Author George MacDonald An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled, A-dreaming of the world. Round it, for castle-wall, a shell Is guarding it well. Hope is the bird with its dim sensations; The shell that keeps it alive is Patience . Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments