I could not be a nun,
For I should kneel and say
A prayer for every head
A dozen times a day—
And all the while my thoughts
Would wander thy dear way.
I could not be a nun,
And push my warm brown hair
Under a heavy veil,
And smooth and hide it there—
For I should smile, and think,
“He praised it as most fair.”
How could I be a nun?
How could I ever still
The sudden throb, or stay
The thought of thee at will,
Or check the quick response
To love’s remembered thrill?
I could not be a nun,
I never could confess
My sins and not say—“Lord,
I love him more not less;
Give me a thousand years
Of pain for one caress!”
I could not be a nun—
Dearest, thou knowest this!
For deep my cheek would burn
At thought of one long kiss;
Or I should bow and weep
One unforgotten bliss.
I could not be a nun!
For how, I ask, at night,
Could I lie still and sleep
Within my chamber white,
Nor reach my arms and yearn
For one dear lost delight?
Nay. In the first sweet dream
I should run straight to thee,
And draw thee—my arms so—
Close, closer, love, to me . . . . .
And till the morning bell
We would kiss silently.
A draft of “I Could Not Be a Nun,” courtesy of the Ella Higginson Papers, Center for Pacific Northwest Studies, Heritage Resources, Western Washington University, Bellingham Washington.
“I Could Not Be a Nun” appears in Higginson’s When the Birds Go North Again (1898).