Poetry Archives

They say He was a serious child,
  And quiet in His ways;
They say the gentlest lady smiled
  To hear the neighbors’ praise.

The coffers of her heart would close
  Upon their smaliest word.
Yet did they say, “How tall He grows!”
  They thought she had not heard.

They say upon His birthday eve
  She’d rock Him to His rest
As if she could not have Him leave
  The shelter of her breast.

The poor must go in bitter thrift,
  The poor must give in pain,
But ever did she get a gift
  To greet His day again.

They say she’d kiss the Boy awake,
  And hail Him gay and clear,
But oh, her heart was like to break
  To count another year.