Incarnation

OUR little queen of dreams,  
Our image of delight,  
Which whitens east and gleams  
And beckons from the height,  
Takes on her human form—is here in mortal sight.  
 
We two have loved her long,  
Have known her eyes for years;  
We worshipped her with song  
The spirit only hears,  
And now she comes to us new-washed with blood and tears.  
 
Her radiant self she veils  
With vesture meet for earth,  
And, knowing all, inhales  
The lethal air of birth,  
And wakes to restless dreams of misery and mirth.  
 
The fogs of learning rise  
And hide the light above,  
But in her steadfast eyes  
Will shine the light of love,  
Which many a gloomy dale may know the gladness of.  
 
What gift is ours to give,  
What truth is ours to teach  
That she may learn to live  
With joy within her reach?  
We can but let her learn the sound of human speech.  
 
By custom-fettered fools  
Her freedom will be blamed,  
Because by sleepy rules  
Her soul shall be untamed,  
And she will front the sun brown-skinned and unashamed.  
 
Her kinship she will know  
With beast and rock and tree,  
Wherever she may go  
The sky her home will be,  
The winds will be her mates,
her crooning nurse the sea.