Amy Lowell - On Carpaccio's Picture: The Dream of St. Ursula

Swept, clean, and still, across the polished floor
From some unshuttered casement¹, hid from sight,
The level sunshine slants², its greater light
Quenching the little lamp which pallid³, poor,
Flickering, unreplenished, at the door
Has striven against darkness the long night.
Dawn fills the room, and penetrating⁴, bright,
The silent sunbeams through the window pour.
And she lies sleeping, ignorant of Fate,
Enmeshed in listless dreams, her soul not yet
Ripened to bear the purport⁵ of this day.
The morning breeze scarce stirs the coverlet,
A shadow falls across the sunlight; wait!
A lark⁶ is singing as he flies away.