The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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I.

A

glory on the chamber wall! A glory in the brain!

Triumphant floods of glory fall

On heath, and wold, and plain.

Earth lieth still in hopeless bliss;

She has, and seeks no more;

Forgets that days come after this,

Forgets the days before.

Each ripple waves a flickering fire

Of gladness, as it runs;

They laugh and flash, and leap and spire,

And toss ten thousand suns.

But hark! low, in the world within,

One sad aeolian tone:

"Ah! shall we ever, ever win

A summer of our own?"

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