Poems Real and Ideal By George Barlow |
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| XIV. |
| XVII. |
| XIX. |
| XXI. |
SONNET XXI.
GOD AND WOMAN. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
 | XLIV, XLV, XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| LI. |
| LIV. |
| LVII. |
| LIX. |
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 | Poems Real and Ideal |  |
64
SONNET XXI. GOD AND WOMAN.
God made a woman,—and he stood aghast
For very wonder. There she stood quite white,—
Naked and perfect. God's eyes waxèd bright;
Before him like a carven dream she passed.
Her black hair on the heaven-breeze floated light;
God watched her slowly vanish till at last
The soft superb shape glimmered out of sight:
Then on the trembling earth his tools he cast.
For very wonder. There she stood quite white,—
Naked and perfect. God's eyes waxèd bright;
Before him like a carven dream she passed.
Her black hair on the heaven-breeze floated light;
God watched her slowly vanish till at last
The soft superb shape glimmered out of sight:
Then on the trembling earth his tools he cast.
“Now do I for the first time envy Man”
He said: “The woman never will be mine;
Those dark thick tresses darker than the pine
And sweeter than the rose,—that body wan
And soft and scented like the dim woodbine,—
I cannot own for ever:—but he can.”
He said: “The woman never will be mine;
Those dark thick tresses darker than the pine
And sweeter than the rose,—that body wan
And soft and scented like the dim woodbine,—
I cannot own for ever:—but he can.”
| Poems Real and Ideal | |