The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
17
III. THE LAND EVERLASTING
The fairest things, alas! are ever fleetest;
How glad, and yet how short, is sunny May:
For just one hour the rose is at its sweetest;
The violet's perfume lasts but for a day.
For some short weeks the waves are at their brightest;
The stars grow pale within the morning air:
One day the chestnut-bloom is at its whitest—
The next day sees it wither and despair.
How glad, and yet how short, is sunny May:
For just one hour the rose is at its sweetest;
The violet's perfume lasts but for a day.
For some short weeks the waves are at their brightest;
The stars grow pale within the morning air:
One day the chestnut-bloom is at its whitest—
The next day sees it wither and despair.
And so with love.—It has its perfect splendour,
Its summer glory, when the twain hearts meet:
Its perfect hour of June, its moment tender,
Its sudden rapture, and its perfume sweet.
But ah! it follows the departing roses!
It trembles when the thunder smites the sky:
At autumn airs its fragrant blossom closes;
At touch of wintry wind its petals die.
Its summer glory, when the twain hearts meet:
Its perfect hour of June, its moment tender,
Its sudden rapture, and its perfume sweet.
But ah! it follows the departing roses!
It trembles when the thunder smites the sky:
At autumn airs its fragrant blossom closes;
At touch of wintry wind its petals die.
18
And yet beyond the days of pain and sadness,
Beyond time's seasons full of clouds and grief,
There must be somewhere everlasting gladness,—
A heaven that sees no red-stained autumn leaf.—
The loved souls who have left us travel thither;
Within the gateways of that heaven they stand:
Ah, there the roses never pale nor wither!
There is no loveless winter in that land!
Beyond time's seasons full of clouds and grief,
There must be somewhere everlasting gladness,—
A heaven that sees no red-stained autumn leaf.—
The loved souls who have left us travel thither;
Within the gateways of that heaven they stand:
Ah, there the roses never pale nor wither!
There is no loveless winter in that land!
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |