THE LAY OF THE BROWN ROSARY
121
"At dawn and at eve, mother, who sitteth there,
With the brown rosarie never used for a prayer?
Stoop low, mother, low! If we went there to see,
What an ugly great hole in that east wall must be
At dawn and at even!
With the brown rosarie never used for a prayer?
Stoop low, mother, low! If we went there to see,
What an ugly great hole in that east wall must be
At dawn and at even!
"Who meet there, my mother, at dawn and at even?
Who meet by that wall, never looking to Heaven?
O sweetest my sister, what doeth with thee,
The ghost of a nun with a brown rosarie,
And a face turned from Heaven?
Who meet by that wall, never looking to Heaven?
O sweetest my sister, what doeth with thee,
The ghost of a nun with a brown rosarie,
And a face turned from Heaven?
"St. Agnes o'erwatcheth my dreams; and erewhile
I have felt through mine eyelids, the warmth of her smile—
But last night, as a sadness like pity came o'er her,
She whispered—'Say two prayers at dawn for Onora!
The Tempted is sinning.'"
I have felt through mine eyelids, the warmth of her smile—
But last night, as a sadness like pity came o'er her,
She whispered—'Say two prayers at dawn for Onora!
The Tempted is sinning.'"
Onora, Onora! they heard her not coming—
Not a step on the grass, not a voice through the gloaming;
But her mother looked up, and she stood on the floor,
Fair and still as the moonlight that came there before,
And a smile just beginning!
Not a step on the grass, not a voice through the gloaming;
But her mother looked up, and she stood on the floor,
Fair and still as the moonlight that came there before,
And a smile just beginning!
It touches her lips—hut it dares not arise
To the height of the mystical sphere of her eyes:
And the large musing eyes, neither joyous nor sorry,
Sing on like the angels in separate glory,
Between clouds of amber.
To the height of the mystical sphere of her eyes:
And the large musing eyes, neither joyous nor sorry,
Sing on like the angels in separate glory,
Between clouds of amber.
For the hair droops in clouds amber-coloured, till stirred
Into gold by the gesture that comes with a word;
While—O soft!—her speaking is so interwound
Of the dim and the sweet, 'tis a twilight of sound,
And floats through the chamber.
Into gold by the gesture that comes with a word;
While—O soft!—her speaking is so interwound
Of the dim and the sweet, 'tis a twilight of sound,
And floats through the chamber.
"Since thou shrivest my brother, fair mother,' said she,
"I count on thy priesthood for marrying of me!
And I know by the hills, that the battle is done—
That my lover rides on—will he here with the sun,
'Neath the eyes that behold thee!"
"I count on thy priesthood for marrying of me!
And I know by the hills, that the battle is done—
That my lover rides on—will he here with the sun,
'Neath the eyes that behold thee!"
