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