With a distinct great work to do,
A true man's work, before I died.
It may be so. She's on the stage,
So round her all the man-wolves rage.
Curse them! I know them. Just because
She's unprotected, poor and weak,
They'll glance around, and leer, and pause,
And think their game is safe, and seek
With one accord to steal this pearl.
They'll do their best to ruin the girl.
She's unprotected, poor and weak,
They'll glance around, and leer, and pause,
And think their game is safe, and seek
With one accord to steal this pearl.
They'll do their best to ruin the girl.
98
My dark-eyed darling! no, please God,
They shall not ruin you. I say “No.”
Your feet across my path have trod,
And you have made my tired heart glow:
Would any injure you, of these?
Across my body, if you please!
They shall not ruin you. I say “No.”
Your feet across my path have trod,
And you have made my tired heart glow:
Would any injure you, of these?
Across my body, if you please!
I stand, and God stands, in the way.
All London seems against you—yes?
They say you shall sink. But I say
That you shall not sink: nothing less.
I'll fight for you for endless time,
And make the battle-field sublime.
All London seems against you—yes?
They say you shall sink. But I say
That you shall not sink: nothing less.
I'll fight for you for endless time,
And make the battle-field sublime.
All London on one side, and this
The low and bad side? let it be.
Men proffering diamonds for your kiss?
Well, let them proffer. Trust in me.
Bribed managers may swear to wrong:
I'll save you,—and crown you with my song.
The low and bad side? let it be.
Men proffering diamonds for your kiss?
Well, let them proffer. Trust in me.
Bribed managers may swear to wrong:
I'll save you,—and crown you with my song.
These men are devils. Day by day
They struggle to seduce anew
Poor foolish girls, their easy prey.
They make, themselves a hellish crew,
The stage a hell. They can't afford
To scorn the offer of a lord.
They struggle to seduce anew
Poor foolish girls, their easy prey.
99
The stage a hell. They can't afford
To scorn the offer of a lord.
He wants a chorus-girl? My lord
May pick and choose. The manager
(Tipped by the youngling) will accord
His lordship leave without demur
To pass behind the scenes, and try
Girl-fishing with the golden fly.
May pick and choose. The manager
(Tipped by the youngling) will accord
His lordship leave without demur
To pass behind the scenes, and try
Girl-fishing with the golden fly.
Money's the question, that is all.
Just money—money. Can he pay?
He can? How soon the girl will fall!
How Satan hates enforced delay!
A bouquet—bracelet—supper—kiss—
And Miss S. is no longer “Miss.”
Just money—money. Can he pay?
He can? How soon the girl will fall!
How Satan hates enforced delay!
A bouquet—bracelet—supper—kiss—
And Miss S. is no longer “Miss.”
She has learned the secret; still a child,
It may be; ignorant indeed:
Yet ruined, lost, betrayed, beguiled,
And just to gratify the greed
Of managers, and lust of men
Who ornament the “Upper Ten.”
It may be; ignorant indeed:
Yet ruined, lost, betrayed, beguiled,
And just to gratify the greed
Of managers, and lust of men
Who ornament the “Upper Ten.”
100
Not so in your case. I will step
Between you and the men who rove
Destroying. You a demirep?
You sell your beauty, and your love?
Never! I swear your soul shall be
Pure to the very end, and free.
Between you and the men who rove
Destroying. You a demirep?
You sell your beauty, and your love?
Never! I swear your soul shall be
Pure to the very end, and free.
At last I see a poet's work
Before me, worthy of the man,
And, please God, I will never shirk
The task, but carry out God's plan.
Some hound would fain destroy? Not he!
Unless his sword slips first through me.
Before me, worthy of the man,
And, please God, I will never shirk
The task, but carry out God's plan.
Some hound would fain destroy? Not he!
Unless his sword slips first through me.
Her beauty brings my youth again.
A girl's pure freshness can create
Spring's gladness in the heart and brain
And smooth the forehead grooved with Fate.
The young sweet brilliance of her eyes
Has changed life's sunset to sunrise.
A girl's pure freshness can create
Spring's gladness in the heart and brain
And smooth the forehead grooved with Fate.
The young sweet brilliance of her eyes
Has changed life's sunset to sunrise.
Her magnetism is so good,
So pure, so sinless. When she came,
Up to my very waist I stood
Plunged in hell's waters, hot as flame:
But now I think that there may be
Perhaps a God,—yes, even for me.
So pure, so sinless. When she came,
101
Plunged in hell's waters, hot as flame:
But now I think that there may be
Perhaps a God,—yes, even for me.
I dare not dream it. Yet I hope;
I struggle with the old despair;
Drowning, I cling to this frail rope;
I worship her dark eyes and hair.
I long to die for her. I long
To make her deathless in my song.
I struggle with the old despair;
Drowning, I cling to this frail rope;
I worship her dark eyes and hair.
I long to die for her. I long
To make her deathless in my song.
II. TWILIGHT.
How strong my passionate love has grown!
How strange and sad and hard to-day
What once seemed easy seems! My own
She is, and yet I may grow grey
And she may never quite be mine:
Can such a method be divine?
How strange and sad and hard to-day
What once seemed easy seems! My own
She is, and yet I may grow grey
And she may never quite be mine:
Can such a method be divine?
Old doubt returns. Can God do this?
Fill all my heart with love of thee;
Put thy mouth to my own to kiss,
And let me feel its purity;
Make me each day discern thee fair,
And worship more thine eyes and hair;
Fill all my heart with love of thee;
102
And let me feel its purity;
Make me each day discern thee fair,
And worship more thine eyes and hair;
Can he do this—did he inspire
When thou wast (as thou art not now)
In danger, my protective fire
Of passion—listen to my vow
That, come what would, thou shouldst be safe,
However heart and flesh might chafe;
When thou wast (as thou art not now)
In danger, my protective fire
Of passion—listen to my vow
That, come what would, thou shouldst be safe,
However heart and flesh might chafe;
O sweetheart, did God do this thing,
Send me to save thee—and can he,
The just great God, the mighty King,
Now ravish all thy soul from me?
