Has the novice come to-day
Here beneath the wall to pray?
Has the young monk, lately chidden,
Sung his lyric, sweet, forbidden?
Tell me, roses, did you note
That pale father's throbbing throat?
Did you hear him murmur, "Love!"
As he kissed a faded glove?
Mourning ferns, pray tell me why
Shook you with that passing sigh?