Ørknen her i trofast Vogters Kald
Sidder stum ved hældende Portaler;
Sneglen boer i faldne Capitaler,
Tankeløs om Pillens Efterfald.
Her, hvor Møer før i Savnets Kald
Luttred’ sig til christlige Vestaler,
Nu ved Frisens Løvværk klæbe Svaler
Elskovs Smaacapeller uden Tal.
Himlen lytter ned til snaksom Reede
Her i dette Svalecyperns Skjød,
Vrimlende af Mager og af Spæde.
Men den lytted’ ei til Savnets Sæde,
Da fra golde Hjerter Chorsang lød
Og sig huult mod Gravcapeller brød.
In the ruined nunnery
Here the faithful desert guards each day,
Silently by sloping portals crouching;
Snails in fallen capitals find housing,
Mindless of the pillar’s vast decay.
Here where maids renounced love of the flesh,
Purified themselves to vestal virgins,
In the frieze’s foliage now burgeon
Swallows’ small love-chapels in one mesh.
Heaven listens to the nests’ loud natter
From the cypress’ swallow-laden hoard,
Where the spouses and the nestlings chatter.
But renouncement’s seat remained ignored.
When from barren hearts the choir song called
Hollow echoes from each chapel wall.
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