The Baptist

Leaping for joy ere birth,
Shalt have scant joy of earth;
A dying life soon dies,
Thy head a strumpet's prize.
And yet above thy bier
An epitaph dost hear
That makes thy dead heart leap
With joy, all its long sleep.
What was the Poet's word
Thy lonely spirit stirred?—
Hush, hymns of night and morn:—
“Holiest of woman born.”
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