A MATER DOLOROSA
467
With flash of jewels, splendor and perfume,
The high white altar, and above a face,
My face, pale shining through the scented gloom
Like a lone star! Then in the hush a voice
Chanted "Hail, Mary"—and my heart stood still.
I who had been a sinner, could I dare
Thus to mock God and man? Low at his feet
Again I fell, and there I told him all
As he had been my soul's confessor, poured
My very heart out. Signor, life is hard
And cruel to child-women, when the street
Is their sole nursing mother. I had had
No friend, no home, save when old Barbara
In some rare mood of pity let me creep
Under her wing for shelter. Then she died,
And even that poor semblance of a home
Was mine no longer. Yet, as the years went on,
Out of the dust and moil I grew as tall
And fair as lily in a garden plot,
Shut in by ivied cloisters—Let it pass!—
God knows how girls are tempted when false love
Comes with beguiling words and tender lips,
Promising all things, and their barren lives
Break into sudden bloom as when a bud
Unfolds its shining petals in the sun
And joys to be a rose!
No word he spake,
Fra Alessandro, sitting mute and pale.
But Nello, wondering at my sighs and tears,
Dropped the brown rosary and thrust his hands
Into the shining masses of my hair,
Pulling the bodkin out, and lifted up
My wet, wan face to kiss it. God is good;
And even in that dark hour a thrill of joy
Ran through my soul as the pure lips met mine.
The high white altar, and above a face,
My face, pale shining through the scented gloom
Like a lone star! Then in the hush a voice
Chanted "Hail, Mary"—and my heart stood still.
I who had been a sinner, could I dare
Thus to mock God and man? Low at his feet
Again I fell, and there I told him all
As he had been my soul's confessor, poured
My very heart out. Signor, life is hard
And cruel to child-women, when the street
Is their sole nursing mother. I had had
No friend, no home, save when old Barbara
In some rare mood of pity let me creep
Under her wing for shelter. Then she died,
And even that poor semblance of a home
Was mine no longer. Yet, as the years went on,
Out of the dust and moil I grew as tall
And fair as lily in a garden plot,
Shut in by ivied cloisters—Let it pass!—
God knows how girls are tempted when false love
Comes with beguiling words and tender lips,
Promising all things, and their barren lives
Break into sudden bloom as when a bud
Unfolds its shining petals in the sun
And joys to be a rose!
No word he spake,
Fra Alessandro, sitting mute and pale.
But Nello, wondering at my sighs and tears,
Dropped the brown rosary and thrust his hands
Into the shining masses of my hair,
Pulling the bodkin out, and lifted up
My wet, wan face to kiss it. God is good;
And even in that dark hour a thrill of joy
Ran through my soul as the pure lips met mine.
