Within the cloister’s fragrant, bowery shade,
Gemmed with España’s blooms ’mid velvet lawns,
Gemmed with España’s blooms ’mid velvet lawns,
Soft carols stirring leafy bough and glade,
Teresa muses; on her chaste brow dawns
A light celestial—peace and hope and love.
The wasted form, than bending flower more frail,
Is draped in Carmel’s saintly robe and veil.
The pale, ethereal face is bowed; those eyes
Whose gaze has revelled in the courts above,