A New Pilgrimage, XXXII

To-day I was at Milan, in such thought
As pilgrims mourn who at faith's threshold stand,
Still burdened with the sorrows they have brought,
And vexed with stranger tongues in a strange land.
And lo, this sign was given me. At my hand
Hung that mysterious supper Vinci wrought
With the sad twelve who were Christ's band,
A type of vows and courage come to nought.
And, while I gazed, with a reproachful look
The bread was broken and the wine was poured
And the disciples raised their hands and spoke,
Each asking " Is it I ? and I too ? Lord
And there was answered them this mournful cry :
" All shall abandon me to-night." So I.