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.

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