A Little Child's Monument/"The Desert shall blossom as the Rose"
The desert way is dreary,
All empty is the wild,
My feet are very weary,
I cannot find my child.
The infinite blank spaces
Are weighing on my soul,
Gloom reigns in their dumb faces,
And there is no goal!
My hand is on the hollow,
Where I dreamed a heart;
The world is dead; I follow,
Darling, where thou art!
But while my Hope was swooning,
And Earth and Heaven reeled,
I heard an infant moaning,
Who to my love appealed:
So then I prayed for power,
And laid him on my breast;
The little human flower
Sank trustfully to rest—
But in the self-same hour
My form the cold earth pressed…
… An orbèd luminous haze-lily,
For pistil the Moon-pearl!
Ringed round with daffadowndilly,
A halo of blown curl,
As of young angels kneeling,
A reverent band aloof!
Earth smiles in the revealing
Of Heaven's aery woof.
The stranger child I lifted
Wan lieth where he fell;
His scanty raiment rifted,
And woeworn features tell
Of a lifelong famine,
Of cruelty and pain:
And now, while I examine
The piteous face again,
Meseems there dawns a kindred
To a long-lost face;
While wakening unhindered
Wings of filmy grace
From the poor frayed swathings
Of his soiled garments break,
And delicate soft bathings
In the moon-sphere make.
Behold! they turn to flowers,
And settle in his hair.
All over him in showers;
He hath grown so fair!
Christ in him overpowers
Dull strength of my despair:
While some sweet kindred gathers
To one fair face I love:
Ye divine it, fathers,
Who have a child above!
… Lo! an eyelid fluttered;
I know the bosom heaved!
… Now his own arms have uttered
All I disbelieved!
Dear eyes, long held in durance,
For ever open wide,
To yield my soul assurance
Of all she hath denied!