To Mrs. M——

On the birth of her first child

WHEN you lay shivering with the great excess

Of mother-marvel at your child’s first cry;

When you looked up and saw him standing by,

Leaning the strong unspeakable utterness

Of all his soul upon you; when you smiled,

And your weak lips strove mightily to frame

To a new song your new life’s oriflamme,

And presently the infinite words, “Our child,”

Made a most musical murmur, as of breath

Breathed by a poet’s spirit—did you know

The babe’s slight moan, that seemed so faint and low,

Was God’s voice speaking from dear Nazareth,

Covering you up with that white light that lay

On Mary and her young Christ in the hay?