The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
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| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
 | XI. |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
23
VI. CHANGELESS LOVE
The bloom is fair upon the hawthorn hedges;
The throstles sing from many a budding spray;
Blue ripples laugh along the river-edges;
The blue sky seems to whisper, “It is May!”
And yet the thought of tawny-leaved September
Dismays the fancy with a touch of gloom:
Aye, and a mem'ry of old wild November,
Whose storm-winds trumpet forth pale Autumn's doom.
The throstles sing from many a budding spray;
Blue ripples laugh along the river-edges;
The blue sky seems to whisper, “It is May!”
And yet the thought of tawny-leaved September
Dismays the fancy with a touch of gloom:
Aye, and a mem'ry of old wild November,
Whose storm-winds trumpet forth pale Autumn's doom.
When love is at its sweetest, in its season,
When it is full of summer joy and mirth,
There sometimes comes the thought, “In love is treason.
Not always Summer sways the green-robed earth.”
The bloom is bright upon the garden roses;
Their red lips whisper, “Love is king to-day:”
Man's heart upon love's word in faith reposes,
Yet even love, so trusted, can betray.
When it is full of summer joy and mirth,
There sometimes comes the thought, “In love is treason.
Not always Summer sways the green-robed earth.”
The bloom is bright upon the garden roses;
Their red lips whisper, “Love is king to-day:”
Man's heart upon love's word in faith reposes,
Yet even love, so trusted, can betray.
24
Oh! is there not some heart which never changes,
Some sympathy eternal and divine,
Some love that time nor weakens nor estranges?
O sweetheart, let such changeless love be thine!
Then, whether storm-winds wail through wild November,
Or whether August splendour floods the sky,
Glad past all words it will be to remember
That, come what will, sweet love can never die.
Some sympathy eternal and divine,
Some love that time nor weakens nor estranges?
O sweetheart, let such changeless love be thine!
Then, whether storm-winds wail through wild November,
Or whether August splendour floods the sky,
Glad past all words it will be to remember
That, come what will, sweet love can never die.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |