It is a place monastic, set above The city's pride and pleasuring below; The benediction of the sky breathes love Over the olive trees and vines a-row. The old gray walls are dedicate to prayer And silence; in the corridors dim-lit Lurks many a painting,, many a fresco rare Done by some brother for the joy of it. Pale lavender and red pomegranate trees, Roses and poppies spilling garden sweets; And tall lush grasses and grain, and, circling these, The cool cloistral walks and shadowed seats. By a sun-dial in the center, rests One brown-robed Father; and his lips recite Some holy word; little he heeds the jests Of those who make the world their chief delight. While Florence, far below, from dreamy towers Throws back the sun and tolls the tranquil hours. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES ON LEAVING THE BEDFORD STR. SCHOOL HOUSE by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE SEA-LIMITS by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI DECORATION DAY PRAYER by ARTHUR ROSZELLE BEMIS JR. EGYPTIAN THEOSOPHY by MATHILDE BLIND A BUDDING MORROW by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |