The Young Baptist

A sleeked mimosa hid him from the rain. He saw the quickened valleys gleam and go And the clouds break upon a hundred hills, Till all the happy silence had a sound, Voice upon voice, small as the voice of God In Sinai, but the earth shook under them. He saw the moonlit rafters of the world, Hollowed in thunder, walled with exquisite air, Most beautiful. The leaves were laced with showers. And motionless beneath them couched the flies, Bright as small seraphs lately loosed from heaven Upon the river'd garden beautiful, Beautiful they, and beautiful the bird That flashed on him a sudden breast and fled. Over a fire of twisted camel-thorn He saw the vast recessional of day And shivered against the dark, and knew no rest; Yet even the dark was lovely. Only he Was worn with hungering after righteousness, Fouled with strange suffering, dim with many dreams. The foxes barked against him all night long.

Dawn rose in silver, shepherding few stars. He watched it, all one hunger, body and soul. "There is a painted house in Nazareth," He said, "once held a little friend, clear-eyed. There all day long the whining plane moves over The curded length of olive wood, and light Bright shavings make the footfall cedar-sweet. A woman sits there in the shadow of leaves, Watching her men at work, two carpenters, While mirrored angels move in her still eyes.

Yea, is it time? Shall one lay down His tools And turn away? To-night the fly shall sleep In lily or white cyclamen, the bird Shall find the shittim tree that held her brood. Shall I be homeless? Lily of Israel, bloom. O Tree of Life, make ready my soul's nest. Yea, is He come?" But only morning came, Clear-footed from the frontiers of the world, And beat his little fire out as with spears. Beautiful on the mountains were her feet.