The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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THE CHILD
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
134
THE CHILD
Blue skies, bright, clear,
Another year,
But ah! the dear dead child:
Another bloom
Has sought the tomb
With pure step undefiled;
Another flower
In death's dim bower
Has smiled.
Another year,
But ah! the dear dead child:
Another bloom
Has sought the tomb
With pure step undefiled;
Another flower
In death's dim bower
Has smiled.
The days advance
With flower-bright lance
Of chestnut blossoms piled
Upon the stems
Like diadems;
The green woods kiss the mild
Soft-kissing breeze;
The leaping seas
Are wild.
With flower-bright lance
Of chestnut blossoms piled
Upon the stems
Like diadems;
135
Soft-kissing breeze;
The leaping seas
Are wild.
All things aglow
Forget the snow,
The chill of winter's hand;
With yellow crown,
Weighty, bowed down,
Laburnum clusters stand;
The new young spring
With flowers doth ring
The land.
Forget the snow,
The chill of winter's hand;
With yellow crown,
Weighty, bowed down,
Laburnum clusters stand;
The new young spring
With flowers doth ring
The land.
One step we hear
Not,—one, this year;
Ah me, the child! the child!
One face we miss,
One soft child-kiss,
One mouth that, last year, smiled;
Roses are red
This year instead
Of red lips of a child.
Not,—one, this year;
Ah me, the child! the child!
One face we miss,
One soft child-kiss,
One mouth that, last year, smiled;
Roses are red
This year instead
Of red lips of a child.
136
Lilies are fair
In summer air,
And deep lush grasses green;
But ah! the child
Whose tresses wild
Bright as the sun were seen
Last year, last year,—
A spirit here,
A queen.
In summer air,
And deep lush grasses green;
But ah! the child
Whose tresses wild
Bright as the sun were seen
Last year, last year,—
A spirit here,
A queen.
Blue are the seas
And pure the breeze,
The old earth unaltered stands;
It stretches forth
East, south, and north,
And west, unaltered hands;
But ah, the child! the child!
Flowerless for us are all the altered lands—
Ah child! ah dead
Lost dear gold head—
The child! the child!
And pure the breeze,
The old earth unaltered stands;
It stretches forth
East, south, and north,
And west, unaltered hands;
But ah, the child! the child!
Flowerless for us are all the altered lands—
Ah child! ah dead
Lost dear gold head—
The child! the child!
1880.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |