A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxii

To--day I was at Milan, in such thought As pilgrims bring who at faith's threshold stand, Still burdened with the sorrows they have brought, And vexed with stranger tongues in a strange land. And lo, this sign was given me. At my hand Hung that mysterious supper Vinci wrought With the sad twelve who were Christ's chosen band, A type of vows and courage come to nought. And, while I gazed, with a reproachful look The bread was broken and the wine was poured, And the disciples raised their hands and spoke, Each asking ``Is it I? and I too? Lord!'' And there was answered them this mournful cry: ``All shall abandon me to--night.'' So I.