Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/109

 Sweeter sound her shy soft words Here than songs of God's own birds Whom the fire of rapture girds Round with light from love's face lit; Hands of angels find no fit Gifts to bring her.

Babes at birth Wear as raiment round them cast, Keep as witness toward their past, Tokens left of heaven; and each, Ere its lips learn mortal speech, Ere sweet heaven pass on pass reach, Bears in undiverted eyes Proof of unforgotten skies Here on earth.