Page:Preludes, Meynell, 1875.djvu/59

Rh Of the dying and the birth

Of the people of the earth.

No, not sad; we are beguiled,

Sad with living as we are;

Ours the sorrow, outpouring

Sad self on a selfless thing,

As our eyes and hearts are mild

With our sympathy for Spring,

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.

Soeur 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