Morning-Glory
In this meadow starred with spring
Shepherds kneel before their king.
Mary throned, with dreaming eyes,
Gowned in blue like rain—washed skies,
Lifts her tiny son that he
May behold their courtesy.
And green—smocked children, awed and good,
Bring him blossoms from the wood.
Clear the sunlit steeples chime
Mary’s coronation—time.
Loud the happy children quire
To the golden—windowed morn;
While the lord of their desire
Sleeps below the crimson thorn.
