Classic Poem

In the silent cloister garden
Walked a maiden pale and young;
Sadly shone the moon above her,
On her eyelash sparkling hung
A tear,—'t was for her lover.

“Yet 't was well, my own beloved,
Well that thou hast gone above;
Now my heart is thine and purely,
For an angel I may love,
And thou art an angel surely.”

Thus with weary steps she wandered,
Till she reached the sacred place
Where the Virgin, pure and lowly,
Stood with features full of grace,
In the moonlight, calm and holy.

At her feet the maiden falleth,
Looking upward to the skies;
In the morning there they found her,
Closed in death her gentle eyes,
And the black veil wrapped around her.