Long time the chaplains would not give consent.
Then, wearied by the constancy of prayers,
They gave her in this tower a shelter lone.
Scarcely the sacred threshold had she crossed,
When o’er the threshold bricks and stones were piled;
The angels only, in the judgment-day
Shall ope the door which parts her from the living.
Above a little window and a grate,
Whereby the pious folk send nourishment,
And Heaven sends breezes and the rays of day.