Classic Poem

I

A PALLID nun by serge made doubly pale,
Stoops to the pavement for a red, ripe leaf
Dropped from a tree, and smiles beneath her veil
In thinking this may soothe a sick child's grief.

II

A cool contralto voice that calms the soul,
As night-wind calms the pulses hot with pain;
And, crouching on a bench, the grave her goal,
A wanton grown a simple girl again.

III

A street musician singing of the sea
Amidst the shipping of a smoke-wrapped town;
Until a soft south breeze from Italy
Touches the cheek, and fairer skies float down.