Song

She loves thee, loves thee not!
That, that is all, my heart.
Why should she take a part
In every selfish blot,
In every greedy spot
That now doth ache and smart
Because she loves thee not--
Not, not at all, poor heart!

Thou art no such dove-cot
Of virtues--no such chart
Of highways, though the dart
Of love be through thee shot!
Why should she not love not
Thee, poor, pinched, selfish heart?

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

Unrest

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

A Dream Song

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - The Tryst. (From Schiller.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

A Song In The Night.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

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

Song-Prayer: After King David.

I shall be satisfied
With the seeing of thy face.
When I awake, wide-eyed,
I shall be satisfied
With what this life did hide,
The one supernal grace!
I shall be satisfied
With the seeing of thy face.



DECEMBER 27, 1879

Every time would have its song
    If the heart were right,
Seeing Love all tender-strong
    Fills the day and night.


Weary drop the hands of Prayer
    Calling out for peace;
Love always and everywhere
    Sings and does not cease.

Fear, the caitiff, through the night
    Silent peers about;
Love comes singing with a light
    And doth cast him out.

Hate and Guile and Wrath and Doubt
    Never try to sing;
If they did, oh, what a rout
    Anguished ea...

George MacDonald

To G. M. T

    The sun is sinking in the west,
    Long grow the shadows dim;
    Have patience, sister, to be blest,
    Wait patiently for Him.

    Thou knowest love, much love hast had,
    Great things of love mayst tell,
    Ought'st never to be very sad
    For thou too hast lov'd well.

    His house thou know'st, who on the brink
    Of death loved more than thou,
    Loved more than thy great heart can think,
    And just as then loves now--

    In that great house is one who waits
    For thy slow-coming foot;
    Glad is he with his angel-mates
    Yet often listens mute,

    For he of all men loves thee best:
    He haunts the heavenly clock;
    Ah, he has long been up and drest
    To open to thy knock!

    F...

George MacDonald

My Heart Thy Lark

    Why dost thou want to sing
    When thou hast no song, my heart?
    If there be in thee a hidden spring,
    Wherefore will no word start?

    On its way thou hearest no song,
    Yet flutters thy unborn joy!
    The years of thy life are growing long--
    Art still the heart of a boy?--

    Father, I am thy child!
    My heart is in thy hand!
    Let it hear some echo, with gladness wild,
    Of a song in thy high land.

    It will answer--but how, my God,
    Thou knowest; I cannot say:
    It will spring, I know, thy lark, from thy sod--
    Thy lark to meet thy day!

George MacDonald

A Lown Nicht

Rose o' my hert,
    Open yer leaves to the lampin mune;
Into the curls lat her keek an' dert,
    She'll tak the colour but gie ye tune.

Buik o' my brain,
    Open yer faulds to the starry signs;
Lat the e'en o' the holy luik an' strain,
    Lat them glimmer an' score atween the lines.

Cup o' my soul,
    Goud an' diamond an' ruby cup,
Ye're noucht ava but a toom dry bowl
    Till the wine o' the kingdom fill ye up.

Conscience-glass,
    Mirror the en'less All in thee;
Melt the boundered and make it pass
    Into the tideless, shoreless sea.

Warl o' my life,
    Swing thee roun thy sunny track;
Fire an' win' an' water an' strife,
    Carry them a' to the glory back.

George MacDonald

Longing

    My heart is full of inarticulate pain,
        And beats laborious. Cold ungenial looks
    Invade my sanctuary. Men of gain,
        Wise in success, well-read in feeble books,
    No nigher come, I pray: your air is drear;
    'Tis winter and low skies when ye appear.

    Beloved, who love beauty and fair truth,
        Come nearer me; too near ye cannot come;
    Make me an atmosphere with your sweet youth;
        Give me your souls to breathe in, a large room;
    Speak not a word, for, see, my spirit lies
    Helpless and dumb; shine on me with your eyes.

    O all wide places, far from feverous towns;
        Great shining seas; pine forests; mountains wild;
    Rock-bosomed shores; rough heaths, and sheep-cropt downs;
        Vast pallid clo...

George MacDonald