ALL in the night when sleeping I lay in slumber's chain, The Christmas Babe came weeping Outside my window-pane. The Christmas Child whom faithless Men turn from their hearthstone — My dream was dumb and breathless, The Christmas Babe made moan. The small hands beat impatient Upon my close-locked door, The small hands that have fashioned The world, the stars, and more. He heard no sound of coming, His cries broke wild and keen, The Christmas Babe went roaming For one to take Him in. A burning bush of splendor Enfolds the Christmas Child, Like some meek bird and tender, In gold thorns undefiled. I listen long to hear Him Come crying at my door. Voices of night I fear them, And He comes by no more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK MAMMY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SIXTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE ALLEY. AN IMITATION OF SPENSER by ALEXANDER POPE THE WIND SUFFERS by LAURA RIDING DE RERUM NATURA: BOOK 3. AGAINST THE FEAR OF DEATH by TITUS LUCRETIUS CARUS FIDELITY by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE BARD'S ANNUAL DEFIANCE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS NELL COOK; A LEGEND OF THE 'DARK ENTRY': THE KING'S SCHOLAR'S STORY by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |