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 :::THE MONK

UT of our Lady's cloister torn, I swept like a hunted flame, Over valleys and hills forlorn To a leafy wood where in shades are born Mosses without a name.

And there I found — poor monk that I was — My curse, my fate, my spell — Lightly she leaped from the leafy grass With a sigh like a vesper-bell. And her eyes to me had the strange soft look Of the "Introibo" signs In my illumined Missal-book, Where the "Sursum Corda" begins.

O God! I loved her from my heart; And a little she loved me! And day and night she led me apart Where the flickering sunbeams gleam and dart In the mid-wood's mystery.

Her childish movements, her broken words, They were my only beads. For choir we had the twittering birds, For candles the moonlit reeds.

O God! I loved her from my heart, And a little she loved me!