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NONNETTES.
(SANGUINARIA CANADENSIS.)
When April woods are all in bud,
And soft the south-winds blow:
When rushing brooks are bright with flood,
And hill-tops bare of snow.
And soft the south-winds blow:
When rushing brooks are bright with flood,
And hill-tops bare of snow.
Then in the forests' lonely glades,
The careless blue-birds see
A crowd of white-capped little maids
Rise from their nunnery.
The careless blue-birds see
A crowd of white-capped little maids
Rise from their nunnery.
Each cell a dark and wrinkled leaf,
Close folded from the sun;
Keeps sweet novitiate, cool and brief,
For every tiny nun.
Close folded from the sun;
Keeps sweet novitiate, cool and brief,
For every tiny nun.
More white than milk that flows and foams,
They lift their placid heads,
Safe in their rough and rocky homes,
Amid these leaf-strewn beds.
They lift their placid heads,
Safe in their rough and rocky homes,
Amid these leaf-strewn beds.
No trace of passion or of pain,
Across their brows is drawn;
They bow not to the sun or rain,
Nor turn to meet the dawn.
Across their brows is drawn;
They bow not to the sun or rain,
Nor turn to meet the dawn.
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Yet dare to pluck one bud away
Where that pure conclave grows,
From the chill stem you make your prey,
What scarlet life-blood flows!
Where that pure conclave grows,
From the chill stem you make your prey,
What scarlet life-blood flows!
Dear little Sisters of the Snow,
Beneath your virgin veil
What hidden fires of passion glow
To mock that drapery pale!
Beneath your virgin veil
What hidden fires of passion glow
To mock that drapery pale!
And we who gather, scant of ruth,
Your blossoms cold and fair,
Pluck also some sad, hidden truth,
That startles us to prayer.
Your blossoms cold and fair,
Pluck also some sad, hidden truth,
That startles us to prayer.
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