When Sister through the doorway peeps (Her mortal flesh a saint-dom seeks) And sees reclining ill at ease A wife in toils her lord to please. Then in her sacred hidden cell She prays, "Oh Lord, 'tis well, 'tis well Thy votaries with spirit fret," And cries, "Oh Lord here I am yet." But now the sainted Sister peeps And sees reclining there in heaps Two saints so fair that she must weep, Madonna and the child asleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SECRECY PROTESTED by THOMAS CAREW WHAT THE BULLET SANG by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S WOOING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MORAL ESSAYS: EPISTLE 4. TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL BURLINGTON by ALEXANDER POPE MUSIC IN THE NIGHT by HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD AN AUTUMN SONNET by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT A SISTER OF SORROW: 1. UP THE ROAD by GORDON BOTTOMLEY IN MEMORIAM: J. MACMEIKIN; DIED APRIL 1883 by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |