Cloistered

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?”