The Ambuscade

Meek crossing of the bosom's lawn
Averted revery veil-like drawn,
Well beseem thee, nor obtrude
The cloister of thy virginhood.
And yet, white nun, that seemly dress
Of purity pale passionless,
A May-snow is; for fleeting term,
Custodian of love's slumbering germ —
Nay, nurtures it, till time disclose
How frost fed Amor's burning rose.