The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
![]() | I. |
![]() | II. |
![]() | III. |
![]() | IV. |
![]() | V. |
![]() | VI. |
![]() | VII. |
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![]() | VIII. |
![]() | IX. |
![]() | X. |
![]() | XI. |
![]() | The Poetical Works of George Barlow | ![]() |
33
XI. BLACKBERRY PICKING
How happy we were in the deep green wood,
Picking blackberries, you and I!
Round us the heather and tall ferns stood:
Over us shone the sky.
Rich and ripe in the bramble-copse
The tempting blackberries gleamed:
In the dark-green feathery fir-tree tops
The wood-doves cooed and dreamed.
Picking blackberries, you and I!
Round us the heather and tall ferns stood:
Over us shone the sky.
Rich and ripe in the bramble-copse
The tempting blackberries gleamed:
In the dark-green feathery fir-tree tops
The wood-doves cooed and dreamed.
Far away is the deep green wood
And the silent ferny glen
Where happy and hand-in-hand we stood,
Craving for nothing then.
Far away that happy day
Seems in the sunlit past:
Why will never a pleasure stay?
Do only the sad things last?
And the silent ferny glen
Where happy and hand-in-hand we stood,
Craving for nothing then.
Far away that happy day
Seems in the sunlit past:
Why will never a pleasure stay?
Do only the sad things last?
34
Yet in your album safely dried
A heather sprig I see:
The delicate purple tints have died,
But it blossoms still for me.
For the joyous past is never dead,—
No, still the blackberries gleam,
And still in the fir-trees overhead
The wood-doves coo and dream!
A heather sprig I see:
The delicate purple tints have died,
But it blossoms still for me.
For the joyous past is never dead,—
No, still the blackberries gleam,
And still in the fir-trees overhead
The wood-doves coo and dream!
![]() | The Poetical Works of George Barlow | ![]() |