Waiting for Springtime with George MacDonald

Hello everyone – 

In recent weeks, I’ve been revisiting a favorite author of mine from years gone by, the Scottish novelist and poet, George MacDonald (1824-1905), whose writings greatly influenced the development of modern fantasy literature (C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien were two of his greatest admirers). Here are three poems by MacDonald that deal with late winter and the longing for springtime – certainly, very appropriate for a snowy February evening!

 

“In February”

Now in the dark of February rains,

Poor lovers of the sunshine, spring is born,

The earthy fields are full of hidden corn,

And March's violets bud along the lanes;

Therefore with joy believe in what remains.

And thou who dost not feel them, do not scorn

Our early songs for winter overworn,

And faith in God's handwriting on the plains.

"Hope" writes he, "Love" in the first violet,

"Joy," even from Heaven, in songs and winds and trees;

And having caught the happy words in these

While Nature labors with the letters yet,

Spring cannot cheat us, though her hopes be broken,

Nor leave us, for we know what God hath spoken.

 

“In the Winter”

In the winter, flowers are springing;

In the winter, woods are green,

Where our banished birds are singing,

Where our summer sun is seen!

Our cold midnights are coeval

With an evening and a morn

Where the forest-gods hold revel,

And the spring is newly born!

While the earth is full of fighting,

While men rise and curse their day,

While the foolish strong are smiting,

And the foolish weak betray-

The true hearts beyond are growing,

The brave spirits work alone,

Where Love's summer-wind is blowing

In a truth-irradiate zone!

While we cannot shape our living

To the beauty of our skies,

While man wants and earth is giving-

Nature calls and man denies-

How the old worlds round Him gather

Where their Maker is their sun!

How the children know the Father

Where the will of God is done!

Daily woven with our story,

Sounding far above our strife,

Is a time-enclosing glory,

Is a space-absorbing life.

We can dream no dream Elysian,

There is no good thing might be,

But some angel has the vision,

But some human soul shall see!

Is thy strait horizon dreary?

Is thy foolish fancy chill?

Change the feet that have grown weary

For the wings that never will.

Burst the flesh, and live the spirit;

Haunt the beautiful and far;

Thou hast all things to inherit,

And a soul for every star.

 

“The Tree's Prayer”

Alas, 'tis cold and dark!

The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune!

Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon

Beat, beat against my bark.

Oh! why delays the spring?

Not yet the sap moves in my frozen veins;

Through all my stiffened roots creep numbing pains,

That I can hardly cling.

The sun shone yester-morn;

I felt the glow down every fiber float,

And thought I heard a thrush's piping note

Of dim dream-gladness born.

Then, on the salt gale driven,

The streaming cloud hissed through my outstretched arms,

Tossed me about in slanting snowy swarms,

And blotted out the heaven.

All night I brood and choose

Among past joys. Oh, for the breath of June!

The feathery light-flakes quavering from the moon

The slow baptizing dews!

Oh, the joy-frantic birds!-

They are the tongues of us, mute, longing trees!

Aha, the billowy odors! and the bees

That browse like scattered herds!

The comfort-whispering showers

That thrill with gratefulness my youngest shoot!

The children playing round my deep-sunk root,

Green-caved from burning hours!

See, see the heartless dawn,

With naked, chilly arms latticed across!

Another weary day of moaning loss

On the thin-shadowed lawn!

But icy winter's past;

Yea, climbing suns persuade the relenting wind:

I will endure with steadfast, patient mind;

My leaves will come at last!

Above: Photo of George MacDonald from the 1860s (Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons)

Until next time –

Rob 😊