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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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I.

The dreary wind of night is out,

Homeless and wandering slow;

O'er pale seas moaning like a doubt,

It breathes, but will not blow.

It sighs from out the helpless past,

Where doleful things abide;

Gray ghosts of dead thought sail aghast

Across its ebbing tide.

O'er marshy pools it faints and flows,

All deaf and dumb and blind;

O'er moor and mountain aimless goes--

The listless woesome wind!

Nay, nay!--breathe on, sweet wind of night!

The sigh is all in me;

Flow, fan, and blow, with gentle might,

Until I wake and see.



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