I Once, measuring His height, He stood Beneath a cypress-tree, And, leaning back against the wood, Stretched wide His arms for me; Whereat a brooding mother-dove Fled fluttering from her nest above. II At evening He loved to walk Among the shadowy hills, and talk Of Bethlehem; But if perchance there passed us by The paschal lambs, He'd look at them In silence, long and tenderly; And when again He'd try to speak, I've seen the tears upon His cheek. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ESSAY: AT NIGHT THE AUTOPORTRAIT AT NIGHT by ELENI SIKELIANOS DEXTER GORDON: COPENHAGEN/AVERY FISHER HALL by KAREN SWENSON SIXTEEN DEAD MEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SNAKE by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE IDENTITY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |