The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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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.

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