It is a quiet afternoon
The bells are humming from afar
the brown clock moves on, chim by chime

This and that is going through my mind;
When I look at the ruins here,
It is to me as if above it
A smile is hovering, arisen out of deepest sorrow.

Like in a dream, they delight at my sight;
Since I, too, was surrounded by monastic air;
I tear around the horse's reins
Much have I suffered, much have I enjoyed.

I do not want to be under your spell
You songs of memory
Yet here, you softly approach me
Of a heart, wild and young.

Of a heart, full of monastic piety;
Transformed, and of swift eagle's flight
The heart sanke, the light went out
The wretched world of deceit is laughing

Thus I have turned inward
In these bleak monastic remains;-
Silent and confused, I am sitting here.