O LITTLE Son who draweth life from me, How deep a mystery. The very source of life thou art, And yet thou liest on my heart.
O little Son, joy pierceth me. Is thus fulfilled the old man’s prophecy? Sweet, sweet thy lips! Nay, little Son, “A sword, a sword”, said Simeon.
THE BATHERS
ALL in the misty weather, When clouds were hanging low, I trod a leafy woodland path Long, long ago.
The cold green light of morning Shivered among the trees, The little leaves were tremulous, Stirred by an eery breeze.
And then to me was given A sight that one might dream, Three maidens white and glistening, Bathing in a stream.
One floated idly drifting, One shook her wet locks free, One stood as slender as a boy, As white as ivory;
Naked, unshamed, untrammelled; Ah, never did they know, I saw three maidens bathing Long, long ago.