[center] [font=courier new][size=5]By the Babe Unborn[/size] [size=4]by Gilbert Keith Chesterton[/size] [size=3] 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. [/size][/center]