AS ye go through these palm-trees O holy angels; Sith sleepeth my child here Still ye the branches O Bethlehem palm-trees That move to the anger Of winds in their fury, Tempestuous voices, Make ye no clamor, Run ye less swiftly, Sith sleepeth the child here Still ye your branches. He the divine child Is here a-wearied Of weeping the earth-pain, Here for his rest would he Cease from his mourning, Only a little while, Sith sleepeth this child here Stay ye the branches. Cold be the fierce winds, Treacherous round him. Ye see that I have not Wherewith to guard him, O angels, divine ones That pass us a-flying, Sith sleepeth my child here Stay ye the branches. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER THE PLEASURE PARTY by HERMAN MELVILLE TO A LADY: SHE REFUSING TO CONTINUE A DISPUTE WITH ME by MATTHEW PRIOR A VALENTINE by LAURA ELIZABETH HOWE RICHARDS THE WAGES OF PRIDE by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |