Mary Carolyn Davies

TO-NIGHT the little girl-nun died.

Her hands were laid

Across her breast; the last sun tried

To kiss her quiet braid;

And where the little river cried,

Her grave was made.

The little girl-nun’s soul, in awe,

Went silently

To where her brother Christ she saw,

Under the Living Tree;

He sighed, and his face seemed to draw

Her tears, to see.

He laid his hands on her hands mild,

And gravely blessed;

“Blind, they that kept you so,” he smiled,

With tears unguessed.

“Saw they not Mary held a child

Upon her breast?”