A Song In A Dream.

I dreamed of a song, I heard it sung;
In the ear that sleeps not its music rung.
And the tones were upheld by harmonies deep,
Where the spirit floated; yea, soared, on their sweep
With each wild unearthly word and tone,
Upward, it knew not whither bound,
In a calm delirium of mystic sound--
Up, where the Genius of Thought alone
Loveth in silence to drink his fill
Of dews that from unknown clouds distil.
A woman's voice the deep echoes awoke,
In the caverns and solitudes of my soul;
But such a voice had never broke
Through the sea of sounds that about us roll,
Choking the ear in the daylight strife.
There was sorrow and triumph, and death and life
In each chord-note of that prophet-song,
Blended in one harmonious throng:
Such a chant, ere my voice has fled from death,
Be it mine to mould of the parting breath.

George MacDonald

George MacDonald (1824–1905) was a Scottish author, poet, and Christian minister best known for his fairy tales and fantasy novels. He was a pioneer in the fantasy genre, influencing notable writers such as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. His major works include "Phantastes" and "Lilith," as well as numerous poems and other literary works. MacDonald's writings are characterized by their imaginative qualities and deep spiritual insight.

George MacDonald

Evil Influence

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - Die Nordsee (From Heine.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Triolet

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Two In One

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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A Dream Song

    I dreamed of a song--I heard it sung;
    In the ear of my soul its strange notes rung.
    What were its words I could not tell,
    Only the voice I heard right well,
    For its tones unearthly my spirit bound
    In a calm delirium of mystic sound--
    Held me floating, alone and high,
    Placeless and silent, drinking my fill
    Of dews that from cloudless skies distil
    On desert places that thirst and sigh.
    'Twas a woman's voice, deep calling to deep,
    Rousing old echoes that all day sleep
    In cavern and solitude, each apart,
    Here and there in the waiting heart;--
    A voice with a wild melodious cry
    Reaching and longing afar and high.
    Sorrowful triumph, and hopeful strife,
    Gainful death, and new-born life,
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George MacDonald

A Song In The Night.

A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree,
Sang in the moonshine, merrily,
Three little songs, one, two, and three,
A song for his wife, for himself, and me.

He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high,
Filling the moonlight that filled the sky;
"Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive!
Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!"

He sang to himself, "What shall I do
With this life that thrills me through and through!
Glad is so glad that it turns to ache!
Out with it, song, or my heart will break!"

He sang to me, "Man, do not fear
Though the moon goes down and the dark is near;
Listen my song and rest thine eyes;
Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!"

I folded me up in the heart of his tune,
And fell asleep with the sinking moon;
...

George MacDonald

A Dream-Song

The stars are spinning their threads,
    And the clouds are the dust that flies,
And the suns are weaving them up
    For the day when the sleepers arise.

The ocean in music rolls,
    The gems are turning to eyes,
And the trees are gathering souls
    For the day when the sleepers arise.

The weepers are learning to smile,
    And laughter to glean the sighs,
And hearts to bury their care and guile
    For the day when the sleepers arise.

Oh, the dews and the moths and the daisy-red,
    The larks and the glimmers and flows!
The lilies and sparrows and daily bread,
    And the something that nobody knows!

George MacDonald

The Wakeful Sleeper

    When things are holding wonted pace
    In wonted paths, without a trace
    Or hint of neighbouring wonder,
    Sometimes, from other realms, a tone,
    A scent, a vision, swift, alone,
    Breaks common life asunder.

    Howe'er it comes, whate'er its door,
    It makes you ponder something more--
    Unseen with seen things linking:
    To neighbours met one festive night,
    Was given a quaint and lovely sight,
    That set some of them thinking.

    They stand, in music's fetters bound
    By a clear brook of warbled sound,
    A canzonet of Haydn,
    When the door slowly comes ajar--
    A little further--just as far
    As shows a tiny maiden.

    Softly she enters, her pink toes
    Daintily peeping, as she goes,...

George MacDonald

My Heart.

I heard, in darkness, on my bed,
    The beating of my heart
To servant feet and regnant head
    A common life impart,
By the liquid cords, in every thread
    Unbroken as they start.

Night, with its power to silence day,
    Filled up my lonely room;
All motion quenching, save what lay
    Beyond its passing doom,
Where in his shed the workman gay
    Went on despite the gloom.

I listened, and I knew the sound,
    And the trade that he was plying;
For backwards, forwards, bound and bound,
    'Twas a shuttle, flying, flying;
Weaving ever life's garment round,
    Till the weft go out with sighing.

I said, O mystic thing, thou goest
    On working in the dark;
In space's shoreless sea thou rowest,
    Concealed with...

George MacDonald

A Gift.

My gift would find thee fast asleep,
    And arise a dream in thee;
A violet sky o'er the roll and sweep
    Of a purple and pallid sea;
And a crescent moon from my sky should creep
    In the golden dream to thee.

Thou shouldst lay thee down, and sadly list
    To the wail of our cold birth-time;
And build thee a temple, glory-kissed,
    In the heart of the sunny clime;
Its columns should rise in a music-mist,
    And its roofs in a spirit-rhyme.

Its pillars the solemn hills should bind
    'Neath arches of starry deeps;
Its floor the earth all veined and lined;
    Its organ the ocean-sweeps;
And, swung in the hands of the grey-robed wind,
    Its censers the blossom-heaps.

And 'tis almost done; for in this my rhyme,
    Tha...

George MacDonald