The Christening

Whose child is this they bring      Into the aisle? -     At so superb a thing     The congregation smile     And turn their heads awhile.     Its eyes are blue and bright,      Its cheeks like rose;     Its simple robes unite     Whitest of calicoes     With lawn, and satin bows.     A pride in the human race      At this paragon     Of mortals, lights each face     While the old rite goes on;     But ah, they are shocked anon.     What girl is she who peeps      From the gallery stair,     Smiles palely, redly weeps,     With feverish furtive air     As though not fitly there?     "I am the baby's mother;      This gem of the race     The decent fain would smother,     And for my deep disgrace     I am bidden to leave the place."     "Where is the baby's father?" -      "In the woods afar.     He says there is none he'd rather     Meet under moon or star     Than me, of all that are.     "To clasp me in lovelike weather,      Wish fixing when,     He says: To be together     At will, just now and then,     Makes him the blest of men;     "But chained and doomed for life      To slovening     As vulgar man and wife,     He says, is another thing:     Yea: sweet Love's sepulchring!"     1904.