Carol
OVER the rim of the world the Ship of the world This night to harbour comes, to rest, to rest. Look, for the sails on the horizon fill With the following winds, and cresting them, the Star
Like a grain of quartz, a crystal of silent frost.
Come to the harbour, come to the quiet quays Where the hushing waves rock, as a woman singing Cradles a child, and the ship forgets the sea, And the sails are furled, and the storms are yet to come.
Only, washed by the bitter-sweet winter moon, Curled like the rind of a fruit in the dark blue sky A treasure lies. 0 traveller, take this gold ; This night it is yours ; bend low, and under this spar Whose shadow falls as a cross on the wharf of snow Stoop to gather your ransom and your prize, With the shepherds, the Kings, and these bright legions, crowned, Through the blue air in quires of gold descending, And see, dandled upon a woman's breast In the Ship of the world a Golden Child is lying, Traveller, this night, and every night, your King.
MARGARET STANLEY-WRENCH.
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