The sky is, there above the roof,
so blue! so calm!
The tree-top, there above the roof
is swaying its twigs.The bell is, through
the cloistral hush,
churning its sweet tones.
The bird is, from out of the tree-top
chanting its sorrow.
My Lord, my Lord, there is the Life,
simple and calm;
this peaceful noise
derives from the city.
What have you done, o you,
crying all the time
tell me, what have you done, o you
with Youth?
