At the Three Fountains

Here, where God lives among the trees,

   Where birds and monks the whole day sing

His praises in a pleasant ease,

O heart, might we not find a home

   Here, after all our wandering?

These gates are closed, even on Rome.

Souls of the twilight wander here;

   Here, in the garden of that death

Which was for love's sake, need we fear

How sharp with bitter joy might be

   Love's lingering, last, longed-for breath,

Shut in upon eternity?