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?