Our old age is the scorching of the bush

By life's indwelling, incorruptible blaze.

Oh life, burn at this feeble shell of me,

Till I the sore, singed garment off shall push,

Flap out my Psyche wings, and to thee rush.

George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul

I finished The Divine Conspiracy, at the end of which I found this little treasure.  Now I'd like to re-read the whole book.