Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Lizette WoodworthReese1252 Thomas à Kempis
B
Walled from that world which thou hast long since fled,
And pacing thy green close beyond the sea,
I send my heart to thee.
While eastward, westward, the mad swallows whir,
All afternoon poring thy missal fair,
Serene thou pacest there.
Thou hearest distantly the voice of June,—
The little, gossipping noises in the grass,
The bees that come and pass.
Burns like a rose within the windy sedge;
The lilies ghostlier grow in the dim air;
The convent windows flare.
Past the barred gate the shepherd drives his sheep;
A nightingale breaks forth, and for a space
Makes sweeter the sweet place.
Move chapelward beneath the flaming trees;
Closing thy book, back by the alleys fair
Thou followest to prayer.
Oft long I for thy simpler heritage;
A thought of thee is like a breath of bloom
Blown through a noisy room.
Forever in that close beyond the sea;
And find, despite this weather’s headlong stir,
Peace and a comforter.