While candles on the altar-shelf
Between the ferns and flowers
Were burning, and the Carmelites
Chanted the Little Hours: —
Putting her holy woolens on,
Her sandals and her veil,
Young Sister Mary of the Snows
Knelt at the altar-rail,
And ceased forevermore to be
The harbor-dredger’s daughter —
The man who digs the murky mud
From underneath the water.
From Boundaries
