O infinitely human, yet divine! Half clinging childlike to the mother found, Yet half repelling - as the soft eyes say, 'How is it that ye sought me? Wist ye not That I must be about my Father's business?'

This, this is Thou. No idle painter's dream Of aureoled, imaginary Christ, Laden with attributes that make not God; But Jesus, son of Mary; lowly, wise, Obedie…

All that we know of Thee, or knowing not Love only, waiting till the perfect time When we shall know even as we are known - O Thou Child Jesus, Thou dost seem …

Mine to the core of the heart, my beauty! Mine, all mine, and for love, not duty: Love given willingly, full and free, Love for love's sake - as mine to thee. …

If there must be a god in the house, must be, Saying things in the room and on the stair, Let him move as the sunlight moves on the floor, Or moonlight, silent…

Natura il fece, e poi roppe la stampa.

Or from Browning some 'Pomegranate,' which, if cut deep down the middle, Shows a heart within blood-tinctured of a veined humanity.