Explore "The Lost House" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Out of thy door I run to do the thing / That calls upon me. Straight the wind of words / Whoops from mine ears the sounds of them that sing / About their work, "My God, my father-king!"
I turn in haste to see thy blessed door, / But, lo, a cloud of flies and bats and birds, / And stalking vapours, and vague monster-herds / Have risen and lighted, rushed and swollen between!
Ah me! the house of peace is there no more.
Was it a dream then? -- Walls, fireside, and floor, / And sweet obedience, loving, calm, and free, / Are vanished -- gone as they had never been!
I labour groaning. Comes a sudden sheen! -- / And I am kneeling at my father's knee, / Sighing with joy, and hoping utterly.