A fantasy novel by George MacDonald

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70                                  PHANTASTES:
realm of joy, the central form of which was everywhere present, although unbeheld. Then, remembering how my songs seemed to have called her from the marble, piercing through the pearly shroud of alabaster—" Why," thought I, " should not my voice reach her now, through the ebon night that inwraps her." My voice burst into song so sponta­neously that it seemed involuntarily.
Not a sound 3ut, echoing in me, Vibrates all around With a blind delight, Till it breaks on thee, Queen of Night!
Every tree,
O'crshadowingwith glcom, Seems to cover thee Secret, dark, love-still'd, In a holy room Silence-filled,
Let no moon
Creep up the heaven to-night.
I in darksome noon
"Walking hopefully,
Seek my shrouded light—
Grope for thee!
Darker grow The borders of the dark ! Through the branches glow ! From the roof above, Star and diamond-spark, Light for love.
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