A far more tender babe that God calls love;
And when He sends it, why, we mortals here,—
I would not say we grudge the kiss, the clasp,—
We grudge the little heavenling even air.
The tears will come. It makes me weep to think
Of this poor gentle babe, this heir of heaven,
So wronged because men live ashamed of it.
Not strange is it that earth knows little love
While all so little dare of love to speak.
For once (I ask no more) you must permit