<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428689" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Convent Garden</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Convent garden lies so near<br>The road the people go,<br>If it was quiet you might hear<br>The nuns' talk, merry and low.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Black London trees have made their screen<br>From folk who pry and peer,<br>The sooty sparrows now begin<br>Their talk of country cheer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And round and round by twos and threes<br>The nuns walk, praying still<br>For fighting men across the seas<br>Who die to save them ill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the dear prison of her choice<br>The young nun's thoughts are far;<br>She muses on the golden boys<br>At all the Fronts of War.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now from her narrow Convent house<br>She sees where great ships be,<br>And plucks the robe of God, her Spouse,<br>To give the victory.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Under her robe her heart's a-beat,<br>Her maiden pulses stir,<br>At sound of marching in the street,<br>To think they die for her!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now beneath the veil and hood<br>Her hidden eyes will glow,<br>The battle ardour's in her blood --<br>If she might strike one blow!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when she sleeps at last perchance<br>Her soul hath slipped away<br>To fields of Serbia and of France<br>Until the dawn of day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She wanders by the still moonbeam<br>By dying and by dead,<br>And many a broken man will dream<br>An angel lifts his head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All day and night as a sweet smoke<br>Her prayer ascends the skies<br>That all her piteous fighting folk<br>May walk in Paradise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still her innocent pulses stir,<br>Her heart is proud and high,<br>To think that men should die for her --<br>And the marching feet go by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Katharine+Tynan">Katharine Tynan</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428689" data-title="The Convent Garden de Katharine Tynan" data-description="The Convent garden lies so near The road the people go, If it was quiet you might hear The nuns' talk, merry and low. Black London trees have made their screen From folk who pry and peer, The sooty sparrows now begin Their talk of country cheer. ..."></div> </div> </div>

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