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In a Cathedral Aisle,And understood no word it said—Yet held my breath, the while—And risen up—and gone away,A more Berdardine Girl—Yet—know not what was done to meIn that old Chapel Aisle.

Enclosed ’twas not of RailA Consciousness its Acre, andIt held a Human Soul.Entombed by whom, for what offenceIf Home or Foreign born—Had I the curiosity‘Twere not appeased of menTill Resurrection, I must guessDenied the small desireA Rose upon its Ridge to sowOr take away a Briar.

The Clamoring for Gold—It kept me from a Thief, I think,For often, overboldWith Want, and Opportunity—I could have done a SinAnd been Myself that easy ThingAn independent Man—But often as my lot displaysToo hungry to be borneI deem Myself what I would be—And novel ComfortingMy Poverty and I derive—We question if the Man—Who own—Esteem the…

Lest my beseeching face—at last—Rejected—be—of Her?

For news that they be saved—The nearer they departed UsThe nearer they, restored,Shall stand to Our Right Hand—Most precious and the Dead—Next preciousThose that rose to go—Then thought of Us, and stayed.

Proud of my night, since thou, with moons, dos’t shake it.Not to partake thy passion, -my humilityThou can’st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companionWas the strong cup of anguish brewed for the NazareneThou can’st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture,See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!