When In The Womb Of Time Our Souls' Own Son Dear Love Lay Sleeping Till His Natal Hour, Long Months I Knew Not That Sweet Life Begun, Too Dimly Treasuring Thy Touch Of Power; And Wandering All Those Days By Far-Off Ways, Forgot Immortal Seed Must Have Immortal Flower. Only, Beloved, Since My Beloved Thou Art I Do Remember, Now That Memory'S Vain, How Twice Or Thrice Beneath My Beating Heart Life Quickened Suddenly With Proudest Pain. Then Dreamed I Love'S Increase, Yet Held My Peace Till I Might Render Thee Thy Own Great Gift Again. For As With Bodies, So With Souls It Is, The Greater Gives, The Lesser Doth Conceive: That Thou Hast Fathered Love, I Tell Thee This, And By My Pangs Beseech Thee To Believe. Look On His Hope Divine-- Thy Hope And Mine-- Pity His Outstretched Hands, Tenderly Him Receive!