I see that convent near the snow
Wherein I lived those seven sweet years,
And seven times saw the lilies blow;
There sent to couch on pavements cold,
Fearless to suffer and to dare,
And reverence learn from nuns dark-stoled
Who live in penance and in prayer.
There, too, of love they sang—there, too—
Ah! not this love of maid and youth!
To that first love oh! keep me true,