By the Babe Unborn

If trees were tall and grasses short,

                 As in some crazy tale,

               If here and there a sea were blue

                 Beyond the breaking pale,

               If a fixed fire hung in the air

                 To warm me one day through,

               If deep green hair grew on great hills,

                 I know what I should do.

               In dark I lie; dreaming that there

                 Are great eyes cold or kind,

               And twisted streets and silent doors,

                 And living men behind.

               Let storm clouds come: better an hour,

                 And leave to weep and fight,

               Than all the ages I have ruled

                 The empires of the night.

               I think that if they gave me leave

                 Within the world to stand,

               I would be good through all the day

                 I spent in fairyland.

               They should not hear a word from me

                 Of selfishness or scorn,

               If only I could find the door,

                 If only I were born.