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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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But I have seen pictures the work of man, In which at first appeared but chaos wild: So high the art transcended, they beguiled The eye as formless, and without a plan. Not soon, the spirit, brooding o'er, began To see a purpose rise, like mountain isled, When God said, Let the Dry appear! and, piled Above the waves, it rose in twilight wan. So might thy pictures then have been too strange For us to pierce beyond their outmost look; A vapour and a darkness; a sealed book; An atmosphere too high for wings to range; And so we could but, gazing, pale and change, And tremble as at a void thought cannot brook.

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