In the afternoon, when my work is done,
To get my breath of the scented air,
To take my share of the Roman sun:
The air that, over yon mossy wall,
Brings me the sweetness of orange bloom,
The sun whose going carries us all
Out of a glory into a gloom.
Calm in the light of the waning day,
And peaceful, the convent garden lies;
There, on the hillside cold and gray,