And then the angel left her. She
arose
After a while, and took the broom
again
And wondered, as she swept, “was it
a dream?
And what are dreams and what is
waking life?”
She walked in dreams. How do you
reconcile
The strange transcendence of
another world
With baking bread and spinning wool
for cloaks?
And why should such a being greet
her thus?
And then she smiles an
inward-turning smile
And cups her work-rough hands
across her front
Protectively, as women always have
Who carry a new life inside their
flesh.
………………..
Angels, it seems, do not give
detailed plans
Of how and who to tell of such
strange things,
But the necessity, the child within
Loosens her awe-struck tongue –
this must be told.
It seems she walks in an unsolid
place
One foot on earth and one foot in
the air,
And round her head the secret
angels fly
And round her feet the thorns and
thistles tear.
She fears the scorn in Joseph’s
honest eyes:
Must this, too, be yielded as the
price?
But no, this mercy given wraps her
round;
He knows she is the mother of the
Christ.
And then Elizabeth, the one who
knows,
Whose miracle blooms like a desert
rose,
Richly endowing a gaunt barren
place,
And tears of wonder water both
their hearts.
………………..
And then her feet are turned to
Bethlehem
As some far emperor she has never
seen
Moves all the pieces round upon the
board
Into a shape that is the will of
God.
And soon now will the angel-hosts
return
To bless the turning earth with
peace decreed,
The while she carries, underneath
her heart
The meaning and the answer to our
need.