In the quiet convent garden A pallid maiden dreamed. The moon was dim above-- On drooping lashes gleamed A tear of tender love. He is dead, my faithful lover-- What blessedness for me! Now it is right to love: An angel he will be, And angels I may love. She walked with steps unsteady To mother Mary's shrine; The image, wondrous mild, Looked in the pale moonshine Upon the undefiled. She sank down, gazing upward, In heavenly peace reposed, Until her eyelids frail In gentle death were closed; Down fell the long, black veil. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LILY, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE by THOMAS GRAY SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 2. IN CHURCH by THOMAS HARDY THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 23. LOVE'S BAUBLES by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI PORTRAIT OF A LADY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS A TRIBUTE TO DAD by CLARA MCKEE BEEDE GOD OF PROGRESS by ALICE GILL BENTON OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 11. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE SEVENTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |