Which floats upon its rich, brocaded wing
In graceful carelessness from bloom to bloom.
No merry laughter, no light-hearted lay,
No lover’s whisper floats among the bowers;
But all is icy beauty, cold and still,
Radiant and passionless, and void of bliss;
A glory that will quickly melt away
And leave no trace behind.
And such I deem
Is life within a nunnery; pure and bright