The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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IX.

I am a stranger in the land;

It gives no welcome dear;

Its

lilies bloom not for my hand, Its roses for my cheer.

The

sunshine used to make me glad, But now it knows me not;

This weight of brightness makes me sad--

It isolates a blot.

I am forgotten by the hills,

And by the river's play;

No look of recognition thrills

The features of the day.

Then only am I moved to song,

When down the darkening street,

While vanishes the scattered throng,

The driving rain I meet.

The

rain pours down. My thoughts awake, Like flowers that languished long;

From bare cold hills the night-winds break,

From me the unwonted song.

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