Will some new hand approach, and reap
The corn I sowed in agony deep?
Send me to save thee—and can he,
The just great God, the mighty King,
Now ravish all thy soul from me?
Will some new hand approach, and reap
The corn I sowed in agony deep?
Aye, wilt thou marry? Shall I stand
And see the glory fade away
From this our own enchanted land?
Will darkness be too strong for day?
Is this what God demands at last?
More pain—I thought the worst was past.
And see the glory fade away
From this our own enchanted land?
Will darkness be too strong for day?
Is this what God demands at last?
More pain—I thought the worst was past.
103
Must I, who by those Northern streams
Saw autumn shed upon the air
Red leaves, and change the flowers of dreams
To flowerless wastes of real despair—
Must I, who saw my youth's sun set,
In manhood meet a worse thing yet?
Saw autumn shed upon the air
Red leaves, and change the flowers of dreams
To flowerless wastes of real despair—
Must I, who saw my youth's sun set,
In manhood meet a worse thing yet?
And then she loves me. Yes, I know:
For, when I kiss her darling head,
It rises, ever so gently—so—
And meets my lips. No word is said,
And yet by that one simple sign
I know the girl's pure heart is mine.
For, when I kiss her darling head,
It rises, ever so gently—so—
And meets my lips. No word is said,
And yet by that one simple sign
I know the girl's pure heart is mine.
Perhaps...and have I not the right?
What man has better right than I?
I've guarded her by day and night,
Been sunlight in her midday sky,
Starlight and moonlight through her sleep;
I sowed the corn. May I not reap?
What man has better right than I?
I've guarded her by day and night,
Been sunlight in her midday sky,
Starlight and moonlight through her sleep;
I sowed the corn. May I not reap?
I think I could reap, if I chose;
For I have made her life so fair:
Her every happiness she owes
To me,—each breath of summer air
That she respires, pure, sinless, free,
She owes, and knows she owes, to me.
For I have made her life so fair:
104
To me,—each breath of summer air
That she respires, pure, sinless, free,
She owes, and knows she owes, to me.
Shall I not take her? Shall I stand
Doubting, reluctant? Though I'm bound
And wedded, would a God command
That I should never quite be crowned
By perfect love? This virgin's mine!
I feel it: and the gift's divine.
Doubting, reluctant? Though I'm bound
And wedded, would a God command
That I should never quite be crowned
By perfect love? This virgin's mine!
I feel it: and the gift's divine.
I've won her—surely? What can man
Do more than I have done indeed?
She needed succour. Lo! I ran
To succour,—saved her at her need.
Andromeda was rightly wed
To Perseus, when her foe lay dead.
Do more than I have done indeed?
She needed succour. Lo! I ran
To succour,—saved her at her need.
Andromeda was rightly wed
To Perseus, when her foe lay dead.
I who the many-headed foe
Of London selfishness have slain,
Shall I in turn not surely know
Reward for all my love and pain?
Andromeda shall I not take,
And on her lips my long thirst slake?
Of London selfishness have slain,
Shall I in turn not surely know
Reward for all my love and pain?
Andromeda shall I not take,
And on her lips my long thirst slake?
105
A single monster Perseus slew:
But I have toiled from day to day,
Have fought beneath bright skies of blue,
Have battled through the fog-wreaths grey,
Have won for her wild countless fights
And overthrown a thousand knights.
But I have toiled from day to day,
Have fought beneath bright skies of blue,
Have battled through the fog-wreaths grey,
Have won for her wild countless fights
And overthrown a thousand knights.
Is she not mine beyond dispute?
Mine: and my dear one knows it too.
I kissed her fiercely; she was mute.
So little now remains to do—
To press my victory to the end,
Become a lover, not a friend.
Mine: and my dear one knows it too.
I kissed her fiercely; she was mute.
So little now remains to do—
To press my victory to the end,
Become a lover, not a friend.
Not friend!...Ah, would it be to lose
The deep sweet friendship? Would it be
To stain her pure mind, and confuse
Her simple trusting thoughts of me?
I cannot marry her. Would less
Be wronging her beyond redress?
The deep sweet friendship? Would it be
To stain her pure mind, and confuse
Her simple trusting thoughts of me?
I cannot marry her. Would less
Be wronging her beyond redress?
Have I fought through a thousand fights,
Unhorsed black-armoured foe on foe,
Yet is there out of all the knights
One knight still left me to lay low?
Does one still bar me from the goal?
The lower side of my own soul.
Unhorsed black-armoured foe on foe,
106
One knight still left me to lay low?
Does one still bar me from the goal?
The lower side of my own soul.
Is, after all, myself the worst
Of all my enemies?—Have I slain
Thousands, and left their bodies cursed
And sword-split helmets on the plain:
Have I, with heart ready to break,
Fought London for the woman's sake?
Of all my enemies?—Have I slain
Thousands, and left their bodies cursed
And sword-split helmets on the plain:
Have I, with heart ready to break,
Fought London for the woman's sake?
And must I, having saved her now,
And standing face to face alone
With her, take on me a harder vow?
Must love's fruits to the winds be thrown?
Must I now with a stronger knight
—Myself—wage this last deadliest fight?
And standing face to face alone
With her, take on me a harder vow?
Must love's fruits to the winds be thrown?
Must I now with a stronger knight
—Myself—wage this last deadliest fight?
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |