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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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The night is damp and warm and still,

And soft with summer dreams;

The buds are bursting at their will,

And shy the half moon gleams.

My soul is cool, as bathed within

By dews that silent weep--

Like child that has confessed his sin,

And now will go to sleep.

My body ages, form and hue;

But when the spring winds blow,

My spirit stirs and buds anew,

Younger than long ago.

Lord, make me more a child, and more,

Till Time his own end bring,

And out of every winter sore

I pass into thy spring.

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