The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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I.

A

pale green sky is gleaming; The steely stars are few;

The moorland pond is steaming

A mist of gray and blue.

Along the pathway lonely

My horse is walking slow;

Three living creatures only,

He, I, and a home-bound crow!

The moon is hardly shaping

Her circle in the fog;

A

dumb stream is escaping
Its prison in the bog.

But in my heart are ringing

Tones of a lofty song;

A

voice that I know, is singing, And my heart all night must long.

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