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| BROTHER of mine, good monk with cowlëd head, | |
| Walled from that world which thou hast long since fled, | |
| And pacing thy green close beyond the sea, | |
| I send my heart to thee. | |
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| Down gust-sweet walks, bordered by lavender, | 5 |
| While eastward, westward, the mad swallows whir, | |
| All afternoon poring thy missal fair, | |
| Serene thou pacest there. | |
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| Mixed with the words and fitting like a tune, | |
| Thou hearest distantly the voice of June,— | 10 |
| The little, gossipping noises in the grass, | |
| The bees that come and pass. | |
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| Fades the long day; the pool behind the hedge | |
| Burns like a rose within the windy sedge; | |
| The lilies ghostlier grow in the dim air; | 15 |
| The convent windows flare. | |
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| Yet still thou lingerest; from pastures steep, | |
| Past the barred gate the shepherd drives his sheep; | |
| A nightingale breaks forth, and for a space | |
| Makes sweeter the sweet place. | 20 |
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| Then the gray monks by hooded twos and threes | |
| Move chapelward beneath the flaming trees; | |
| Closing thy book, back by the alleys fair | |
| Thou followest to prayer. | |
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| Born to these brawling days, this work-sick age, | 25 |
| Oft long I for thy simpler heritage; | |
| A thought of thee is like a breath of bloom | |
| Blown through a noisy room. | |
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| For thou art quick, not dead. I picture thee | |
| Forever in that close beyond the sea; | 30 |
| And find, despite this weather’s headlong stir, | |
| Peace and a comforter. | |
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