IN this still cloister where the roses grow <br />Waist-high between the arches and the well, <br />You would have walked a thousand years ago, <br />So faithful, who are now so infidel; <br />You would have fancied your wild heart's emotion <br />Over the beauty of a scene like this, <br />A mystic piety, a pure devotion <br />And so, perhaps, it is. <br /> <br />Under the shade of column and of tracing, <br />Here in the dusk, where swallows dart and fly, <br />Barefoot and cowled, I think I see you pacing, <br />Brooding o'er thoughts of subtle mystery; <br />Fasting and prayer, and music and desire <br />Weaving a mood that men no longer know - <br />Oh, yes, my dear, you would have been a friar, <br />A thousand years ago.<br /><br />Alice Duer Miller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/batalha/
