With every morn my life afresh must break. The crust of self, gathered about me fresh; That thy wind-spirit may rush in and shake. The darkness out of me, and rend the mesh. The spider-devils spin out of the flesh-Eager to net the soul before it wake, That it may slumberous lie, and listen to the snake. George Mac. Donald
George MacDonaldAbout author
- Author's profession: Novelist, Poet
- Nationality: scottish
- Born: December 10, 1824
- Died: September 18, 1905