COME in, dear Babe, and rest! Cold is the night and keen; Here is no Mother with her milky breast, Her long hair's silken screen, To hide from Thee the stable, poor and mean. There are no angel-folk Hung between Heaven and earth, Making the night a glory, and no flock Of stars that sing for mirth Because of the wonderful, long-looked for Birth. It is so dark and cold, Colder than Bethlehem was; Here are no sheets with lavender in fold, Nor even the pleachéd grass. Cold as a stone, cold is my heart, alas! But two gaunt beasts are here, Not meet for Thy delight; Ox of my appetites, misspent and drear, Ass of my folly light, Hanging their heads, Thy courtiers are to-night. Not like those innocent things That shook the bed for Thee; Here are no shepherd men, here are no kings With gifts in their degree; Cold, bare, and empty, yet wilt come to me? Cold as the clay, and hard, Yet wilt Thou come as of yore? I who have neither gold nor spikenard, Thou Hope as long before! For Thee, for Thee, the stable waits once more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SELF-REJECTED by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER GONE by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE ETHELSTAN: RUNILDA'S CHANT by GEORGE DARLEY A BALLAD OF SARSFIELD; OR, THE BURSTING OF THE GUNS by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE INDIAN SUMMER by EMILY DICKINSON RUPERT BROOKE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON ARE THE CHILDREN AT HOME? by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER |