The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| V. |
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“THE SOVEREIGN ROSE”
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| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
242
“THE SOVEREIGN ROSE”
“God, having made the countless flowers of earth
That laugh amid our woods with choral mirth
Of clustering sister-stems
And having thronged the realms of azure space
With star on star, and crowned each star with grace
Of blossom-diadems,—
That laugh amid our woods with choral mirth
Of clustering sister-stems
And having thronged the realms of azure space
With star on star, and crowned each star with grace
Of blossom-diadems,—
“God, having made the flowers, had still one more
To mould and shape—no model in his store
Suited his work's grand close;
So he created woman's lips for this,
And with the royal fragrance of her kiss
Imbued the sovereign rose.
To mould and shape—no model in his store
Suited his work's grand close;
So he created woman's lips for this,
And with the royal fragrance of her kiss
Imbued the sovereign rose.
“Therefore all love is good. Who wins a flower
Wins a new fragment of God's life that hour
And wins one glance supreme
Into the deep abysses of God's heart,
Limitless depths beyond the strength of Art
To fathom in a dream.”
Wins a new fragment of God's life that hour
And wins one glance supreme
243
Limitless depths beyond the strength of Art
To fathom in a dream.”
So speaks the poet in his early days.
Each sweet first tender impulse moves and sways
His heart, so swiftly won!
He dreams beneath the moon, and thinks the night
Sufficient. When a million stars are bright
The eye forgets the sun.
Each sweet first tender impulse moves and sways
His heart, so swiftly won!
He dreams beneath the moon, and thinks the night
Sufficient. When a million stars are bright
The eye forgets the sun.
Yet surely comes the hour when through his dream
The morning breaks. Sweet was the moony gleam
That lit the soft night-breeze;
Sweet was it just to cull love's lighter flowers
In life's first lighter less impassioned hours
And rest content with these.
The morning breaks. Sweet was the moony gleam
That lit the soft night-breeze;
Sweet was it just to cull love's lighter flowers
In life's first lighter less impassioned hours
And rest content with these.
At last the poet apprehends the soul
Of woman,—knows that he, to win the whole,
Must give the whole as well:
That what he gives, he wins; that woman grows
(Just as man wills) to earth's divinest rose
Or fieriest flower of hell.
Of woman,—knows that he, to win the whole,
Must give the whole as well:
That what he gives, he wins; that woman grows
(Just as man wills) to earth's divinest rose
Or fieriest flower of hell.
244
Who giveth much, receiveth much. Not he
Who sings of her soft tresses tenderly
And loves her for an hour,
Not he shall win her worship absolute:
Seldom that man shall grasp the final fruit
Who dallies with the flower.
Who sings of her soft tresses tenderly
And loves her for an hour,
Not he shall win her worship absolute:
Seldom that man shall grasp the final fruit
Who dallies with the flower.
Woman can equal man in loving strength:
She shall surpass him, when her heart at length
Quite flowers with fragrance fair.
The man who brings her all the soul of Art
Never quite wins her secret silent heart
Unless his soul is there.
She shall surpass him, when her heart at length
Quite flowers with fragrance fair.
The man who brings her all the soul of Art
Never quite wins her secret silent heart
Unless his soul is there.
'Tis soul and soul. The perfect souls must meet
In union never-ending, ever-sweet,—
In love's sublime repose.
He who would sway the gentlest girlish heart
Must give his own, and give it not in part;
He wins what he bestows.
In union never-ending, ever-sweet,—
In love's sublime repose.
He who would sway the gentlest girlish heart
Must give his own, and give it not in part;
He wins what he bestows.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |