Elizabeth Barrett Browning



                   The Holy Night


                   We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem;
                   The dumb kine from their fodder turning them,
                   Softened their horn’d faces,
                   To almost human gazes
                   Toward the newly Born:
                   The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks
                   Brought visionary looks,
                   As yet in their astonished hearing rung
                   The strange sweet angel-tongue:
                   The magi of the East, in sandals worn,
                   Knelt reverent, sweeping round,
                   With long pale beards, their gifts upon the ground,
                   The incense, myrrh, and gold
                   These baby hands were impotent to hold:
                   So let all earthlies and celestials wait
                   Upon thy royal state.
                   Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!


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