Are these mere babies’ eyes
That claim all starry skies their own?
There is no crown here
But a soft brown down
For queen or kingly sign.
One finger points, puts out Mars;
One calm palm pats the moon.
Baby smiles, and we know night’s done soon.
Done soon? Done now!
Shade eclipsed by radiant lips and brow,
By smile mild face that leaves no trace in ours
Of sorrow’s powers or twilight hours.
Some men be wait till day to see light;
We but see our baby—-the sun is bright.