The Presentation

When in the womb of Time our souls' own son         Dear Love lay sleeping till his natal hour,         Long months I knew not that sweet life begun,         Too dimly treasuring thy touch of power;             And wandering all those days             By far-off ways,         Forgot immortal seed must have immortal flower.         Only, beloved, since my beloved thou art         I do remember, now that memory's vain,         How twice or thrice beneath my beating heart         Life quickened suddenly with proudest pain.             Then dreamed I Love's increase,             Yet held my peace         Till I might render thee thy own great gift again.         For as with bodies, so with souls it is,         The greater gives, the lesser doth conceive:         That thou hast fathered Love, I tell thee this,         And by my pangs beseech thee to believe.             Look on his hope divine--             Thy hope and mine--         Pity his outstretched hands, tenderly him receive!