Alas! the novelty wore off: I grew,
First languid, and then weary, and then turned
Repining to the world I had resigned.
Yet good for me the listless solitude
Of my low cell: lonely are serious thoughts,
And such mine were. I thought on wasted hours,
And wasted gifts, with penitential fear.
Day filled with its unsatisfying round
Of forms and words, how precious grew the night!
Then, leaning from my lattice, I could watch
The pale stars growing bright in the dim air;
Spoke not their mystery to my inmost soul?
Found they not language in my own deep thoughts?
Then was I humble in my nothingness—
An atom in the path of many worlds.
Then was I hopeful in the scented weed
That, clustering at my casement, filled the cell
With its sweet breathings. I could see a Power
As watchful of the little as the great:
The fragile flower was cared for as the star.
Yet I had moments of despondency—
Many and bitter; and remorse awoke
As from a dream. At last a summons came—
'Twas from my dying father; and I went
(My year's novitiate was not past) and knelt,
For the first time, beside the bed of death.
How my heart smote me when I saw the cheek
Of my pale mother! I, her wilful child,
