Dearest, your mother feels (though dead) this birth-
Laughs at the fire within your shining eyes-
Your eyes, yet mine, wherein such glory lies
Never before beheld upon the earth.
She scents the fragrance of the lily-mirth
Lilting this body that I drew all-wise
Out of your own, so hers, and with low sighs,
Mellowed in mine to what a wondrous worth.

Kiss me. Kiss her. The miracle is wrought-
The simple beauty out of simple love-
Mother and father, child and God-all One-
Eternal trinity for ever sought.
O, blessed from her quiet place above,
Your mother kisses us-a life-s work done.