George MacDonald Poems

I.

One is a slow and melancholy maid;
I know riot if she cometh from the skies
...

With wandering eyes and aimless zeal,
She hither, thither, goes;
Her speech, her motions, all reveal
A mind without repose.
...

Beautiful mother is busy all day,
So busy she neither can sing nor say;
But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseless flow,
...

Why came in dreams the low-born man
Between thee and thy rest?
In vain thy whispered message ran,
Though justice was its quest!
...

Better to smell the violet
Than sip the glowing wine;
Better to hearken to a brook
Than watch a diamond shine.
...

Annie she's dowie, and Willie he's wae:
What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae,
For Annie she's fair as the first o' the day,
...

The stars cleave the sky.
Yet for us they rest,
And their race-course high
Is a shining nest!
...

God gives his child upon his slate a sum-
To find eternity in hours and years;
With both sides covered, back the child doth come,
...

I.

A thousand houses of poesy stand around me everywhere;
They fill the earth and they fill my thought, they are in and
...

'WHO is this little one lying,'
Said Time, 'at my garden-gate,
Moaning and sobbing and crying,
Out in the cold so late?'
...