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George MacDonald (Джордж Макдональд)


To June


Ah, truant, thou art here again, I see!
For in a season of such wretched weather
I thought that thou hadst left us altogether,
Although I could not choose but fancy thee
Skulking about the hill-tops, whence the glee
Of thy blue laughter peeped at times, or rather
Thy bashful awkwardness, as doubtful whether
Thou shouldst be seen in such a company
Of ugly runaways, unshapely heaps
Of ruffian vapour, broken from restraint
Of their slim prison in the ocean deeps.
But yet I may not chide: fall to thy books-
Fall to immediately without complaint-
There they are lying, hills and vales and brooks. 



George MacDonald's other poems:
  1. Song of the Waiting Dead
  2. Appeal
  3. The Women who Ministered unto Him
  4. Truth, not Form!
  5. Home from the Wars


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