Ghost-Flowers

In shining groups, each stem a pearly ray, Weird flecks of light within the shadowed wood, They dwell aloof, a spotless sisterhood. No Angelus, except the wild bird’s lay, Awakes these forest nuns; yet night and day Their heads are bent, as if in prayerful mood. A touch will mar their snow, and tempests rude Defile; but in the mist fresh blossoms stray From spirit-gardens just beyond our ken. Each year we seek their virgin haunts, to look Upon new loveliness, and watch again Their shy devotions near the singing brook; Then, mingling in the dizzy stir of men, Forget the vows made in that cloistered nook.