Anathema and alien to the just.
We prayed within the cloister side by side,
He chose the world, wise in his own conceit;
I kept our Blessed Lady for my bride,
To paths of sin he set his wayward feet.
And she is dead, too. Lies with him, they say?
Aye, lies with him—they are together still—
That golden girl I saw one summer day
Tending her kine upon the pasture hill.