TO A LITTLE GIRL.
Flammarion and Kelvin and Herschel every one,
Said Heaven was a hundred, million, billion miles away.
So I couldn’t contradict them—it wouldn’t do at all—
But they had never heard your laughter innocent and gay.
Flammarion and Kelvin and Herschel every one,
They said the Milky Way was fair beyond all human ken:
But they had never seen your face, upturned, aquestioning—
A dainty bit of rapture in a leaden world o’ men.
Flammarion and Kelvin and Herschel every one,
They told of gorgeous comets and their manes so bright and rare:
But comet glow could never show the living threads of light
That dance and gleam in th’ rippling stream and fragrance of
your hair.
Flammarion and Kelvin and Herschel every one,
They said the azure ether stretched in miles of lapis hue;
But they had never known eyes that gaze into your soul
In longing little wonder wells of limpid gray and blue.
Flammarion and Kelvin and Herschel every one,
They said no melody could match the singing of the spheres:
But they had never heard your voice ring joyously at play—
The music of a weary world of roil and toil and tears.
Flammarion and Kelvin and Herschel every one.
They’ve told the tale of the double stars, and their faith the
eons through—
But constant though they be, their hearts could never know the love,
The yearning burning tender love, dear child, we bear for you.
GOD.
I
They would give hands to Thee, head to Thee, feet to Thee—
They who are blind:
They would give form to Thee, fashion Thee manikin,
After their kind.