@2M@1EEKLY, with folded hands and patient brows, Come two from out the ivy-clustered door; A cross is on the altar of their House,— It hushed their voices while it heard their vows; Ay me,—the Silent Sisters of the Poor! The cross upon the altar is of gold, And coldly gleams in the chill chapel air;— Is it for this their bosoms are so cold, Nor beat as they were wont to beat of old?— Or is a wintry cross enfixéd @3there@1, The sun is dimly drooping down the west; The ancient House against its glory stands Sombre and gaunt and dark; and darkly drest, Two figures seem to fade within its breast, Meekly, with patient brows and folded hands. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DESERTED GARDEN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SNOWFLAKES by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW BIRDS by NESTA HIGGINSON SKRINE NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP by ROBERT SOUTHWELL EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 2. MUTUAL LOVE by PHILIP AYRES THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 9: GREAT WESTERN DAYS by T. BAKER S. PHILIP YE DEACON by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |