The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)

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IV.

Something my brother said to me like this,

But how unlike it also, think, I pray: His eyes were music, and his smile a kiss;

Himself the word, his speech was but a ray

In the clear nimbus that with verity Of absolute utterance made a home-born day

Of truth about him, lamping solemnly;

And when he paused, there came a swift repose, Too high, too still to be called ecstasy--

A purple silence, lanced through in the close

By such keen thought that, with a sudden smiling, It grew sheen silver, hearted with burning rose.

He was a glory full of reconciling,

Of faithfulness, of love with no self-stain, Of tenderness, and care, and brother-wiling

Back to the bosom of a speechless gain.

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