When gathered his young heart the words of gold
That should for heaven’s King a new realm win—
A faithful fold no wolf should enter in.
Here rose the chapel where the young saint prayed,
Here thoughtful paced he Lerins’ learnèd shade.
Ruined the abbey ’mid its olives rests,
Wide open all its doors to pilgrim guests—
Though still the chapel keeps its purpose old,
And Lerins’ vines and olives still enfold
A cloister shade where constant prayer ascends,