HE
Reading edition
HE runs before the wise men: He Is moving on the hills like snow. No gifts, no tears, no company He brings, but wind-rise and water-flow. In meadows of descended day His motion leans, dividing air: He takes the unforgiving way Beneath the apostolic star. Mary, Mary, call Him Stranger. Parting the night’s long hair, He steals Within the heart, that humble manger Where the white, astonished spirit kneels. His vertical inflicting pride, Whose shadow cuts the nib of space, Bends to this virtue fructified. But though He kiss the little face Like rapture breaking on the mind, The necessary fierce details Implacably He has designed. Redemption hangs upon the nails.