THREE nuns at owlet-call Tell o'er their rosaries: But dreams they drop where prayers must fall. And so, not theirs the Peace! Calm leagues of silver sand Beside the convent lie: The great grey waters builded stand Against a great grey sky. Beyond the bastioned sea, Amid a prick of spears, Through almond groves ride wearily Three golden cavaliers. Ever the life uncrowned! Never the seal of fire! Nor marriage-music surging round The Heart and her Desire! O red wild-roses, be Mourners awhile for these! Hidden roses, white and three, Die by the Virgin's knees. |