The Barrier
A. Mary F. Robinson
1857 to 1944
Last night I dreamed I stood once more
Beneath our garden wall.
I saw the willows bending grey,
The poplar springing tall.
O paths where oft I plucked the rose,
O steeple in the sky,
O Common swelling darkly green,
How glad at heart was I!
My hand I raised to lift the latch,
But lo, the gate was gone!
And all around, ay, all around
There ran a wall of stone...
O years when oft we plucked the rose,
When oft we laughed and cried!
Thou hast no gate, O Youth, our Youth,
When once we stand outside!
A. Mary F. Robinson's The Barrier
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