Her large eyes, wide and staring, took no heed
Of anything before them; thus she slept.
I bade her sit beside me, and I placed
The Bible on her knee, and laid her hand
Upon the verse that names the tree of life.
"Tell me," I said, "where may this tree be found."
"The way is long," she answered me at last,
"And I am worn and weary. I have tracked
The shore of one long river, many a mile.
The sun scorches like fire. I am athirst.
I cannot find the tree; my search is done."
"Look down the past, and find if any knew
Where grows this tree, or how it might be found.
"Again her lips made answer: "One I see,
Long dead, who bends above a written scroll,
And therein makes strange characters, which hold
Some hidden sense pertaining to this tree.
In Milan, in the Ambrosian library there,
I see this scroll to-night; 'tis worn with age."
"Now seek thy home again," I said, "sweet soul.
Thou art as meek and pure as him whose hand
First wrote God's words." So she arose, and passed
Along the dark, deserted street, and I
Followed her closely, till I saw her cross
The threshold of her cottage; then I turned,
And found my home, and calmly slept till dawn.
