God pardon me!
There in the everlasting sunshine sits
The Mother with the Infant at her breast.
Hence, ghostly shadows! let me learn to draw
Mine inspiration from the common air.
A peasant-woman auburn-haired, large-eyed,
Within the shade of overhanging boughs
Suckles her babe, and sees her eldest born
Gambol upon the grass: the elf has wrought
With two snapt boughs the semblance of a cross,
And proudly holds the sacred symbol high
Above his head to win his mother's praise.
Mine art may haply reproduce that wealth
Of brilliant hues--the dusk hair's glimmering gold,
The auroral blush, the bare breasts shining white
Where the babe's warm rose-face is pressed against
That fount of generous life; but ah! what craft
May paint the unearthly peace upon her brow,
The holy love that from her dark moist orbs
Beams with no lesser glory than the eyes
Of the Maid-Mother toward her heaven-born Child.
_Little Boy with the Cross_.
Oh, mother, such a stranger comes this way!
I saw him as I climbed the olive tree
To break the branches for my crucifix--
tall, fair youth with floating yellow curls.
Is he an angel?
_Maria_. Silly darling, peace!
No longer dwell the angels on the earth,
And see, he comes.
_Raphael_. Madonna mia, hail!
God bless thee and thy cherubim!
_Maria_.
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