<h3 id="Joseph">Joseph</h3>
<p>NEVER in all her sweet and holy youth<br/>
Seemed she so beautiful! The tired lines<br/>
Etch her white face with look so wholly pure<br/>
I tremble—dare I speak to her of aught?—<br/>
She is so wrapt in silence. Yet her lips<br/>
Part on a word whose honey she doth taste<br/>
And fears to lose by uttering too soon.<br/>
I know the word; its meaning is plain writ<br/>
In the wide eyes she turns upon the Child.<br/>
I dare not speak. No word of mine could find<br/>
Its way into a soul close sealed with God<br/>
And busy with the thousand mysteries<br/>
Revealed to every mother. The soft hair<br/>
Veiling her placid brow is all unbound,<br/>
Ungentle hands are mine but, trained by love,<br/>
She might conceive them gentle—yet, I pause—<br/>
I’ll not disturb her thought . . . . .</p>
<p> What
meant those men,<br/>
Far-famed and wise, who came to see the Child?<br/>
Their gifts lie by forgotten, though the Babe<br/>
Smiled on the shining treasure in his hands.<br/>
(Those tiny hands like crumpled bits of gauze)<br/>
Their sayings were mysterious to me.<br/>
“A King!” they said. What King?</p>
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<p> The
mother smiled<br/>
As one who knew; and it is true they knelt<br/>
As to a King. The thing disturbs me much!<br/>
I’ll ask—but no . . . . .</p>
<p> The
breathless shepherds, too;<br/>
Plain men, blank-eyed with awe, in broken speech<br/>
Stumbling some strange, glad tale of midnight sky<br/>
A-shine with angel wings! And at their word<br/>
Again the mother smiled, as one who sees<br/>
No wonder but what well might happen since<br/>
A child is born to her. Are mothers so?<br/>
And are they prone to dream the careless earth<br/>
And distant heaven wait upon their joy?<br/>
I’ll speak to her . . . . .</p>
<p> What
is that in her look<br/>
Which answers me—yet leaves me wondering still,<br/>
With wonder so like rapture that I seem<br/>
Caught up a breathless second into Heaven?<br/>
She turns deep eyes upon me, and she smiles,<br/>
Always she smiles! Ah, Mary! could I know<br/>
The source of that glad smile—what would I know?<br/>
I dare not dream, save that the mystery<br/>
Is not yet given . . . one day I may know!</p>
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