Mary the Mother of Jesus, A lady of high degree, Sat by her cottage spinning In Nazareth of Galilee. A light fell over her shoulder As she sat in the plane-tree's shade, While a delicate lace of shadows The sun and the green leaves made. Busy her foot on the treadle, And her wheel busily whirled As a Child looked out from the doorway, A Child who had made the world. Deftly she handled the distaff, And happily whirred her wheel As the Child came down from the doorway And ran at her side to kneel. 'Mother,' He said as He watched her There while she sat and spun, 'Some things are more fair than I dreamed them The day that I made the sun. 'And you are My heart of all beauty, My star of all seas, of all lands --' 'Hush, Child,' whispered Mary His Mother, Her tears falling down on His hands. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IF HE SHOULD COME by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IPPOLIT KONOVALOFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MR. HOUSMAN'S MESSAGE by EZRA POUND YOUNG SAMMY'S FIRST WILD OATS by GEORGE SANTAYANA MILITARY MIND by CHARLIE SMITH |