Magnificat in Little

I was enriched, not casting after marvels,

But as one walking in a usual place,

Without desert but common eyes and ears,

No recourse but to hear, power but to see,

Got to love you of grace.

Subtle musicians, that could body wind,

Or contrive strings to anguish, in conceit

Random and artless strung a branch with bells,

Fixed in one silver whim, which at a touch

Shook and were sweet.

And you, you lovely and unpurchased note,

One run distraught, and vexing hot and cold

To give to the heart’s poor confusion tongue,

By chance caught you, and henceforth all unlearned

Repeats you gold.

Copyright Credit: Léonie Adams, “Magnificat in Little” from Poems: A Selection (New York: The Noonday Press, 1959). Used by permission of Judith Farr, Literary Executrix of the Estate of Léonie Adams.

Source: Poems: A Selection (The Noonday Press, 1959)