By Nirina Mignon
The canticles of the Innocents attend
About the crown of continence, diadem to dignity.
The cherubs transposed, bereft of malice, to thee wend.
Ipse infans probati, meliorare non possumus:
It may be said of the blameless of Bethlehem,
And thine Son which we bear by signed pectus,
Who by their immortal mail parried the decree profane.
Though now daggers are hung, as if by horse hair
Above thine immaculate heart;
And a millstone’s burden accrues, and wishes not to part,
Weep not, thee who by ceaseless intercession is succor.
By the hem of thine mantle, dry the tearlet stream
Which once was out of calamity mine issue.