Children Of Love

The holy boy     Went from his mother out in the cool of the day     Over the sun-parched fields     And in among the olives shining green and shining grey.     There was no sound,     No smallest voice of any shivering stream.     Poor sinless little boy,     He desired to play and to sing; he could only sigh and dream.     Suddenly came     Running along to him naked, with curly hair,     That rogue of the lovely world,     That other beautiful child whom the virgin Venus bare.     The holy boy     Gazed with those sad blue eyes that all men know.     Impudent Cupid stood     Panting, holding an arrow and pointing his bow.     (Will you not play?     Jesus, run to him, run to him, swift for our joy.     Is he not holy, like you?     Are you afraid of his arrows, O beautiful dreaming boy?)     And now they stand     Watching one another with timid gaze;     Youth has met youth in the wood,     But holiness will not change its melancholy ways.     Cupid at last     Draws his bow and softly lets fly a dart.     Smile for a moment, sad world! -     It has grazed the white skin and drawn blood from the sorrowful heart.     Now, for delight,     Cupid tosses his locks and goes wantonly near;     But the child that was born to the cross     Has let fall on his cheek, for the sadness of life, a compassionate tear.     Marvellous dream!     Cupid has offered his arrows for Jesus to try;     He has offered his bow for the game.     But Jesus went weeping away, and left him there wondering why.