The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2 by George MacDonald
page 33 of 540 (06%)
page 33 of 540 (06%)
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Held a man in spider-mesh,
It would drag him through that door, Give him up to loreless lore, Ages to be blown and hurled Up and down a deedless world. Ah, your eyes ask how I brook Doors that are not, doors to look! That is whither I was tending, And it brings me to good ending. Baby is the cause of this; Odd it seems, but so it is;-- Baby, with her pretty prate Molten, half articulate, Full of hints, suggestions, catches, Broken verse, and music snatches! She, like seraph gone astray, Must be shown the homeward way; Plant of heaven, she, rooted lowly, Must put forth a blossom holy, Must, through culture high and steady, Slow unfold a gracious lady; She must therefore live in wonder, See nought common up or under; She the moon and stars and sea, Worm and butterfly and bee, Yea, the sparkle in a stone, Must with marvel look upon; She must love, in heaven's own blueness, |
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