Dim-berried is the mistletoe <br />With globes of sheenless grey, <br />The holly mid ten thousand thorns <br />Smoulders its fires away; <br />And in the manger Jesus sleeps <br />This Christmas Day. <br /> <br />Bull unto bull with hollow throat <br />Makes echo every hill, <br />Cold sheep in pastures thick with snow <br />The air with bleating fill; <br />While of his mother’s heart this Babe <br />Takes His sweet will. <br /> <br />All flowers and butterflies lie hid, <br />The blackbird and the thrush <br />Pipe but a little as they flit <br />Restless from bush to bush <br />Even to the robin Gabriel hath <br />Cried softly ‘Hush!’ <br /> <br />Now night’s astir with burning stars <br />In darkness of the snow; <br />Burdened with frankincense and myrrh <br />And gold the Strangers go <br />Into a dusk where one dim lamp <br />Burns softly, lo! <br /> <br />No snowdrop yet its small head nods <br />In winds of winter drear; <br />No lark at casement in the sky <br />Sings matins shrill and clear; <br />Yet in this frozen mirk the Dawn <br />Breathes, Spring is here!<br /><br />Walter de la Mare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-strangers-3/
