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If Mary had
When she held her Babe's hands in her own­Little hands that were tender and white as a rose,
All dented with dimples from finger to wrist,
Such as mothers have kissed­That one day they must feel the fierce

How often we forget all time, when
Admiring Nature's universal throne;
Her woods - her winds - her mountains - the
Reply of Hers to Our intelligence

We, too, had known golden
When body and soul were in tune,
Had danced with our true
By the light of a full moon,

I never had noticed it until'Twas gone, - the narrow
Where now the woodman
The last of the willows with his
It was not more than a hedge overgrown

I cannot be
Better than you know me Your eyes in which we
We
Have made for my man's gleamA better fate than for the common nights Your eyes in which I