Mary Thacher Higginson

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.