Under the sky without a
The long, ripe, rippling of the grain;
Light, broadcast from the golden
Over the blackberry fences floats.
Madonna sits in a cedar
Tranquillized by the warm, still air;
One of the angels asleep on her
Under the shade of an apple tree.
The other angel holds a doll,
Covered warm in a tiny shawl;
The toy is supposed to be fast
As the sister angel: in dimples
The grave, sweet charm on the baby
Repeats the look of maturer
That hovers about Madonna's eyes,
One of the heavenly
From far ethereal
Where neither doubt nor trouble intrudes.
Ponder here in the orchard
On the truth of life made manifest:
The struggle and effort was all to
That the best of the world is home and love.
