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A Ballad of a Nun
Long ere she left her cloudy bed,Still dreaming in the orient land,On many a mountain's happy headDawn lightly laid her rosy hand.
The adventurous sun took Heaven by storm;Clouds scattered largesses of rain;The sounding cities rich and warm,Smouldered and glittered in the plain.
Sometimes it was a wandering wind,Sometimes the fragrance of the pine,Sometimes the thought how others sinned,That turned her sweet blood into wine.
Sometimes she heard a serenadeComplaining sweetly far away:She said, "A young man woos a maid";And dreamt of love till break of day.
Then would she ply her knotted scourgeUntil she swooned; but evermoreShe had the same red sin to purge,Poor, passionate keeper of the door!
For still night's starry scroll unfurled,And still the day came like a flood:It was the greatness of the worldThat made her long to use her blood.

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