Our field is the sky,
tilled by the sweat of motors,
in the face of night,

Whatever comes to pass: the devastated world
sinks back into twilight,
the forest offers it a sleeping potion,

Whatever comes to pass: the devastated world
sinks back into twilight,

waiting in the harbor the sun ship lies
when at your back the seagull swoops and cries.

Beneath a foreign sky
shadow roses
shadow

We have risen and the cloisters are empty,
since we endure, an order that neither saves nor teaches.

Fairer than the venerable moon and her noble light.
Fairer than the stars, the famous orders of the night.