[more excitedly] I cannot pray—scarcely at Angelus—
The Sun so flares and changes ... in the cold
East clouds there is such witness to His strength
Ere he lay him down: the life, the passion
Arrest me and I weep.
ZACHARIAS.
You cannot pray!
But in the cloister....
CARLOMAN.
Oh, those other prayers
That I am set, I say them when I must,
I sing within the chapel, dig and plant.
And eat my portion; then there comes an hour,
For which my heart has saved itself all day,
When I can be alone—sole preparation
The spirit makes when she would be with God—
I turn from Time’s small dues of speech and habit
To serve Eternity, the joy is coming
That has no moment: and a noise is made,
A monk approaches me, and I am summoned
To visitors who seek me as a marvel
To gaze upon. O father, when they look
I reel with shame.
ZACHARIAS.
What would you? Such example
As yours confounds the foolish.
CARLOMAN.
Grant my prayer—
Our prayers, for Marcomir’s are joined to mine—
That we may leave Soracte and retire
To some far convent hidden in the hills.