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of thee !”
I'll tell you now the little history
The feast was spread, and flowed the Of Sister Mary of the Love of God.
In golden goblets clinking round the
the Lord !"
Within her chamber long the lady sate, Deep in the night, when everything was Then raised her downcast face, all pale still,
and sweet : The restless dance, the music's merry “There is a beggar lying at the gateclang,
Go, bring him in, that I may wash his That bird would perch upon the window sill:
feet." “ The Lord hath need of thee,” it piped
upon her robes of satin sheen,
They looked upon her eyes so strange She rose and fled her chamber in affright,
and glad ; And roused with eager call the minstrel They whispered, “She is not as she hath gray :
But in the night she stole away alone.
Then sang the minstrels many a mournThe minstrel struck his harp with ready
ful rhyme, power ;
Till some forgot her as one never known,
Ah me, it is a hundred years ago !
This ivy on the walls is thick, you see ; Her guests came round her and her ball- The world would laugh if I should tell it so room blazed,
Of Sister Mary's little history.
Another dances in her shoes to-day ;
But she is happy and the poor are gay, “ The Lord doth need thee!" said the The sick are smiling and the dead in dancers' feet.
It waits till the daylight passes
And closes them one by one.
I have asked why it closed at even,
And I know what it wished to say : There are stars all night in the heaven,
And I am the star of day.
“WHEN I AM DEAD"
When the last bitterness was past, she bore
kill – And on those lips of his that sang no more, That world-loathed head which she found
lovely still, Her cold lips closed, in death she had her
will. Oh wreck of the lost human soul left free To gorge the beast thy mask of manhood
screened ! Because one living thing, albeit a slave, Shed those hot tears on thy dishonored
grave, Although thy curse be as the shoreless sea, Because she loved, thou art not wholly
Is this the man by whose decree abide
trace Of fresh tears wet upon the hard cold
face ? – He wept, because a little child had
died. They set a marble image by his side, A sculptured Eros, ready for the chase ; It wore the dead boy's features, and the
grace Of pretty ways that were the old man's
pride. And so he smiled, grown softer now, and
tired Of too much empire, and it seemed a joy Fondly to stroke and pet the curly head, The smooth round limbs so strangely like
the dead, To kiss the white lips of his marble boy And call by name his little heart's-desired.
WHEN I am dead, my spirit
Shall wander far and free, Through realms the dead inherit
Of earth and sky and sea ; Through morning dawn and gloaming,
By midnight moons at will, By shores where the waves are foaming,
By seas where the waves are still. I, following late behind you,
In wingless sleepless flight, Will wander till I find you,
In sunshine or twilight; With silent kiss for greeting
On lips and eyes and head,
Shall love be perfected.
And pass where whirlwinds go,
Shall bear us with the snow.
And watch the lightnings hurled
Of the dim forsaken world.
And passing hand in hand
THEN AND NOW
THERE never were such radiant noons,
Such roses, such fair weather,
As while we were together!
The cloudy twilight closes,
The blight has killed the roses.
With little white leaves in the grasses,
pread wide for the smile of the sun,