I saw a donkey at a fair When sounds and songs were in the air; But he no note interpreted Of what the people sang or said.
The little muslin moth, Whose food is flame and cloth, Flitting in rapid flight From linen-chest to light,
Seldom the soaring rocket-light will rise Up from the flaming heart and reach the eyes. Often the song of ecstasy, half-sung,
Our single entrant in the race Of getting hailed as full of grace Outscored the angels, took the prize, And won all honors in the skies.
Their noses are assailed with smells, Their ears are beat upon by bells, They see the outward coverings And watch the surfaces of things,
Let not my little Muse Deceive you or confuse. Not in the pose of art
Elbows and knees are mysteries Of which I become aware, Dwindled at night to half my height
It is not information That causes inspiration. There are no lambs and Marys In any dictionaries;
O Cause of all our joys! 1 Queen, merciful and kind, What makes our girls and boys So precious in your mind? Brother Francis composed these verses to a lovely Arabic song he knew from his youth. ↩
Over us and under Is a world of wonder: In between we blunder, Blunder in between
This little rhyme might show you how to say—
O Good Saint Anne, I am named for you, Will you make me good and Holy and true?
When Our Lady looks down from Heaven. To admire your princely repose. She says to the angels around her,
Look at the morning Anna Maria, Look at the bright blue sky! These are the reflections, Anna Maria, Of beauties that are on high.
Agnes Mary you are so sweet, Your little hands, and your little feet. Your little mouth, and your big eyes,