“Are some,” I said, “not call’d in special ways
To nurse and tend the aged, sick, and poor?”
“Are some not call’d,” he ask’d, “in special ways
To tend like this the men they love the best?—
Whate’er old age may need, needs it the most
The young who old have grown before their time?—
Need sick men nurses pale?—or poor men, those
Whose moods have never stored the rich results
Mined from a world the world’s heir should explore?—
Nay, nay, these all would be more ably served
By spirits free to live their own love’s life.
Who gains aught where the spirit is not free?
Think you the veil, too hastily assumed,
May never change the hues and views of life,
Perverting them?—or cause beclouded love
That might have bloom’d in light, to fade in gloom?
’Tis only when those knowing what they leave
Turn calmly from all else to convent walls
That love should not dissuade them. Let them find
Large, sunny, healthful halls; and dwell therein:
From thence deal forth that gentle charity
So potent coming from a woman’s hand.
Not strange it were if sickness, tended thus,
Enliven’d by her smiles of light, should flush
Or blush to perfect health! if wickedness,
Beneath incrusted woes of years of wrong,
Should feel the earlier faith of childhood waked
By woman’s voice, and thus be born again!—
And find a life renew’d within the soul
As well as body. Let the convent thrive.
But rid it of all circumscribing vows.”
“Of all its vows?” I ask’d.
“Why not?” he said:
“No character, I think, grows wholly ripe
Save that which grows as nature guides its growth;
And nature made us pairs. I know some say
The soul should conquer nature; but this means
That spirits all should claim their rights,—be lords
Of forms that spring from earth. But are they so
When by a vow they swear to serve a form,
And don the life and livery of a slave?
Would men look’d Godward more! ’Twould save their souls
From many a hell that their own hands have made.
One time when young I stood before a tree,
And vow’d that, till an hour had pass’d away,
My eye should see it not. What came of it?—
The vow in misery kept me through the hour.
And had it been a maid and not a tree,
The vow had caused me more of misery.
Yet God’s laws never bade me turn my back
On tree or maid: nay, were my nature framed
With any touch of truth, these both were made
For souls like mine to look at and enjoy.”