English poetry

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On the Mystery of the Incarnation

It’s when we face for a moment
The worst our kind can do, and shudder to know
The taint in our own selves, that awe
Cracks the mind’s shell and enters the heart:
Not to a flower, not to a dolphin,
To no innocent form
But to this creature vainly sure
It and no other is god-like, God
(out of compassion for our ugly
Failure to evolve) entrusts,
As guest, as brother,
The Word.


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Poem On the Mystery of the Incarnation - Denise Levertov