That crush’d affection back upon my heart
Yet come to me!—it died not.
She knelt in prayer. A stream of sunset fell
Through the stain’d window of her lonely cell,
And with its rich, deep, melancholy glow,
Flushing her cheek and pale Madonna brow,
While o’er her long hair’s flowing jet it threw
Bright waves of gold—the autumn forest’s hue—
Seem’d all a vision’s mist of glory, spread
By painting’s touch around some holy head,