TWO VEILS.
From the nun's wan life a buried passion
Blossomed like a grave-rose in her face;
"Sweet, my child," she said, "in what fair fashion
Do you mean to wear this lovely lace?
Blossomed like a grave-rose in her face;
"Sweet, my child," she said, "in what fair fashion
Do you mean to wear this lovely lace?
"Thus?"—and, with a feverish hand and shaken,
Round her head the precious veil she wound.
"Faith in man," she said, "I have forsaken;
Faith in God most surely I have found.
Round her head the precious veil she wound.
"Faith in man," she said, "I have forsaken;
Faith in God most surely I have found.
"Yet with music in the dewy distance,
And the whole world flowering at my feet,
Through this convent-garment's dark resistance
Backward I can hear my fierce heart beat.
And the whole world flowering at my feet,
Through this convent-garment's dark resistance
Backward I can hear my fierce heart beat.
"Tropic eyes too full of light and languor,
Northern soul too grey with Northern frost:
Ashes—ashes after fires of anger!
Love and beauty—what a world I lost?"
Northern soul too grey with Northern frost:
Ashes—ashes after fires of anger!
Love and beauty—what a world I lost?"
"Sister," laughed the girl with girlish laughter,
"Sister, do you envy me my veil?"
'You may come to ask for mine hereafter,"
Answered very piteous lips and pale.
"Sister, do you envy me my veil?"
'You may come to ask for mine hereafter,"
Answered very piteous lips and pale.
"No, for your black cross is heavy bearing;
Tiresome counting these stone beads must be.
Oh, but there are jewels worth the wearing
Waiting in the sunny world for me!
Tiresome counting these stone beads must be.
Oh, but there are jewels worth the wearing
Waiting in the sunny world for me!
. . . "Sister, have a care—you are forgetting.
Do not broider thorns among my flowers—
Only buds and leaves: your tears are wetting
All my bridal lace." They fell in showers.
Do not broider thorns among my flowers—
Only buds and leaves: your tears are wetting
All my bridal lace." They fell in showers.
After years and years, beside the grating,
(Oh, that saddest sight, young hair grown grey!)
With dry boughs and empty winds awaiting
At the cloister door, came one to pray.
(Oh, that saddest sight, young hair grown grey!)
With dry boughs and empty winds awaiting
At the cloister door, came one to pray.
"Sister, see my bride-veil? there was never
Thorn so sharp as those within its lace.
Sister, give me yours to wear for ever;
Give me yours, and let me hide my face."
Thorn so sharp as those within its lace.
Sister, give me yours to wear for ever;
Give me yours, and let me hide my face."