(Paris in May, 1903) The white veiled maids to confirmation go Through deep green garden paths they slowly wind; Their childhood they are leaving now behind: The future will be different, they know. Oh! Will it come? They wait—It must come soon! The next long hour slowly strikes at last, The whole house stirs again, the feast is past, And sadly pa**es by the afternoon ... Like resurrection were the garments white The wreathed procession walked through trees arched wide Into the church, as cool as silk inside, With long aisles of tall candles flaming bright: The lights all shone like j**els rich and rare To solemn eyes that watched them gleam and flare. Then through the silence the great song rose high Up to the vaulted dome like clouds it soared, Then luminously, gently down it poured— Over white veils like rain it seemed to die. The wind through the white garments softly stirred And they grew vari-coloured in each fold And each fold hidden blossoms seemed to hold And flowers and stars and fluting notes of bird, And dim, quaint figures shimmering like gold Seemed to come forth from distant myths of old. Outside the day was one of green and blue, With touches of a luminous glowing red, Across the quiet pond the small waves sped. Beyond the city, gardens hidden from view Sent odors of sweet blossoms on the breeze And singing sounded through the far off trees. It was as though garlands crowned everything And all things were touched softly by the sun; And many windows opened one by one And the light trembled on them glistening.