The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume Ii Part 23

Some are worthless little patches, Which indeed if they don't s.m.u.tch you, 'Tis they're dead before they touch you!

While for kisses vain and greedy, Kisses flattering, kisses needy, They are birds that never waddled Out of eggs that only addled!

Some there are leave spots behind them, On your cheek for years you'd find them: Little ones, I do beseech you, Never let such birdies reach you.

It depends what net you venture What the sort of bird will enter!

I will tell you in a minute What net takes kiss--lark or linnet-- Any bird indeed worth hatching And just therefore worth the catching: The one net that never misses Catching at least some true kisses, Is the heart that, loving truly, Always loves the old love newly; But to spread out would undo it-- Let the birdies fly into it.

_PROFESSOR NOCTUTUS._

n.o.body knows the world but me.

The rest go to bed; I sit up and see.

I'm a better observer than any of you all, For I never look out till the twilight fall, And never then without green gla.s.ses, And that is how my wisdom pa.s.ses.

I never think, for that is not fit: _I observe._ I have seen the white moon sit On her nest, the sea, like a fluffy owl, Hatching the boats and the long-legged fowl!

When the oysters gape--you may make a note-- She drops a pearl into every throat.

I can see the wind: can you do that?

I see the dreams he has in his hat, I see him shaking them out as he goes, I see them rush in at man's snoring nose.

Ten thousand things you could not think, I can write down plain with pen and ink!

You know that I know; therefore pull off your hat, Whether round and tall, or square and flat: You cannot do better than trust in me; You may shut your eyes in fact--_I_ see!

Lifelong I will lead you, and then, like the owl, I will bury you nicely with my spade and showl.

_BIRD-SONGS._

I will sing a song, Said the owl.

You sing a song, sing-song Ugly fowl!

What will you sing about, Night in and day out?

All about the night, When the gray With her cloak smothers bright, Hard, sharp day.

Oh, the moon! the cool dew!

And the shadows!--tu-whoo!

I will sing a song, Said the nightingale.

Sing a song, long, long, Little Neverfail!

What will you sing about, Day in or day out?

All about the light Gone away, Down, away, and out of sight: Wake up, day!

For the master is not dead, Only gone to bed.

I will sing a song, Said the lark.

Sing, sing, Throat-strong, Little Kill-the-dark!

What will you sing about, Day in and night out?

I can only call!

I can't think!

Let me up, that's all!

I see a c.h.i.n.k!

I've been thirsting all night For the glorious light!

_RIDDLES._

I.

I have only one foot, but thousands of toes; My one foot stands well, but never goes; I've a good many arms, if you count them all, But hundreds of fingers, large and small; From the ends of my fingers my beauty grows; I breathe with my hair, and I drink with my toes; I grow bigger and bigger about the waist Although I am always very tight laced; None e'er saw me eat--I've no mouth to bite!

Yet I eat all day, and digest all night.

In the summer, with song I shake and quiver, But in winter I fast and groan and s.h.i.+ver.

II.

There is a plough that hath no share, Only a coulter that parteth fair; But the ridges they rise To a terrible size Or ever the coulter comes near to tear: The horses and ridges fierce battle make; The horses are safe, but the plough may break.

Seed cast in its furrows, or green or sear, Will lift to the sun neither blade nor ear: Down it drops plumb Where no spring-times come, Nor needeth it any harrowing gear; Wheat nor poppy nor blade has been found Able to grow on the naked ground.

FOR MY GRANDCHILD.

III.

Who is it that sleeps like a top all night, And wakes in the morning so fresh and bright That he breaks his bed as he gets up, And leaves it smashed like a china cup?

IV.

I've a very long nose, but what of that?

It is not too long to lie on a mat!

I have very big jaws, but never get fat: I don't go to church, and I'm not a church rat!

I've a mouth in my middle my food goes in at, Just like a skate's--that's a fish that's a flat.

In summer I'm seldom able to breathe, But when winter his blades in ice doth sheathe

I swell my one lung, I look big and I puff, And I sometimes hiss.--There, that's enough!

_BABY._

Where did you come from, baby dear?

Out of the everywhere into here.

Where did you get those eyes so blue?

Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?