THE BIRTH TOKENS (VARIATION ON A THEME FROM MENANDER) by ANNE GOODWIN WINSLOW

This is the place and we will leave him here
In the deep valley; when the sun is high
Some warmth may reach him;
That were good;
Still better should
Some kindly shepherd find him;
Who can say?
Even a wolf may yield him food.
Nature is rich in resource and in care;
He will not die;
So place the tokens with him there
And come away. . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now we have laid upon his lips a song
Whose melody for him is all;
Whose words but names shall not comprehend
Of objects in a dream,
Poor symbols without an end
That drift and fall
And sweep like leaves along
The music of a stream.

And we have bound a book upon his brow
Whose signs he shall not understand,
Though heaven and earth have set their hand
Unto it and their wisdom given;
But neither earth nor heaven
Shall witness to another theme
That he shall trace below
The image and the pattern, nor declare
How all its lines are fair. . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . Sound
Are still his slumbers; look again;
How like a blossom on the ground
He lies!
Yet though the earth shall strain
His being to her breast
And pour her life through every vein
And lift her beauty to his eyes,
He shall not be her own:
Some day the tokens will be found;
His history known, his lineage guessed.

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