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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2
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In the air
Nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare;
Larger and nearer the shy stars shone:
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!
The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down
And in town,
A merry-mad clown,
He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar—
When there was that glimmering thread once more!
He flew in a rage—he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain,
For still the Moon-scrap the broader grew
The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew.
Slowly she grew—till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne
In the sky alone
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.
Said the Wind, "What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath,
In good faith,
I blew her to death!—
First blew her away right out of the sky,
Then blew her in: what a strength am I!"
But the Moon she knew nought of the silly affair;
For, high
In the sky
With her one white eye,
Motionless miles above the air,
She never had heard the great Wind blare.
THE FOOLISH HAREBELL
A harebell hung her wilful head:
"I am tired, so tired! I wish I was dead."
She hung her head in the mossy dell:
"If all were over, then all were well!"
The Wind he heard, and was pitiful,
And waved her about to make her cool.
"Wind, you are rough!" said the dainty Bell;
"Leave me alone—I am not well."
The Wind, at the word of the drooping dame,
Sighed to himself and ceased in shame.
"I am hot, so hot!" she moaned and said;
"I am withering up; I wish I was dead!"
Then the Sun he pitied her woeful case,
And drew a thick veil over his face.
"Cloud go away, and don't be rude,"
She said; "I do not see why you should!"
The Cloud withdrew. Then the Harebell cried,
"I am faint, so faint!—and no water beside!"
The Dew came down its millionfold path:
She murmured, "I did not want a bath!"
The Dew went up; the Wind softly crept;
The Night came down, and the Harebell slept.
A boy ran past in the morning gray,
Plucked the Harebell, and threw her away.
The Harebell shivered, and sighed, "Oh! oh!
I am faint indeed! Come, dear Wind, blow."
The Wind blew gently, and did not speak.
She thanked him kindly, but grew more weak.
"Sun, dear Sun, I am cold!" she said.
He shone; but lower she drooped her head.
"O Rain, I am withering! all the blue
Is fading out of me!—come, please do!"
The Rain came down as fast as he could,
But for all his good will he could do her no good.
She shuddered and shrivelled, and moaning said,
"Thank you all kindly!" and then she was dead.
Let us hope, let us hope when she comes next year
She'll be simple and sweet! But I fear, I fear!
Nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare;
Larger and nearer the shy stars shone:
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!
The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down
And in town,
A merry-mad clown,
He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar—
When there was that glimmering thread once more!
He flew in a rage—he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain,
For still the Moon-scrap the broader grew
The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew.
Slowly she grew—till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne
In the sky alone
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.
Said the Wind, "What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath,
In good faith,
I blew her to death!—
First blew her away right out of the sky,
Then blew her in: what a strength am I!"
But the Moon she knew nought of the silly affair;
For, high
In the sky
With her one white eye,
Motionless miles above the air,
She never had heard the great Wind blare.
THE FOOLISH HAREBELL
A harebell hung her wilful head:
"I am tired, so tired! I wish I was dead."
She hung her head in the mossy dell:
"If all were over, then all were well!"
The Wind he heard, and was pitiful,
And waved her about to make her cool.
"Wind, you are rough!" said the dainty Bell;
"Leave me alone—I am not well."
The Wind, at the word of the drooping dame,
Sighed to himself and ceased in shame.
"I am hot, so hot!" she moaned and said;
"I am withering up; I wish I was dead!"
Then the Sun he pitied her woeful case,
And drew a thick veil over his face.
"Cloud go away, and don't be rude,"
She said; "I do not see why you should!"
The Cloud withdrew. Then the Harebell cried,
"I am faint, so faint!—and no water beside!"
The Dew came down its millionfold path:
She murmured, "I did not want a bath!"
The Dew went up; the Wind softly crept;
The Night came down, and the Harebell slept.
A boy ran past in the morning gray,
Plucked the Harebell, and threw her away.
The Harebell shivered, and sighed, "Oh! oh!
I am faint indeed! Come, dear Wind, blow."
The Wind blew gently, and did not speak.
She thanked him kindly, but grew more weak.
"Sun, dear Sun, I am cold!" she said.
He shone; but lower she drooped her head.
"O Rain, I am withering! all the blue
Is fading out of me!—come, please do!"
The Rain came down as fast as he could,
But for all his good will he could do her no good.
She shuddered and shrivelled, and moaning said,
"Thank you all kindly!" and then she was dead.
Let us hope, let us hope when she comes next year
She'll be simple and sweet! But I fear, I fear!
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
Последний отзыв
Книгу прочитать не могу, везде ЛитРес свой нос сунул, как и где скачать полную версию бесплатно!?!?