The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
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| I. |
| II. | II. SONG OF SUMMER
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| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
111
II. SONG OF SUMMER
Grand and glorious is the season of the roses.
Spring has passed, but stronger sunlight gilds the corn.
On the silver stream the lily's head reposes,
And the ripple lifts it tenderly at morn.
Love has deepened, with the deepening of the season.
Love has strengthened, with the passing of the hours.
Love has grown beyond the fear of change or treason.
Love has stolen the glow and glory of the flowers.
Spring has passed, but stronger sunlight gilds the corn.
On the silver stream the lily's head reposes,
And the ripple lifts it tenderly at morn.
Love has deepened, with the deepening of the season.
Love has strengthened, with the passing of the hours.
Love has grown beyond the fear of change or treason.
Love has stolen the glow and glory of the flowers.
Man and woman understand and love each other.
Through the silent leafy summer lanes they wend,
Hand in hand. The blue sky smiles down like a mother
And the gentle breeze of summer seems a friend.
For in spring the heart of man was full of gladness,
But in summer rapture gathers all its powers.
Who can dream of sorrow, who can think on sadness,
While the sky is full of stars, the fields of flowers?
Through the silent leafy summer lanes they wend,
Hand in hand. The blue sky smiles down like a mother
And the gentle breeze of summer seems a friend.
For in spring the heart of man was full of gladness,
But in summer rapture gathers all its powers.
Who can dream of sorrow, who can think on sadness,
While the sky is full of stars, the fields of flowers?
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Yet the summer and its glory overflowing,
Sun and moon and starlit height of purple sky,
Silver stream and forest deep and blossoms blowing,
All will pass. Yes, even roses have to die!
But the sweetness of the Christ grows ever dearer
As life's autumn strips the greenery of the bowers:
And the beauty of another land seems nearer
As the beauty of the summer quits the flowers.
Sun and moon and starlit height of purple sky,
Silver stream and forest deep and blossoms blowing,
All will pass. Yes, even roses have to die!
But the sweetness of the Christ grows ever dearer
As life's autumn strips the greenery of the bowers:
And the beauty of another land seems nearer
As the beauty of the summer quits the flowers.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |