Triolet.

When the heart is a cup
    In the body low lying,
And wine, drop by drop
    Falls into that cup

From somewhere high up,
    It is good to be dying
With the heart for a cup
    In the body low lying.

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

Spoken Of Several Philosophers

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Rest

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

They Are Blind

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

A Vision Of St. Eligius

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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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

My Heart

    I.

    Night, with her power to silence day,
        Filled up my lonely room,
    Quenching all sounds but one that lay
        Beyond her passing doom,
    Where in his shed a 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 on bound,
        A shuttle was flying, flying--
    Weaving ever--till, all unwound,
        The weft go out a sighing.


    II.

    As hidden in thy chamber lowest
        As in the sky the lark,
    Thou, mystic thing, on working goest
        Without the poorest spark,
    And yet light's garment round me throwest,
        Who else, as thou, were dark.

    With bod...

George MacDonald

Triolet

Few in joy's sweet riot
Able are to listen:
Thou, to make me quiet,
Quenchest the sweet riot,
Tak'st away my diet,
Puttest me in prison--
Quenchest joy's sweet riot
That the heart may listen.

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

Words In The Night

I woke at midnight, and my heart,
My beating heart, said this to me:
Thou seest the moon, how calm and bright!
The world is fair by day and night,
But what is that to thee?
One touch to me, down dips the light
Over the land and sea.
All is mine, all is my own!
Toss the purple fountain high!
The breast of man is a vat of stone;
I am alive, I, only I!

One little touch and all is dark--
The winter with its sparkling moons,
The spring with all her violets,
The crimson dawns and rich sunsets,
The autumn's yellowing noons!
I only toss my purple jets,
And thou art one that swoons
Upon a night of gust and roar,
Shipwrecked among the waves, and seems
Across the purple hills to roam:
Sweet odours touch him from the foam,
And downward ...

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