San Marco was as quiet on that day In the deep shadow of its cedar tree As an old shrine. Pale yellow sunlight lay Across the cloister garth, and one could see Faintly within the shadow the dark stone Where sandaled feet had worn with noiseless tread A thousand paths and into silence gone. Now strangers wandered through the convent, led Like men in dreams to where on dimlit wall, One sees at last from out that dimness grow The Annunciation with the Virgin all Mildness and grace, and Gabriel bowing low. No prayers were chanted or no tapers here Were lit but for the spirit's eye and ear. |