Classic Poem

There is a little naked child at the door,
His name is Beauty, and he cries,
“Behold, I am born, put me where I can live.”
The old World comes to the door,
And thrusting out a lip, says only this,
“It is true that you are born, but how were you conceived?”

There is an owl upon an elder-tree,
Who opening an eye, says only this.
“That is a lovely child!”
The old World said again,
“Yes! but how was he conceived?”

There is a gust of free wind,
And high cloud voices call.
“What can you ask of Love but conception?
Men are born of blest love,
Of evil love is death.
There is but one pure love, the love of Child,
And that is sweet as a pine forest, clean as the sea:
Old World take all your children in.”