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! O 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!