Page:The college beautiful, and other poems.djvu/66

54 Hushed the baby lies, so late Entered through the crystal gate That a calm and holy grace, Borrowed from some blessed place, Shineth still within her face. Lashes, laid in slumber meek, Fringe with gold a tender cheek, Tinted like the dewy sprays Of the blossomed peach, whose praise Floods the robin's roundelays. And as if a white-rose tree Dropped its daintiest petal, se How the dimpled hand gleams fair Through the ripples of her hair, Clasped by angels unaware. Who shall sing her cradle-song ? Silver streams would do her wrong ; Whispering leaves are over rude, And the twitter in the wood From the linnet's nestling brood. Flowers we shed, in lieu of speech, With a blessing shut in each, Culled at dawn from emerald dells, Where the wild bee longest dwells, Cradled deep in honey bells.