The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
77
SUMMER'S DREAM
The summer flees away, and who shall find or follow
Her footstep, or discern the green-browed hollow
Wherein fair summer seeks to rest,
With flowers upon her breast?
Her footstep, or discern the green-browed hollow
Wherein fair summer seeks to rest,
With flowers upon her breast?
The summer flies.—Perchance her restless heart grows weary;
Perchance she finds earth's love-tales waxing dreary;
Perchance she tires of praise, and longs
To escape men's lutes and songs.
Perchance she finds earth's love-tales waxing dreary;
Perchance she tires of praise, and longs
To escape men's lutes and songs.
In forests weird and strange, she would be followed after
By Jove's deep voice or swift Apollo's laughter;
And would be gathered, like a rose,
Into sublime repose.
By Jove's deep voice or swift Apollo's laughter;
And would be gathered, like a rose,
Into sublime repose.
She would be seized from heaven, and in the flashing splendour
Of the god's white arms wrapt, in sacred tender
Ineffable supreme embrace,
And know Love face to face.
Of the god's white arms wrapt, in sacred tender
Ineffable supreme embrace,
And know Love face to face.
78
In the dim forest-deep, among soft blossoms sleeping,
She dreams the golden-bowed keen god comes leaping
Along the pink-flowered woodland ways,
Upon his brows the bays.
She dreams the golden-bowed keen god comes leaping
Along the pink-flowered woodland ways,
Upon his brows the bays.
She dreams the white-browed god, her fiery-hearted lover,
Comes, swiftly pressing through the tangled cover,
And that his burning kiss falls light
Upon her bosom white.
Comes, swiftly pressing through the tangled cover,
And that his burning kiss falls light
Upon her bosom white.
But when she wakes, behold! the frost has touched the larches:
She gazes now no more through leafy arches.
The wind has changed. 'Tis keen and chill.
Grey is the emerald hill.
She gazes now no more through leafy arches.
The wind has changed. 'Tis keen and chill.
Grey is the emerald hill.
Apollo's harp is hushed. Lo! summer was but dreaming:
Cold in the sky the unroyal sun is gleaming.
Closed now are August's golden gates:
Hard by November waits.
Cold in the sky the unroyal sun is gleaming.
Closed now are August's golden gates:
Hard by November waits.
Ah! woman too can dream. She dreams of Love for ever.
Does Love fulfil one sweet old promise? Never!
Love stoops from heaven one single day—
Then wings, and he's away!
Does Love fulfil one sweet old promise? Never!
Love stoops from heaven one single day—
Then wings, and he's away!
79
The maiden dreams of Love. As Summer sought Apollo,
The maiden would find deep-eyed Love and follow:
Till the eyes of very Time grow dim,
The girl would follow him.
The maiden would find deep-eyed Love and follow:
Till the eyes of very Time grow dim,
The girl would follow him.
But will he wait for her? Will Love delay his flying?
Never! not for ten thousand wild hearts sighing.
Love kisses once, and then he goes
To seek an unkissed rose.
Never! not for ten thousand wild hearts sighing.
Love kisses once, and then he goes
To seek an unkissed rose.
So vanish all the dreams! So woman's heart is broken!
She moans, “Would soft-voiced Love had never spoken!
Would Love had never seemed so fair—
For Love's name is Despair.”
She moans, “Would soft-voiced Love had never spoken!
Would Love had never seemed so fair—
For Love's name is Despair.”
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |