Explore "To any Friend" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
If I did seem to you no more / Than to myself I seem, / Not thus you would fling wide the door, / And on the beggar beam!
You would not don your radiant best, / Or dole me more than half! / Poor palmer I, no angel guest; / A shaking reed my staff!
At home, no rich fruit, hanging low, / Have I for Love to pull; / Only unripe things that must grow / Till Autumn's maund be full!
But I forsake my niggard leas, / My orchard, too late hoar, / And wander over lands and seas / To find the Father's door.
When I have reached the ancestral farm, / Have clomb the steepy hill, / And round me rests the Father's arm, / Then think me what you will.