Vespers

It is the vesper hour, and in yon aisle Where fainting incense clouds the heavy air My lady’s kneeling at her evening prayer, Alone and silently; for in a file The choristers have passed, and left her there, Where martyrs from the tinted windows stare, And saints look downward with a holy smile Upon her meek devotions, while the day Fades slowly, and a tender amber light From coloured panes about her head doth play— Her veil falls like a shade, and ghostly white Her clasped hands glimmer through the deepening gray; So will she kneel, until from Heaven’s height The Angels bend to hear their sister pray.

November 11th, 1875.