AN OLD-WORLD CONVENT GARDEN

Walled quiet from the din.

So near, of worldly strife;

A cloistered peace within,

A life apart from life.

Shrines bowered in roses sweet,

And in a hidden dell

Worn by accustomed feet,

A holy well.

Along the ancient wall

Fruit basking in the sun;

Flowers radiant and tall—

A coquette every one.

Bees busy on the stalks,

Birds mating in the weeds—

Here a pale Sister walks,

Telling her beads.

High walls to shut aside

The world’s dear bliss and care!

60O Birds, your nestlings hide

In sanctuary there.

High walls to her, to me—

But ah! to wings, how low;

Blest little Birds, quite free

To come—and go!

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