Explore "From Home" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Some men there are who cannot spare / A single tear until they feel / The last cold pressure, and the heel / Is stamped upon the outmost layer.
And, waking, some will sigh to think / The clouds have borrowed winter's wing, / Sad winter, when the grasses spring / No more about the fountain's brink.
And some would call me coward fool: / I lay a claim to better blood, / But yet a heap of idle mud / Hath power to make me sorrowful.