Thy cioisters smell of apple-trees in the gardens, and white lilies mingle with little red roses. Every kind of bird strikes up his matin song and by his singing praises God who made him. Once the kind voice of the master was heard in you, reading the holy books with devout lips. In you from time to time the holy praise of the Almighty rose from peaceful voices and hearts. No longer now will Flaccus or the poet Homer or the youths come and sing under your roof.
Dark night overwhelms even a holy day.
Cold winter swiftly cuts off the beautiful flowers and a most bittcr wind ruffles the calm sea. The devoted youth who once chased Stags across the fields now leans on a stick, a tired old man. You flee from us, falling all the time and on every side. Keep on fleeing if you wish. Let us love Christ always and let the love of God possess our hearts for ever.