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I LORD GABRIEL, wilt thou not rejoice | |
| When at last a little boy’s | |
| Cheek lies heavy as a rose, | |
| And his eyelids close? | |
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| Gabriel, when that hush may be, | 5 |
| This sweet hand all heedfully | |
| I’ll undo, for thee alone, | |
| From his mother’s own. | |
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| Then the far blue highways paven | |
| With the burning stars of heaven | 10 |
| He shall gladden with the sweet | |
| Hasting of his feet— | |
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| Feet so brightly bare and cool, | |
| Leaping, as from pool to pool; | |
| From a little laughing boy | 15 |
| Splashing rainbow joy! | |
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| Gabriel, wilt thou understand | |
| How to keep his hovering hand— | |
| Never shut, as in a bond, | |
| From the bright beyond? | 20 |
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| Nay, but though it cling and close | |
| Tightly as a clinging rose, | |
| Clasp it only so—aright, | |
| Lest his heart take fright. | |
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| (Dormi, dormi, tu; | 25 |
| The dusk is hung with blue.) | |
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II Lord Michael, wilt not thou rejoice | |
| When at last a little boy’s | |
| Heart, a shut-in murmuring bee, | |
| Turns him into thee? | 30 |
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| Wilt thou heed thine armor well— | |
| To take his hand from Gabriel, | |
| So his radiant cup of dream | |
| May not spill a gleam? | |
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| He will take thy heart in thrall, | 35 |
| Telling o’er thy breastplate all | |
| Colors, in his bubbling speech, | |
| With his hand to each. | |
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| (Dormi, dormi, tu, | |
| Sapphire is the blue; | 40 |
| Pearl and beryl, they are called, | |
| Chrysoprase and emerald, | |
| Sard and amethyst. | |
| Numbered so, and kissed.) | |
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| Ah, but find some angel word | 45 |
| For thy sharp, subduing sword! | |
| Yea, Lord Michael, make no doubt | |
| He will find it out: | |
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| (Dormi, dormi, tu!) | |
| His eyes will look at you. | 50 |
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III Last, a little morning space, | |
| Lead him to that leafy place | |
| Where Our Lady sits awake, | |
| For all mothers’ sake. | |
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| Bosomed with the Blessèd One, | 55 |
| He shall mind her of her Son, | |
| Once so folded from all harms, | |
| In her shrining arms. | |
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| (In her veil of blue, | |
| Dormi, dormi, tu.) | 60 |
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| So—and fare thee well. | |
| Softly—Gabriel … | |
| When the first faint red shall come, | |
| Bid the Day-star lead him home— | |
| For the bright world’s sake— | 65 |
| To my heart, awake. | |
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