The Poetical Works of George Barlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

Was there one summer air
Wherein thou wast not fair,
O sacred queen above my young life bending?
Was there one blade of grass
Where thy foot did not pass,
Verdure and beauty of quiet blossom lending?

II

In the blue surging seas
Thou wast, and in the trees,
A spirit of pure delight, of high dominion;
And in the sunset air,
A seraph winged and fair,
Glorious with glory of white unearthly pinion.

144

III

Sweet from the glittering wave
Thou camest, and didst lave
Thy white feet, Venuslike, in less white foam;
The awful wood-glades green
Thou ruledst, their swift queen;
Through flowers, a splendour of white, thy foot did roam.

IV

Now, looking back, I know
What meant that early glow,
That voice of passion in the vast calm air;
That wonder of the corn
When thou, first love, wast born,
Making all wonder of youth more wondrous fair.

V

Now glancing back I see
The long-lost shape of thee
Tender and pure amid the early flowers:

145

Thine eyes of swift grey-green,
And thy soft laugh serene
I hear, low-ringing amid the haunted bowers.

VI

O valley, soft green glade,
Wherein my love was laid
When, for this earth's brief space, it fell a-sleeping,
Hearken,—and birds that fly
Athwart that Northern sky,
Or sing, for pleasure indeed, where I go weeping!

VII

Hearken,—as I look back
O'er the long sunburnt track,
Sunburnt, blood-stained, and trodden deep by sorrow,
Wondering what calm may lie
Before me, when I die
From earth and labour of earth, in heaven's to-morrow!

146

VIII

Where art thou blowing to-day
O rose that o'er life's way
Shonest in the early soft sundawn so sweetly?
Art thou as splendid still,
A woman born to thrill
The hearts and spirits of men, divine completely?

IX

Art thou as splendid yet
As on the day we met?
Though hours of twelve long years have fled away
On urgent time-tossed wings,
The memory round me clings
Of beauty of thine, intense with sunrise-ray.

X

A woman art thou now,
Thought-crowned and calm of brow,—
A budding rose of morning wast thou then;

147

Girl-soft and sweet of mien,
At beautiful fifteen,—
A spirit of perfect bloom to gladden men.

XI

Just as the girl and child
Met in thy love-glance wild,
The look perchance of woman and girl doth meet
Upon thy flower-face now,
And in thine elder brow,
Graver to-day, yet not one shade less sweet.

XII

But passion stronger still
Than passion of the rill
Of youth,—yea passion of the deep-toned sea
Is in thy nature, queen,
Now the long years have seen
The rosebud brighten and fill with flowers the tree.

148

XIII

On thee death lays no hand,
Thou queen of sea and land,
Queen of the forest, darling of the vale;
Crowned with all song's sweet flowers,
Yea, plunged amid the bowers
Of endless singing as 'mid rose-clusters pale.

XIV

Thou hast grown from bud to flower,
Ripened in every power;
Still for thy footstep yearns the enringing foam
That hems that Northern shore
And sings to it, evermore,—
As ever around thy form my song-tides roam.

XV

Still yearns the dark-blue deep
Of heaven with eyes that weep
To see thee treading along the airy strand

149

Where, twelve long years ago,
We wandered to and fro,
Loving as children love, hand locked in hand.

XVI

Yet not as children love,
For over and above
Our child-mirth rang the intense enthralling sound
Of sorrow yet to be
Enthroned o'er you and me;
Sometimes the autumnal leaves swept o'er the ground.

XVII

The summer passed: to-day
The flowers have fled away,
But all the autumnal dying tints as well;
Summers in front, sublime,
Chant, bird-voiced, through my rhyme,
With message of ardent glowing life to tell.

150

XVIII

Passion is fierce and strong
Though the cold years be long
And tedious o'er us hangs the love-god's hand:
Most slow of heart is he,
Yet still the old sweet sea
Curls ripples of silvery foam upon the sand.

XIX

Still in the dells the flowers
Worship the sun for hours,
And blossoms burn where our soft steps should be;
The wayward fern-fronds grace
The old familiar place,
And the old unchanged soft moonbeam lights the sea.

XX

And the unforgotten face
Of thee, sweet, fills the place
As with a flame of tender-scented flowers;

151

Wilt thou not wait for me,
Soft-footed, by the sea,
Glad-footed, a flower within the twelve years' bowers?

XXI

O moon of splendid calm,
O thrilling soft white palm,
O glory of womanhood, mature indeed,
Is now thy bosom ripe,
Proud-womanly in type,
And shall it seek, for love's great flower, a weed?

XXII

By all the young glad days
And the eager burnished blaze
Of golden sunlight on the laughing sea,
And rays of tremulous moon,
And night's low-surging tune,
Is love forgotten, O queen, forgotten of thee?

152

XXIII

Oh, are there roses bound
Within thy breast and wound
Within thine hair, and not one rose for me?
Are there within thy breast
Ten thousand thoughts caressed
Flowerlike, yet not one thought for the old bright sea?

XXIV

Oh, hath thy kiss delayed
By road-side, hath it strayed
Amid the untender woods, sweet, far from me?
Then let it now return
Rose-soft, and o'er me burn,
Like greeting of west wind gentle o'er the sea!

XXV

Hath thy dear mouth the flowers
Made fragrant for long hours,
And hath thy mouth no blossom-kiss for me?

153

Shall I not, one night, mark,
Moon-splendid through the dark,
Thee tender as God, love, love-flushed by the sea?

XXVI

Shapely as Venus, white
As her own body bright,
Tender with awful tenderness for me,
A perfect woman-form
Moon-white, unclothed and warm,
A goddess whose wings brood, passionate, o'er the sea.

XXVII

Then shall thy perfect kiss
Be God to me in bliss,—
Godlike, me godlike make; transfigure me:
And as the old world's dead wings
Release me, lo! there rings
My voice of risen delight, love, o'er the sea.

1880.