Classic Poem

Twice fifty sennights o'er them bent
The fierce blue weight of firmament.
Through sea-like sands they still pursued
The unsetting star, until it stood
Above where, travail-worn,
A new-made mother smiled, whose head
Lay near the stalled ox, as she fed
Her babe from her warm heart, on bed
Of straw, 'twixt night and morn.

As day new-sprung from dropping day,
Near her in shrining light he lay,
And made the darkness beautiful.
Couched on low straw and flakes of wool
From Bethlehem's lambs late-shorn,
He seemed a star which clouds enfold,
Swathed with soft fire and aureoled
With sun-born beams of tender gold,
The very star of morn.

At her son's feet the kingly Three
Laid, with bowed head and bended knee,
Their gold and frankincense and myrrh,
Nor tarried, — so the interpreter
Of God's dream once did warn, —
But hied them home ere the day broke;
While without awe the neighbor folk
Flocked to the door, and looked, and spoke,
Betwixt the night and morn.