Poem Themes Х
Random Poem Х
The Rating of Poets Х The Rating of Poems
Poem by George MacDonald
My Two Geniuses
I. One is a slow and melancholy maid; I know riot if she cometh from the skies Or from the sleepy gulfs, but she will rise Often before me in the twilight shade, Holding a bunch of poppies and a blade Of springing wheat: prostrate my body lies Before her on the turf, the while she ties A fillet of the weed about my head; And in the gaps of sleep I seem to hear A gentle rustle like the stir of corn, And words like odours thronging to my ear: 'Lie still, beloved-still until the morn; Lie still with me upon this rolling sphere- Still till the judgment; thou art faint and worn.' II. The other meets me in the public throng; Her hair streams backward from her loose attire; She hath a trumpet and an eye of fire; She points me downward, steadily and long:- 'There is thy grave-arise, my son, be strong! Hands are upon thy crown-awake, aspire To immortality; heed not the lyre Of the Enchantress, nor her poppy-song, But in the stillness of the summer calm Tremble for what is Godlike in thy being. Listen a while, and thou shall hear the psalm Of victory sung by creatures past thy seeing; And from far battle-fields there comes the neighing Of dreadful onset, though the air is balm.' III. Maid with the poppies, must I let thee go? Alas, I may not; thou art likewise dear! I am but human, and thou hast a tear When she hath nought but splendour, and the glow Of a wild energy that mocks the flow Of the poor sympathies which keep us here: Lay past thy poppies, and come twice as near, And I will teach thee, and thou too shalt grow; And thou shalt walk with me in open day Through the rough thoroughfares with quiet grace; And the wild-visaged maid shall lead the way, Timing her footsteps to a gentler pace As her great orbs turn ever on thy face, Drinking in draughts of loving help alway.
George MacDonald's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail email@example.com