Poetry Archives

JOSEPH

Mary, art thou the little maid
   Who plucked me flowers in Spring?
I know thee not:  I feel afraid:
   Thou’rt strange this evening.

A sweet and rustic girl I won
   What time the woods were green;
No woman with deep eyes that shone,
   And the pale brows of a Queen.

MARY (inattentive to his words.)

A stranger came with feet of flame
   And told me this strange thing,—
For all I was a village maid
   My son should be a King.

JOSEPH

A King, dear wife.  Who ever knew
   Of Kings in stables born!

MARY

Do you hear, in the dark and starlit blue
   The clarion and the horn?

JOSEPH

Mary, alas, lest grief and joy
   Have sent thy wits astray;
But let me look on this my boy,
   And take the wraps away.

MARY

Behold the lad.

JOSEPH

   I dare not gaze:
Light streams from every limb.

MARY

The winter sun has stored his rays,
   And passed the fire to him.

Look Eastward, look!  I hear a sound.
   O Joseph, what do you see?

JOSEPH

The snow lies quiet on the ground
   And glistens on the tree;

The sky is bright with a star’s great light,
   And clearly I behold
Three Kings descending yonder hill,
   Whose crowns are crowns of gold.

O Mary, what do you hear and see
   With your brow toward the West?

MARY

The snow lies glistening on the tree
   And silent on Earth’s breast;

And strong and tall, with lifted eyes
   Seven shepherds walk this way,
And angels breaking from the skies
   Dance, and sing hymns, and pray.

JOSEPH


I wonder much at these bright Kings;
   The shepherds I despise.

MARY

You know not what a shepherd sings,
   Nor see his shining eyes.