| William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Massachusetts Poets. 1922. |
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| Motherhood |
| | | Agnes Lee |
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| MARY, the Christ long slain, passed silently. | |
| Following the children joyously astir | |
| Under the cedrus and the olive tree, | |
| Pausing to let their laughter float to her. | |
| Each voice an echo of a voice more dear, | 5 |
| She saw a little Christ in every face; | |
| When lo, another woman, gliding near, | |
| Yearned o’er the tender life that filled the place. | |
| And Mary sought the woman’s hand, and spoke: | |
| “I know thee not, yet know thy memory tossed | 10 |
| With all a thousand dreams their eyes evoke | |
| Who bring to thee a child beloved and lost. | |
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| “I, too, have rocked my little one, | |
| O, He was fair! | |
| Yea, fairer than the fairest sun, | 15 |
| And like its rays through amber spun | |
| His sun-bright hair. | |
| Still I can see it shine and shine.” | |
| “Even so,” the woman said, “was mine.” | |
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| “His ways were ever darling ways,”— | 20 |
| And Mary smiled,— | |
| “So soft, so clinging! Glad relays | |
| Of love were all His precious days. | |
| My little child! | |
| My infinite star! My music fled!” | 25 |
| “Even so was mine,” the woman said. | |
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| Then whispered Mary: “Tell me, thou, | |
| Of thine.” And she: | |
| “O, mine was rosy as a bough | |
| Blooming with roses, sent, somehow, | 30 |
| To bloom for me! | |
| His balmy fingers left a thrill | |
| Within my breast that warms me still.” | |
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| Then gazed she down some wilder, darker hour, | |
| And said, when Mary questioned, knowing not, | 35 |
| “Who art thou, mother of so sweet a flower?” | |
| “I am the mother of Iscariot.” | |
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