Ezra Pound — A Song of the Virgin Mother

In the play "Los Pastores de Belen."         From the Spanish of Lope de Vega. As ye go through these palm-trees O holy angel; Sith sleepeth my child here Still ye the branches. O Bethlehem palm-trees That move to the anger Of winds in their fury, Tempestuous voices, Make ye no clamour, Run ye less swiftly, Sith sleepeth the child here Still ye your branches. He the divine child Is here a-wearied Of weeping the earth-pain, Here for his rest would he Cease from his mourning, Only a little while, Sith sleepeth this child here Stay ye the branches. Cold be the fierce winds, Treacherous round him. Ye see that I have not Wherewith to guard him, O angels, divine ones That pass us a-flying, Sith sleepeth my child here Stay ye the branches.