bewildering reward

Blessed with a joy that only she 

Of all alive shall ever know, 

She wears a proud humility 

For what it was that willed it so,—

That her degree should be so great 

Among the favored of the Lord 

That she may scarcely bear the weight 

Of her bewildering reward. 

 

As one apart, immune, alone, 

Or featured for the shining ones, 

And like to none that she has known 

Of other women's other sons,—

The firm fruition of her need 

He shines anointed; and he blurs 

Her vision, till it seems indeed 

A sacrilege to call him hers. 

 

She fears a little for so much 

Of what is best, and hardly dares 

To think of him as one to touch 

With aches, indignities, and cares; 

She sees him rather at the goal, 

Still shining; and her dream foretells 

The proper shining of a soul 

Where nothing ordinary dwells. 

 

Perchance a canvass of the town
Would find him far from flags and shouts,
And leave him only the renown
Of many smiles and many doubts;
Perchance the crude and common tongue
Would havoc strangely with his worth;
But she, with innocence unwrung,
Would read his name around the earth.
 

And others, knowing how this youth
Would shine, if love could make him great,
When caught and tortured for the truth
Would only writhe and hesitate;
While she, arranging for his days
What centuries could not fulfill,
Transmutes him with her faith and praise,
And has him shining where she will.
 

She crowns him with her gratefulness,
And says again that life is good;
And should the gift of God be less
In him than in her motherhood,
His fame, though vague, will not be small,
As upward through her dream he fares,
Half clouded with a crimson fall
Of roses thrown on marble stairs.

 

[Edwin Arlington Robinson {1869-1935} 'The Gift of God', from Selected Poems]