The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
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| XXXII. |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
303
I. COCK MILL
Upon the bridge beside the mill
Two lovers paused, and watched the stream:
The golden autumn woods were still
With all the stillness of a dream.
They gazed into each other's eyes;
They loved—they felt that life was sweet;
So still the woods, so calm the skies,
They almost heard their own hearts beat,
While flowing, ever flowing,
The clear stream sought the sea,
As love-sweet moments going
Mix with eternity.
Two lovers paused, and watched the stream:
The golden autumn woods were still
With all the stillness of a dream.
They gazed into each other's eyes;
They loved—they felt that life was sweet;
So still the woods, so calm the skies,
They almost heard their own hearts beat,
While flowing, ever flowing,
The clear stream sought the sea,
As love-sweet moments going
Mix with eternity.
Beside that grey old Yorkshire mill
A hundred hearts have paused to dream:
Have watched the shadows on the hill,
And watched the foam-bells on the stream.
And all have found the present fair,—
Have found the future—who can say?
But still that same old mill stands there,
And still the stream goes day by day
Flowing, for ever flowing,
Bearing dead hopes along
Like dead leaves, all unknowing,
And changing not its song.
A hundred hearts have paused to dream:
304
And watched the foam-bells on the stream.
And all have found the present fair,—
Have found the future—who can say?
But still that same old mill stands there,
And still the stream goes day by day
Flowing, for ever flowing,
Bearing dead hopes along
Like dead leaves, all unknowing,
And changing not its song.
And in the future hundreds more
Will pause and watch the rippling stream,
And hope as others hoped of yore,
And dream as dead hearts used to dream.
A sadness hangs about the mill
And broods above the waters' flow;
So many hearts must now be still
Who watched those bright waves long ago,—
Those bright waves ever flowing,
Singing to hill and sky,
“Seize each love-moment going,
For even love must die!”
Will pause and watch the rippling stream,
And hope as others hoped of yore,
And dream as dead hearts used to dream.
A sadness hangs about the mill
And broods above the waters' flow;
So many hearts must now be still
Who watched those bright waves long ago,—
Those bright waves ever flowing,
Singing to hill and sky,
“Seize each love-moment going,
For even love must die!”
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |