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1824–1905

VII.

George MacDonald

Very still was earth and sky When he passing lay; Oft he said he should not die, Would but go away.

When he passed, they reverent sought, Where his hand lay prest, For the cup he bare, they thought, Hidden in his breast.

Hope and haste and eager thrill Turned to sorrowing wail: Hid he held it deeper still, Took with him the Grail.

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VII. · George MacDonald · Poetry Cove