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!