Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

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!