Page:Twilight Hours (1868).djvu/101

A distant gale, Mark said ; but as he spoke
It neared, and crashed against the window-frames,
Like some poor mendicant, as Agnes said,
Who fails, with famished voice, to make men hear
Until, Death-driven, he leaps boldly up
And batters at the door until it opes.
Suddenly from the wall a picture sprang,
And fell at Agnes' feet ; she smiled, " Poor nun,
I think we will not hang her any more."
Then told me the tradition, how 'twas said
That this had been a weak and foolish Prynne,
Who took the veil, repented it, and died.
" The storm has passed," Mark said ; " 'twas strangely short.
Listen, how still it is, for you to sing
The plaint I heard at dusk, dear, yester-eve,
Your last new song."
" My last song, yes,"
And Agnes smiled her danger smile, that thrilled
One's soul, as when a rift in stormy clouds
Shows the blue ether in unearthly calm : —