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

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

King Cole

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

A Winter Prayer.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Homeless Ghost

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Songs Of The Summer Days

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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

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 Rolleston

    Dead art thou? No more dead than was the maid
    Over whose couch the saving God did stand--
    "She is not dead but sleepeth," said,
    And took her by the hand!

    Thee knowledge never from Life's pathway wiled,
    But following still where life's great father led,
    He turned, and taking up his child,
    Raised thee too from the dead,

    O living, thou hast passed thy second birth,
    Found all things new, and some things lovely strange;
    But thou wilt not forget the earth,
    Or in thy loving change!

George MacDonald

In Memorium - Lady Caroline Charteris

    The mountain-stream may humbly boast
    For her the loud waves call;
    The hamlet feeds the nation's host,
    The home-farm feeds the hall;

    And unto earth heaven's Lord doth lend
    The right, of high import,
    The gladsome privilege to send
    New courtiers to Love's court.

    Not strange to thee, O lady dear,
    Life in that palace fair,
    For thou while waiting with us here
    Didst just as they do there!

    Thy heart still open to receive,
    Open thy hand to give,
    God had thee graced with more than leave
    In heavenly state to live!

    And though thou art gone up so high
    Thou art not gone so far
    But that thy love to us comes nigh,
    As starlight from a star.

    And ...

George MacDonald

To A Lady.

1.

Oh! had my Fate been join'd with thine, ^[1]
As once this pledge appear'd a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
For, then, my peace had not been broken.


2.

To thee, these early faults I owe,
To thee, the wise and old reproving:
They know my sins, but do not know
'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.


3.

For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
And all its rising fires could smother;
But, now, thy vows no more endure,
Bestow'd by thee upon another. ^[1]


4.

Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my Rival smile in joy,
For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.


5.

Ah! since thy angel form ...

George Gordon Byron

To An Autograph-Hunter

Seek not my name--it doth no virtue bear;
    Seek, seek thine own primeval name to find--
The name God called when thy ideal fair
    Arose in deeps of the eternal mind.

When that thou findest, thou art straight a lord
    Of time and space--art heir of all things grown;
And not my name, poor, earthly label-word,
    But I myself thenceforward am thine own.

Thou hearest not? Or hearest as a man
    Who hears the muttering of a foolish spell?
My very shadow would feel strange and wan
    In thy abode:--I say No, and Farewell.

Thou understandest? Then it is enough;
    No shadow-deputy shall mock my friend;
We walk the same path, over smooth and rough,
    To meet ere long at the unending end.

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