Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/348

334 For mine own head, yoked in my sister’s curse The blessing he refused me.

Well, take comfort ; This grace may yet be thine.

Palermo. A Nunnery. Enter ABBESS, followed by a Lay-Sister.

Is the poor creature roused ?

Nay, she still sleeps. T would break your pious heart to see her, mother. She begged our meanest cell, though ’t is past doubt She has been bred to delicate luxury. I deemed her spent, had not the soft breast heaved As gently as a babe s and even in dreams Two crystal drops oozed from her swollen lids, And trickled down her cheeks. Her grief sleeps not, Although the fragile body craves its rest.