The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
 | VIII. |
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| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
38
XIV. SPRING AND AUTUMN
“The rose-tree longs for its beautiful rose,
And sighs till its bloom is there:
So life will never attain repose
Till love its exquisite blossom blows
In the beautiful scented air.”
These dream-sweet words from a poet's page
A girl to her mother read;
And the young girl smiled, while the eyes of age
Watched softly the fair gold head.
And sighs till its bloom is there:
So life will never attain repose
Till love its exquisite blossom blows
In the beautiful scented air.”
These dream-sweet words from a poet's page
A girl to her mother read;
And the young girl smiled, while the eyes of age
Watched softly the fair gold head.
But the mother's eyes were dim with tears,
While the daughter's eyes were gay;
For the mother thought of the long-past years,
And of dead sweet hopes, and of sighs and fears,
But the young heart dreamed of to-day.
“And why are you sad?” the young voice said,
“For reading of love is sweet:
O bright-eyed Love, with the lips so red—
I would fall at his darling feet!”
While the daughter's eyes were gay;
For the mother thought of the long-past years,
And of dead sweet hopes, and of sighs and fears,
But the young heart dreamed of to-day.
39
“For reading of love is sweet:
O bright-eyed Love, with the lips so red—
I would fall at his darling feet!”
Then the mother said: “Dream on, my child,
For love is a beautiful dream;
And truly the earth were a desert wild,
Had never the eyes of sweet love smiled
With their wonderful magic gleam.
Smile on: but leave their thoughts to the old,
For the poet's words that bring
Delight to the young, and a hope untold,
Full oft on the older heart fall cold.
Mine are the grey locks: yours are the gold!
I am autumn: you are the spring!”
For love is a beautiful dream;
And truly the earth were a desert wild,
Had never the eyes of sweet love smiled
With their wonderful magic gleam.
Smile on: but leave their thoughts to the old,
For the poet's words that bring
Delight to the young, and a hope untold,
Full oft on the older heart fall cold.
Mine are the grey locks: yours are the gold!
I am autumn: you are the spring!”
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |