RIMA LXX

How many times, next to the moss-covered
            walls that hide it,
as night came to a close I heard the bell
            that calls to matins!

How many times the silver moon cast
            my mournful shadow,
next to that of the cypress tree that rose
            over the stone walls.

When the pointed arch of the church
            was wrapped in shadows,
how many times I saw the light of a lamp
            flickering behind the windows!

Even though the wind whistled through
            the openings in the tower,
amid voices of the chorus I could hear
            her voice quite clearly.

On winter nights, if some timid soul
            happened to pass through
the deserted plaza, when he saw me,
            he quickened his pace.

In the morning, there once was
            an old woman who said
I must be the soul of some dead sacristan
            who passed away in sin.

In the darkness I could see the corners
            of the atrium and the portal;
the nettles growing there were perhaps
            to hide my footprints.

The owls were fearful, following me
            with their blazing eyes,
but in time, they came to look on me
            as an old friend.

The reptiles crawled along by my side
            without being afraid.
I saw that even the silent saints of granite
            were welcoming me!