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A Ballad of a Nun
No question did the warder ask:Her ragged robe, her shrunken limb,Her dreadful eyes! "It is no mask;It is a she-wolf, gaunt and grim!"
She ran across the icy plain;Her worn blood curdled in the blast;Each footstep left a crimson stain;The white-faced moon looked on aghast.
She said between her chattering jaws,"Deep peace is mine, I cease to strive;Oh, comfortable convent laws,That bury foolish nuns alive!
"A trowel for my passing-bell,A little bed within the wall,A coverlet of stones; how wellI there shall keep the Carnival!"
Like tired bells chiming in their sleep,The wind faint peals of laughter bore;She stopped her ears and climbed the steep,And thundered at the convent door.
It opened straight: she entered in,And at the wardress' feet fell prone:"I come to purge away my sin,Bury me, close me up in stone."
The
