Love-Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

Love-Songs

By George Barlow

Barlow, George

A FAREWELL TO POETRY.

TO ELLA DIETZ: POET AND ACTRESS.

TO KATHLEEN GORDON, GIRL-GENIUS.

SO HE CEASED TO BELIEVE IN MAN.

SO HE ENTERED THE CHURCH OF ROME.

CHRIST AND WOMAN.

TO GERTRUDE ENTERING A CONVENT.

A WHITE ROSE IN NOVEMBER.

TO CHRIST.

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TO ELLA DIETZ: POET AND ACTRESS.

I

O dark-eyed singer
And soft sweet bringer
Of dreams that haunt us with dear white wings,
Singer that comest
From far and hummest
The tune new to us that through thee rings,
Lift us we pray thee,
From day to day thee
Seeking, as round us thy soft soul clings.

II

In new sweet glowing
Soft numbers flowing
Sing to us of lands we ne'er have known;
Of rivers whose tides
Lave measureless sides
And lakes that put to the shame our own,
And forests gigantic,
And breathe the Atlantic
Upon us in song, by the great winds blown.

III

Thou bringest for dower
A new world's power
And thine own beauty of voice and heart;
Gifted as thou,
With the genius-brow,
Why shouldst thou ever retreat, depart?
Stay with us rather
Sweet one, and gather
Crowns for thy young head, crowns for thine Art.

IV

Gather the flowers
Here growing from bowers
Wherein thy young fair feet shall tread;
Lo! England's pages
From far strange ages
Yearn for thee, burn for thee, wait to be read;
The might of our race
Shall flame in thy face
And gird thee and arm thee and ring thine head.

V

Thou comest to add
Thine own soul glad
Or sorrowful sometimes unto the few
Great women who live
With us ever and give
Their hearts so tender, so sweet of hue,
To the ages, to bless,
To heal and redress,
Whose souls are as song-birds heard in the blue.

VI

At seasons a queen
Immortal, serene,
Is sent by Apollo to lift and delight:
Her golden hair
Is his fetter, his snare,
And it draws by its glory, allures by its might;
For a season she stands
With his harp in her hands
And we mark in her eyes the god's glance bright.

VII

So is it with thee:
From over the sea
Thou comest a new song bringing, divine;
The god in thine eyes
As the sun in the skies,
And the voice of the god in the sound of thy rhyme;
Black-haired, Apollo
The gold-haired follow
Towards heights yet grander, peaks more sublime.

VIII

With self-denial,
Through pain, through trial,
The high god follow, and work his will:
Not those he chooses
Whom pain refuses
To crown,—not such doth the high god thrill;
Yea, those who would follow
The steps of Apollo
Must face the night-wind bitter and shrill.

IX

Not in the daylight,
Fickle and gay light,
Are high crowns fashioned, and great songs sung:
Lo! through the starlight
The gold-haired far light
Apollo is seen and his voice hath rung
Beneath the moonlight,
Breathing a tune light
Which round the red lips eddied and clung.

X

If thou wilt find him,
Seize and wilt bind him,
High up the mountains, beneath the stars,
Follow thou fearless;
The rough rocks cheerless
Traverse and heed not the moist fresh scars;
High in the azure
Thou shalt have pleasure,
Beyond all limits, above all bars.

XI

But few can follow
King-god Apollo;
And of these singers, of women how few
There have been truly
Who faithfully, duly,
The great god served and his greatness knew;
Wilt thou make over
As bard, as lover,
Thy soul to the song-god, canst thou be true?

XII

Yea, true for ever,
Though gladdened never
By voice delusive of fluctuant praise
Of dim-souled hearer;
Oh how far clearer
Ring out Apollo's own splendid lays!
The sun-god's kiss,
Thou mayest have this,
The sun-god's lips, and the song-god's bays.

XIII

Lift up thy spirit,
Make thine and inherit
Our land's past story, our country's calm;
Let our seas gladden thee,
Our sorrows sadden thee,
Our summers soothe thee with waft of balm;
Our winters brace thee,
Our hearts encase thee
As thou our roses within thy palm.

XIV

Let every flower
In every bower
Of England greet thee with upturned face;
Rose and each lily
And hair-bell hilly
And delicate snowdrop's maiden grace;
And snow-drop girls
With golden curls
Brought for thy welcome from many a place.

XV

Thy voice shall reach us,
Thine heart shall teach us
Of things we know not: thy lyre shall sound
By the great white surges
The North wind urges
With terrible glee, as it shakes the ground;
And in our summer
O sweet new-comer
Thy softer songs shall laugh and abound.

XVI

Thyself a flower
Thy pure scent shower
O fair flower-singer about our shore:
A new scent tender
Of new strange splendour,
Sweet as the scents were gathered of yore
From the harp-swaying fingers
Of some three singers
Who sang the song-god's altar before.

XVII

Some three or four,
Apollo no more
Took pains to nurture nor cared to crown:
They passed away from us
And took the day from us,
And all the leaves of our life were brown,
And autumn came
And the dead year's shame
At their departure and cold death's frown.

XVIII

Now, dark-eyed chanter,
Be giver, be granter
Of new spring to us; bid England's plains
At thy sweet footing
Awake, forth-shooting
New green shafts as at the soft spring-rains
Bid summer blossoms
Ope bright glad bosoms,
And violets peep in the moist moss-lanes.

XIX

Arising later,
Thou shalt be greater
Than many and many who came and sang
Till the high hills sounded
As songs abounded,
And the echoing sea-waves laughed and they rang:
Thou shalt step higher,
With more sweet fire
Within thy spirit, more pure song-pang.

XX

Not bay-leaves olden
But his own golden
Dear locks Apollo shall bend and twine
Within thy dark,
Like many a spark
Of flame-flies floating, let loose in thine:
And an English rose
In the dark hair glows
To render it ever and ever divine.