Hope And Patience

An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled,
A-dreaming of the world.

Round it, for castle-wall, a shell
Is guarding it well.

is the bird with its dim sensations;
The shell that keeps it alive is

by George MacDonald

Comments (9)

Great poem. The imagery of great roots growing from your soul and the slave of the circle that moves through black and gold (the sun?) and the ending paradox, that fullness of life imples decay and sadness
alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead and filled with the lives of fire, pure heir of the ruined day. A poem of excellence. Amazing poet.
The more you read Pablo the more you get fascinated to read his work I really admire his writing skills
What more could Pablo have now written about had he not lived in such primitive time's.. iip
Deserves a lot more than a 5.6 This is a powerful piece on the end of day, death and the cycle os sun, moon and nature.
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