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“From this I was partly aroused by a glimmering of white, that, through the trees on the left, vaguely crossed my vision, as I gazed upwards. But the trees again hid the object; and at the moment, some strange melodious bird took up its song, and sang, not an ordinary bird-song, with constant repetitions of the same melody, but what sounded like a continuous strain, in which one thought was expressed, deepening in intensity as evolved in progress. It sounded like a welcome already overshadowed with the coming farewell. As in all sweetest music, a tinge of sadness was in every note. Nor do we know how much of the pleasures even of life we owe to the intermingled sorrows. Joy cannot unfold the deepest truths, although deepest truth must be deepest joy. Cometh white-robed Sorrow, stooping and wan, and flingeth wide the doors she may not enter. Almost we linger with Sorrow for very love.”
– George MacDonald. From Phantastes: A Faerie Romance.
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This was one of a number of selections from _Phantastes_ that I wrote down in my “commonplace book” when I first read it as a teenager over 40 years ago. My imagination had already been “baptized” by _A Voyage to Arcturus_ (by David Lindsay, another Scottish writer)), The Chronicles of Narnia, William Blake, and the Bible, but the book confirmed the baptism and changed my life (in addition to turning me into a life-long fan of MacDonald).
There’s a terrific amount of knoegwdle in this article!