dead world's shroud in ghastly fragments torn:
And through the night, and through the hush, and over the flapping
wing,
We heard beside the Heavenly Gate the angels murmuring:
We heard them say, "Put day to day, and count the days to seven,
And God will draw Onora up the golden stairs of heaven.
And yet the Evil ones have leave that purpose to defer,
For if she has no need of HIM, He has no need of her."

_Evil Spirit._

Speak out to me, speak bold and free.

_Onora (in sleep)._

And then I heard thee say--
"I count upon my rosary brown the hours thou hast to stay!
Yet God permits us Evil ones to put by that decree,
Since if thou hast no need of HIM, He has no need of thee:
And if thou wilt forgo the sight of angels, verily
Thy true love gazing on thy face shall guess what angels be;
Nor bride shall pass, save thee" ... Alas!--my father's hand's a-cold,
The meadows seem ...

_Evil Spirit._

Forbear the dream, or let the vow be told.

_Onora (in sleep)._

I vowed upon thy rosary brown, this string of antique beads,
By charnel lichens overgrown, and dank among the weeds,
This rosary brown which is thine own,--lost soul of buried nun!
Who, lost by vow, wouldst render now all souls alike undone,--
I vowed upon thy rosary brown,--and, till such vow should break,
A pledge always of living days 't was hung around my neck--
I vowed to thee on rosary (dead father, look not so!),
_I would not thank God in my weal, nor seek God in my woe._

_Evil Spirit._

And canst thou prove ...

_Onora (in sleep)._

O love, my love! I felt him near again!
I saw his steed on mountain-head, I heard it on the plain!
Was this no weal for me to feel? Is greater weal than this?
Yet when he came, I wept his name--and the angels heard but _his_.

_Evil Spirit._

Well done, well done!

_Onora (in sleep)._

Ah me, the sun! the dreamlight 'gins to pine,--
Ah me, how dread can look the Dead! Aroint thee, father mine!

She starteth from slumber, she sitteth upright,
And her breath comes in sobs, while she stares through the night;
There is nought; the great willow, her lattice before,
Large-drawn in the moon, lieth calm on the floor:
But her hands tremble fast as their pulses and, free
From the death-