BONIFACE.
My son, the Holy Father
Receives you joyously.
CARLOMAN.
[kissing Boniface] To go to God
Living, unscathed, to give Him everything
One has, to pour one’s soul into His lap,
To let Him play upon one as the wind,
To feel His alternations ...!
BONIFACE.
Carloman,
Your childlike transport shall be surely blessed:
Yet in the convent there are bitter hours
Of exile from God’s presence, penances—
CARLOMAN.
But will they choke my solitude with prayers?
BONIFACE.
The holy brethren chant in unison
For hours within the chapel; there is buzz
About the cloister like a hive of bees.