Iii

THREE without slumber ride from afar, Fain of the roads where palaces are; All by a shed as they ride in a row, "Here!" is the cry of their vanishing Star.

First doth a greybeard, glittering fine, Look on Messiah in slant moonshine: "This have I bought for Thee!" Vainly: for lo, Shut like a fern is the young hand divine.

Next doth a magian, mantled and tall, Bow to the Ruler that reigns from a stall: "This have I sought for Thee!" Though it be rare, Loath little fingers are letting it fall.

Last doth a stripling, bare in his pride, Kneel by the Lover as if to abide: "This have I wrought for Thee!" Answer him there Laugh of a Child, and His arms opened wide.