Incarnation

OUR little queen of dreams, Our image of delight, Which whitens east and gleams And beckons from the height, Takes on her human form—is here in mortal sight. We two have loved her long, Have known her eyes for years; We worshipped her with song The spirit only hears, And now she comes to us new-washed with blood and tears. Her radiant self she veils With vesture meet for earth, And, knowing all, inhales The lethal air of birth, And wakes to restless dreams of misery and mirth. The fogs of learning rise And hide the light above, But in her steadfast eyes Will shine the light of love, Which many a gloomy dale may know the gladness of. What gift is ours to give, What truth is ours to teach That she may learn to live With joy within her reach? We can but let her learn the sound of human speech. By custom-fettered fools Her freedom will be blamed, Because by sleepy rules Her soul shall be untamed, And she will front the sun brown-skinned and unashamed. Her kinship she will know With beast and rock and tree, Wherever she may go The sky her home will be, The winds will be her mates, her crooning nurse the sea.