Songs Of The Autumn Nights

    I.

    O night, send up the harvest moon
    To walk about the fields,
    And make of midnight magic noon
    On lonely tarns and wealds.

    In golden ranks, with golden crowns,
    All in the yellow land,
    Old solemn kings in rustling gowns,
    The shocks moon-charmed stand.

    Sky-mirror she, afloat in space,
    Beholds our coming morn:
    Her heavenly joy hath such a grace,
    It ripens earthly corn;

    Like some lone saint with upward eyes,
    Lost in the deeps of prayer:
    The people still their prayers and sighs,
    And gazing ripen there.

    II.

    So, like the corn moon-ripened last,
    Would I, weary and gray,
    On golden memories ripen fast,
    And ripening pass away.

    In an old night so let me die;
    A slow wind out of doors;
    A waning moon low in the sky;
    A vapour on the moors;

    A fire just dying in the gloom;
    Earth haunted all with dreams;
    A sound of waters in the room;
    A mirror's moony gleams;

    And near me, in the sinking night,
    More thoughts than move in me--
    Forgiving wrong, and loving right,
    And waiting till I see.


    III.

    Across the stubble glooms the wind;
    High sails the lated crow;
    The west with pallid green is lined;
    Fog tracks the river's flow.

    My heart is cold and sad; I moan,
    Yet care not for my grief;
    The summer fervours all are gone;
    The roses are but leaf.

    Old age is coming, frosty, hoar;
    The snows of time will fall;
    My jubilance, dream-like, no more
    Returns for any call!

    O lapsing heart! thy feeble strain
    Sends up the blood so spare,
    That my poor withering autumn brain
    Sees autumn everywhere!


    IV.

    Lord of my life! if I am blind,
    I reck not--thou canst see;
    I well may wait my summer mind,
    When I am sure of thee!

    I made no brave bright suns arise,
    Veiled up no sweet gray eves;
    I hung no rose-lamps, lit no eyes,
    Sent out no windy leaves!

    I said not "I will cast a charm
    These gracious forms around;"
    My heart with unwilled love grew warm;
    I took but what I found!

    When cold winds range my winter-night,
    Be thou my summer-door;
    Keep for me all my young delight,
    Till I am old no more.

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

Translations. - The Fourty-Sixth Psalm. (Luther's Song-Book.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

My Heart Thy Lark

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Not Understood.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

To A. J. Scott

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Songs Of The Autumn Days

    I.

    We bore him through the golden land,
    One early harvest morn;
    The corn stood ripe on either hand--
    He knew all about the corn.

    How shall the harvest gathered be
    Without him standing by?
    Without him walking on the lea,
    The sky is scarce a sky.

    The year's glad work is almost done;
    The land is rich in fruit;
    Yellow it floats in air and sun--
    Earth holds it by the root.

    Why should earth hold it for a day
    When harvest-time is come?
    Death is triumphant o'er decay,
    And leads the ripened home.


    II.

    And though the sun be not so warm,
    His shining is not lost;
    Both corn and hope, of heart and farm,
    Lie hid from coming...

George MacDonald

Songs Of The Summer Nights

    I.

    The dreary wind of night is out,
    Homeless and wandering slow;
    O'er pale seas moaning like a doubt,
    It breathes, but will not blow.

    It sighs from out the helpless past,
    Where doleful things abide;
    Gray ghosts of dead thought sail aghast
    Across its ebbing tide.

    O'er marshy pools it faints and flows,
    All deaf and dumb and blind;
    O'er moor and mountain aimless goes--
    The listless woesome wind!

    Nay, nay!--breathe on, sweet wind of night!
    The sigh is all in me;
    Flow, fan, and blow, with gentle might,
    Until I wake and see.


    II.

    The west is broken into bars
    Of orange, gold, and gray;
    Gone is the sun, fast come the stars,

George MacDonald

Songs Of The Spring Nights

    I.

    The flush of green that dyed the day
    Hath vanished in the moon;
    Flower-scents float stronger out, and play
    An unborn, coming tune.

    One southern eve like this, the dew
    Had cooled and left the ground;
    The moon hung half-way from the blue,
    No disc, but conglobed round;

    Light-leaved acacias, by the door,
    Bathed in the balmy air,
    Clusters of blossomed moonlight bore,
    And breathed a perfume rare;

    Great gold-flakes from the starry sky
    Fell flashing on the deep:
    One scent of moist earth floating by,
    Almost it made me weep.


    II.

    Those gorgeous stars were not my own,
    They made me alien go!
    The mother o'er her head had thrown...

George MacDonald

Autumn Song

    Autumn clouds are flying, flying
    O'er the waste of blue;
    Summer flowers are dying, dying,
    Late so lovely new.
    Labouring wains are slowly rolling
    Home with winter grain;
    Holy bells are slowly tolling
    Over buried men.

    Goldener light sets noon a sleeping
    Like an afternoon;
    Colder airs come stealing, creeping
    From the misty moon;
    And the leaves, of old age dying,
    Earthy hues put on;
    Out on every lone wind sighing
    That their day is gone.

    Autumn's sun is sinking, sinking
    Down to winter low;
    And our hearts are thinking, thinking
    Of the sleet and snow;
    For our sun is slowly sliding
    Down the hill of might;
    And no moon is softly gliding

George MacDonald

Songs Of The Winter Nights

    I.

    Back shining from the pane, the fire
    Seems outside in the snow:
    So love set free from love's desire
    Lights grief of long ago.

    The dark is thinned with snow-sheen fine,
    The earth bedecked with moon;
    Out on the worlds we surely shine
    More radiant than in June!

    In the white garden lies a heap
    As brown as deep-dug mould:
    A hundred partridges that keep
    Each other from the cold.

    My father gives them sheaves of corn,
    For shelter both and food:
    High hope in me was early born,
    My father was so good.


    II.

    The frost weaves ferns and sultry palms
    Across my clouded pane;
    Weaves melodies of ancient psalms
    All through my...

George MacDonald

Picture Songs.

    I.

    A pale green sky is gleaming;
    The steely stars are few;
    The moorland pond is steaming
    A mist of gray and blue.

    Along the pathway lonely
    My horse is walking slow;
    Three living creatures only,
    He, I, and a home-bound crow!

    The moon is hardly shaping
    Her circle in the fog;
    A dumb stream is escaping
    Its prison in the bog.

    But in my heart are ringing
    Tones of a lofty song;
    A voice that I know, is singing,
    And my heart all night must long.


    II.

    Over a shining land--
    Once such a land I knew--
    Over its sea, by a soft wind fanned,
    The sky is all white and blue.

    The waves are kissing the shores,
...

George MacDonald