Evening Poetry, December 4

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4. Hymn

by Eavan Boland

Four a.m.
December.
A lamb would perish
out there.

The cutlery glitter
of that sky
has nothing in it
I want to follow.

Here is the star
of my nativity;
the nursery lamp
in that suburb window,

behind which
is boiled glass, a bottle,
and a baby all
hisses like a kettle.

The light goes out.
The blackbird
takes up his part.
I wake by habit.
I have it off by heart:

these candles,
and the altar
and the psaltery of dawn.

And in the dark
as we slept
the world
was made flesh.

You can find this poem in Outside History: Selected Poems 1980-1990.

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