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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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Alone I lie, buried amid

The long luxurious grass;

The bats flit round me, born and hid

In twilight's wavering mass.

The fir-top floats, an airy isle,

High o'er the mossy ground;

Harmonious silence breathes the while

In scent instead of sound.

The flaming rose glooms swarthy red;

The borage gleams more blue;

Dim-starred with white, a flowery bed

Glimmers the rich dusk through.

Hid in the summer grass I lie,

Lost in the great blue cave;

My body gazes at the sky,

And measures out its grave.

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