There, in that thick-leaved twilight of high noon,
  The quiet of the still, suspended air,
  Once more my wandering thoughts were calmly ranged,
  Shepherded by my will.  I wept, I prayed
  A solemn prayer, conceived in agony,
  Blessed with response instant, miraculous;
  For in that hour my spirit was at one
  With Him who knows and satisfies her needs. 
  The supplication and the blessing sprang
  From the same source, inspired divinely both. 
  I prayed for light, self-knowledge, guidance, truth,
  And these like heavenly manna were rained down
  To feed my hungered soul.  His guilt was mine. 
  What angel had been sent to stay mine arm
  Until the fateful moment passed away
  That would have ushered an eternity
  Of withering remorse?  I found the germs
  In mine own heart of every human sin,
  That waited but occasion’s tempting breath
  To overgrow with poisoned bloom my life. 
  What God thus far had saved me from myself? 
  Here was the lofty truth revealed, that each
  Must feel himself in all, must know where’er
  The great soul acts or suffers or enjoys,
  His proper soul in kinship there is bound. 
  Then my life-purpose dawned upon my mind,
  Encouraging as morning.  As I lay,
  Crushed by the weight of universal love,
  Which mine own thoughts had heaped upon myself,
  I heard the clear chime of a slow, sweet bell. 
  I knew it—­whence it came and what it sang. 
  From the gray convent nigh the wood it pealed,
  And called the monks to prayer.  Vigil and prayer,
  Clean lives, white days of strict austerity: 
  Such were the offerings of these holy saints. 
  How far might such not tend to expiate
  A riotous world’s indulgence?  Here my life,
  Doubly austere and doubly sanctified,
  Might even for that other one atone,
  So bound to mine, till both should be forgiven.

    They sheltered me, not questioning the need
  That led me to their cloistered solitude. 
  How rich, how freighted with pure influence,
  With dear security of perfect peace,
  Was the first day I passed within those walls! 
  The holy habit of perpetual prayer,
  The gentle greetings, the rare temperate speech,
  The chastening discipline, the atmosphere
  Of settled and profound tranquillity,
  Were even as living waters unto one
  Who perisheth of thirst.  Was this the world
  That yesterday seemed one huge battle-field
  For brutish passions?  Could the soul of man
  Withdraw so easily, and erect apart
  Her own fair temple for her own high ends? 
  But this serene contentment slowly waned
  As I discerned the broad disparity
  Betwixt the form and spirit of the laws
  That bound the order in strait brotherhood. 
  Yet when I sought to gain a larger love,
  More rigid discipline, severer truth,
  And more complete surrender of the soul