Classic Poem

Instead of neat inclosures
Of inter-woven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffadils, and roses,
Thy cradle, Kingly Stranger.
As gospel tells,
Was nothing els
But, here, a homely manger.
But we with silks (not crewels),
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily-work will dress thee;
And as we dispossess thee
Of clouts, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet Babe, for thee,
Of ivory,
And plaister'd round with amber . . .