Christmas Gifts

I.
The Pope on Christmas Day
&nbspSits in Saint Peter’s chair;
But the peoples murmur and say
&nbsp“Our souls are sick and forlorn,
And who will show us where
&nbspIs the stable where Christ was born?”

II.
The star is lost in the dark;
&nbspThe manger is lost in the straw;
The Christ cries faintly ... hark!...
&nbspThrough bands that swaddle and strangle—
But the Pope in the chair of awe
&nbspLooks down the great quadrangle.

III.
The Magi kneel at his foot,
&nbspKings of the East and West,
But, instead of the angels (mute
&nbspIs the “Peace on earth” of their song),
The peoples, perplexed and opprest,
&nbspAre sighing “How long, how long?”

IV.
And, instead of the kine, bewilder in
&nbspShadow of aisle and dome,
The bear who tore up the children,
&nbspThe fox who burnt up the corn,
And the wolf who suckled at Rome
&nbspBrothers to slay and to scorn.

V.
Cardinals left and right of him,
&nbspWorshippers round and beneath,
The silver trumpets at sight of him
&nbspThrill with a musical blast:
But the people say through their teeth,
&nbsp“Trumpets? we wait for the Last!”

VI.
He sits in the place of the Lord,
&nbspAnd asks for the gifts of the time;
Gold, for the haft of a sword
&nbspTo win back Romagna averse,
Incense, to sweeten a crime,
&nbspAnd myrrh, to embitter a curse.

VII.
Then a king of the West said “Good!—
&nbspI bring thee the gifts of the time;
Red, for the patriot’s blood,
&nbspGreen, for the martyr’s crown,
White, for the dew and the rime,
&nbspWhen the morning of God comes down.”

VIII.
—O mystic tricolor bright!
&nbspThe Pope’s heart quailed like a man’s;
The cardinals froze at the sight,
&nbspBowing their tonsures hoary:
And the eyes in the peacock-fans
&nbspWinked at the alien glory.

IX.
But the peoples exclaimed in hope,
&nbsp“Now blessed be he who has brought
These gifts of the time to the Pope,
&nbspWhen our souls were sick and forlorn.
—And here is the star we sought,
&nbspTo show us where Christ was born!”