On a Picture of a Very Young Nun: Not Reading a Devotional Book, and Not Contemplating a Crucifix Placed beside Her

So young, too young, consign'd to cloistral shade,
Untimely wedded, — wedded, yet a maid ;
And hast thou left no thought, no wish behind.
No sweet employment for the wandering wind.
Who would be proud to waft a sigh from thee,
Sweeter than aught he steals in Araby ?
Thou wert immured, poor maiden, as I guess,
In the blank childhood of thy simpleness ;
Too young to doubt, too pure to be ashamed,
Thou gavest to God what God had never claim'd,
And didst unweeting sign away thine all
Of earthly good, — a guiltless prodigal.
The large reversion of thine unborn love
Was sold to purchase an estate above.
Yet by thy hands, upon thy bosom prest,
I think, indeed, thou art not quite at rest ;
That Christ that hangs upon the sculptured cross
Is not the Jesus to redeem thy loss ;

Nor will that book, whatever its page contain.
Convince thee that the world is false and vain.
E'en now there is a something at thy heart
That would be off, but may not, dare not, start ;
Yes, yes ! thy face, thine eyes, thy closed lips, prove
Thou wert intended to be loved and love.
Poor maiden ! victim of the vilest craft
At which e'er Moloch grinn'd or Belial laugh
May all thy aimless wishes be forgiven !
May all thy sighs be register "d in Heaven !
And God his mercy and his love impart
For what thou should'st have been, to what thou art !