Classic Poem

Beneath grave Sister Claudia's eyes
She droops the dimple of her chin,
Drops frolic glances from far skies
Upon her fairy rolling-pin.

Outside, the convent maple stirs —
Her leafy playmate, plumed and tall;
The sweet, far organ swells and birrs
And shakes the green vine on the wall.

The golden shuttle of her years
Across the loom of life has fled
In light, gay flashes — all her tears
Have rounded for her dear dove, dead.

Her laugh — a zigzag butterfly
Of silver sound that hardly knows
Against what joyous blossom's dye
Mirth's breath its fairy fluttering blows.

The rose-rays on her finger-tips
Kiss satin rose to ripening mold;
She purses up her rose-bright lips,
She twines the thread of glittering gold.

A snowflake fair her soul might soil,
A lily-cup hold all her sin
And stainless stay. O fairy toil,
The decking of the rolling-pin!