  I Who may praise her? Eyes where midnight shames the sun, Hair of night and sunshine spun, Woven of dawn's or twilight's loom, Radiant darkness, lustrous gloom, Godlike childhood's flowerlike bloom, None may praise aright, nor sing Half the grace wherewith like spring Love arrays her. II Love untold Sings in silence, speaks in light Shed from each fair feature, bright Still from heaven, whence toward us, now Nine years since, she deigned to bow Down the brightness of her brow, Deigned to pass through mortal birth: Reverence calls her, here on earth, Nine years old. Love's deep duty, Even when love transfigured grows Worship, all too surely knows How, though love may cast out fear, Yet the debt divine and dear Due to childhood's godhead here May by love of man be paid Never; never song be made Worth its beauty. IV Nought is all Sung or said or dreamed or thought Ever, set beside it; nought All the love that man may give— Love whose prayer should be, "Forgive!" Heaven, we see, on earth may live; Earth can thank not heaven, we know, Save with songs that ebb and flow, Rise and fall. V No man living, No man dead, save haply one Now gone homeward past the sun, Ever found such grace as might Tune his tongue to praise aright Children, flowers of love and light, Whom our praise dispraises: we Sing, in sooth, but not as he Sang thanksgiving. Hope that smiled, Seeing her new-born beauty, made Out of heaven's own light and shade, Smiled not half so sweetly: love, Seeing the sun, afar above, Warm the nest that rears the dove, Sees, more bright than moon or sun, All the heaven of heavens in one Little child. VII Who may sing her? Wings of angels when they stir Make no music worthy her: Sweeter sound her shy soft words Here than songs of God's own birds Whom the fire of rapture girds Round with light from love's face lit; Hands of angels find no fit Gifts to bring her. VIII Babes at birth Wear as raiment round them cast, Keep as witness toward their past, Tokens left of heaven; and each, Ere its lips learn mortal speech, Ere sweet heaven pass on pass reach, Bears in undiverted eyes Proof of unforgotten skies Here on earth. Quenched as embers Quenched with flakes of rain or snow Till the last faint flame burns low, All those lustrous memories lie Dead with babyhood gone by: Yet in her they dare not die: Others, fair as heaven is, yet, Now they share not heaven, forget: She remembers. |
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