George MacDonald

(10 December 1824 – 18 September 1905 / Huntly, Aberdeenshire, Scotland)

George MacDonald Poems

81. The Mistletoe 4/9/2010
82. The Wind Of The World 4/9/2010
83. The Woman In The Temple 4/9/2010
84. The Woman Of Whom Satan Had Bound 4/9/2010
85. The Woman That Lifted Up Her Voice 4/9/2010
86. The Woman That Was A Sinner 4/9/2010
87. The Woman Who Came Behind Him In The Crowd 4/9/2010
88. The Women Who Ministered Unto Him 4/9/2010
89. The Word Of God 4/9/2010
90. They Are Blind 4/9/2010
91. This World 4/9/2010
92. Thou Also 4/9/2010
93. Thy Heart 4/9/2010
94. Time And Time 4/9/2010
95. To ---- 4/9/2010
96. To A Certain Critic 4/9/2010
97. To A Sister 4/9/2010
98. To A Thunder-Cloud 4/9/2010
99. To A.J. Scott 4/9/2010
100. To A.J. Scott, May, 1857 4/9/2010
101. To An Autograph-Hunter 4/9/2010
102. To Any Friend 4/9/2010
103. To Any One 4/9/2010
104. To Aubrey De Vere 4/9/2010
105. To Aurelio Saffi 4/9/2010
106. To E.G., Dedicating A Book 4/9/2010
107. To G. M. T. 4/9/2010
108. To Garibaldi--With A Book 4/9/2010
109. To Greville Matheson Macdonald 4/9/2010
110. To June 4/9/2010
111. To Lady Noel Byron 4/9/2010
112. To My Aging Friends 4/9/2010
113. To My God 4/9/2010
114. To My Lord And Master 4/9/2010
115. To My Mother Earth 4/9/2010
116. To My Sister: On Her Twenty-First Birthday 4/9/2010
117. To One Threatened With Blindness 4/9/2010
118. To S. F. S. 4/9/2010
119. To The Clouds 4/9/2010
120. To The Same 4/9/2010
Best Poem of George MacDonald

Little Bo-Peep

Little Bo-Peep, she has lost her sheep,
And will not know where to find them;
They are over the height and out of sight,
Trailing their tails behind them!

Little Bo-Peep woke out of her sleep,
Jump'd up and set out to find them:
'The silly things! they've got no wings,
And they've left their trails behind them!

'They've taken their tails, but they've left their trails,
And so I shall follow and find them!'
For wherever a tail had dragged a trail
The grass lay bent behind them.

She washed in the brook, and caught up her crook.
And after her ...

Read the full of Little Bo-Peep

A Better Thing

I took it for a bird of prey that soared
High over ocean, battled mount, and plain;
'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored
The invisibly obstructing window-pane!

Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve
But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye,
Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve
Thee, little angel of a lower sky!

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