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a web of many textures

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I saw a Nun, upon a day, who moved,
In queer attire clad, and eyes cast down;
As though to breathe God's air were task unloved,
I gathered from the shadow of her frown.
Beside her walked a maiden bright and fair, —
A lovely one, with cheeks of ruddy hue;
Young loves lay nestling in the twining hair,
That round her head in sweet luxuriance grew.
A smile was on her lip, a contrast great
With the unbending parchment of the face
That by her gloomed, and on her seemed to wait
The blest attendants of a loving grace.
If which were holiest I were called to say,
The holiness of beauty would decide the day.