@2M@1EEKLY, with folded hands and patient brows, Come two from out the ivy-clustered door; A cross is on the altar of their House,— It hushed their voices while it heard their vows; Ay me,—the Silent Sisters of the Poor! The cross upon the altar is of gold, And coldly gleams in the chill chapel air;— Is it for this their bosoms are so cold, Nor beat as they were wont to beat of old?— Or is a wintry cross enfixéd @3there@1, The sun is dimly drooping down the west; The ancient House against its glory stands Sombre and gaunt and dark; and darkly drest, Two figures seem to fade within its breast, Meekly, with patient brows and folded hands. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DESCRIPTION OF SPRING by HENRY HOWARD THE THREE BEST THING: 1. WORK by HENRY VAN DYKE MIRACLES by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A DREAM by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT LOST BUT FOUND by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 23 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |