To Lady Noel Byron

    Men sought, ambition's thirst to slake,
    The lost elixir old
    Whose magic touch should instant make
    The meaner metals gold.

    A nobler alchymy is thine
    Which love from pain doth press:
    Gold in thy hand becomes divine,
    Grows truth and tenderness.

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

Sonnet. About Jesus. XVI.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

An Evening Prayer

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Evil Influence

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Quiet Dead!

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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From Novalis

Uplifted is the stone
    And all mankind arisen!
We are thy very own,
    We are no more in prison!
What bitterest grief can stay
    Beside thy golden cup,
When earth and life give way
    And with our Lord we sup!

To the marriage Death doth call,
    The lamps are burning clear,
The virgins, ready all,
    Have for their oil no fear.
Would that even now were ringing
    The distance with thy throng!
And that the stars were singing
    To us a human song!

Courage! for life is hasting
    To endless life away;
The inward fire, unwasting,
    Transfigures our dull clay!
See the stars melting, sinking
    In life-wine golden-bright!
We, of the splendour drinking,
    Shall grow to stars of light.

Lost, l...

George MacDonald

To The Same (Lady Noel Byron )

    Dead, why defend thee, who in life
    For thy worst foe hadst died;
    Who, thy own name a word of strife,
    Didst silent stand aside?

    Grand in forgiveness, what to thee
    The big world's puny prate!
    Or thy great heart hath ceased to be
    Or loveth still its mate!

George MacDonald

To A. J. Scott

    When, long ago, the daring of my youth
    Drew nigh thy greatness with a little thing,
    Thou didst receive me; and thy sky of truth

    Has domed me since, a heaven of sheltering,
    Made homely by the tenderness and grace
    Which round thy absolute friendship ever fling

    A radiant atmosphere. Turn not thy face
    From that small part of earnest thanks, I pray,
    Which, spoken, leaves much more in speechless case.

    I see thee far before me on thy way
    Up the great peaks, and striding stronger still;
    Thy intellect unrivalled in its sway,

    Upheld and ordered by a regnant will;
    Thy wisdom, seer and priest of holy fate,
    Searching all truths its prophecy to fill;

    But this my joy: throned in thy hear...

George MacDonald

Of The Son Of Man

I. I honour Nature, holding it unjust
To look with jealousy on her designs;
With every passing year more fast she twines
About my heart; with her mysterious dust
Claim I a fellowship not less august
Although she works before me and combines
Her changing forms, wherever the sun shines
Spreading a leafy volume on the crust
Of the old world; and man himself likewise
Is of her making: wherefore then divorce
What God hath joined thus, and rend by force
Spirit away from substance, bursting ties
By which in one great bond of unity
God hath together bound all things that be?

II. And in these lines my purpose is to show
That He who left the Father, though he came
Not with art-splendour or the earthly flame
Of genius, yet in that he did bestow
His own tr...

George MacDonald

Longing.

Away from the city's herds!
    Away from the noisy street!
Away from the storm of words,
    Where hateful and hating meet!

Away from the vapour grey,
    That like a boding of ill
Is blotting the morning gay,
    And gathers and darkens still!

Away from the stupid book!
    For, like the fog's weary rest,
With anger dull it fills each nook
    Of my aching and misty breast.

Over some shining shore,
    There hangeth a space of blue;
A parting 'mid thin clouds hoar
    Where the sunlight is falling through.

The glad waves are kissing the shore
    Rejoice, and tell it for ever;
The boat glides on, while its oar
    Is flashing out of the river.

Oh to be there with thee!
    Thou and I only, my love!
...

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