Page:Poems, Meynell, 1921.djvu/33

"Sœur Monique" With a pity sweet and wild For the innocent and far, With our sadness in a star, Or our sadness in a child.

But two words, and this sweet air. Sœur Monique, Had he more, who set you there? Was his music-dream of you Of some perfect nun he knew, Or of some ideal, as true?

And I see you where you stand With your life held in your hand As a rosary of days. And your thoughts in calm arrays, And your innocent prayers are told On your rosary of days. And the young days and the old With their quiet prayers did meet When the chaplet was complete.

Did it vex you, the surmise Of this wind of words, this storm of cries, Though you kept the silence so In the storms of long ago, And you keep it, like a star? —Of the evils triumphing, Strong, for all your perfect conquering, Silenced conqueror that you are?

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