Peattie, Elia Wilkinson, 1862-1935 . Trinity
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TRINITY
BY ELIA W. PEATTIE



We took no thought, dear Love, we took no thought!
We only knew our summer-time was come --
The birds were nesting, orchards were abloom,
And joy burned in us like a holy flame.
     And now, behold our little miracle!
     Our shining star, come to us wondrously
     From out the farther dark! Our mystery,
     Too soft and sweet to be called anything --
     Or miracle or mystery -- but just
     Our babe!
     Our own -- yet not our own!


A gift, uncomprehendingly to prize!
His laughter, bright as sunshine on a wave,



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Sets our whole world ashimmer, and his dreams,
Darkening his liquid eyes, are drawn, I think,
From those deep cisterns of our secret prayers,
Which we have strangely hidden, each from each.
     And yet, at times, his pretty whimsy-thoughts
     Shut soft the door on us and close us out!
     We clasp him close and probe his lips for sweets --
     Great, greedy bees upon a tender flower --
     Yet cannot reach the little sacred self
     That, like a god, is shrined in his bright shell.


Ah, Love, ah, Love, let us not call him ours!
Let us confess he cannot wonder more
At the amazing world than we at him.
-- How can we voice our awe-in-gratitude --
Our poignant heart of sorrow-in-delight?
     Silence indeed is best! Look deep, dear one,
     In his sweet eyes and learn there what you may --
     That love is service; yes, and mystery;
     And in this lovely, wordless babe we hold
     Is hidden safe the secret of the world.