Morning-Glory

In this meadow starred with spring

Shepherds kneel before their king.

Mary throned, with dreaming eyes,

Gowned in blue like rain-washed skies,

Lifts her tiny son that he

May behold their courtesy.

And green-smocked children, awed and good,

Bring him blossoms from the wood.

Clear the sunlit steeples chime

Mary's coronation-time.

Loud the happy children quire

To the golden-windowed morn;

While the lord of their desire

Sleeps below the crimson thorn.