"God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame." Elizabeth Barrett Browning, English poet (1806-1861).
I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.
Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.
By thunders of white silence.
And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.
The Holy Night We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem; The dumb kine from their fodder turning them, Softened their horned faces To almost human gazes Toward the newly Born: The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks Brought visionary looks, As yet in their astonied hearing rung The strange sweet angel-tongue: The magi of the East, in sandals worn, Knelt reverent, sweeping round, With long pale beards, their gifts upon the ground, The incense, myrrh, and gold These baby hands were impotent to hold: So let all earthlies and celestials wait Upon thy royal state. Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!
But so fair, She takes the breath of men away Who gaze upon her unaware.
