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Poem by George MacDonald


Fate


Oft, as I rest in quiet peace, am I
Thrust out at sudden doors, and madly driven
Through desert solitudes, and thunder-riven
Black passages which have not any sky:
The scourge is on me now, with all the cry
Of ancient life that hath with murder striven.
How many an anguish hath gone up to heaven,
How many a hand in prayer been lifted high
When the black fate came onward with the rush
Of whirlwind, avalanche, or fiery spume!
Even at my feet is cleft a shivering tomb
Beneath the waves; or else, with solemn hush
The graveyard opens, and I feel a crush
As if we were all huddled in one doom! 



George MacDonald


George MacDonald's other poems:
  1. Mary Magdalene
  2. The Auld Fisher
  3. On the Source of the Arve
  4. Going to Sleep
  5. The Women who Ministered unto Him


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Ralph Emerson Fate ("DEEP in the man sits fast his fate")
  • Francis Bret Harte Fate ("The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare")

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