The Monks of Khabbet

TENANTS of yon hallowed fane,

Let me your devotions share;

There unceasing raptures reign—

None are ever sober there.

Crowded gardens, festive bowers,

Ne’er shall claim a thought of mine;

You can give in Khabbet’s towers

Purer joys and brighter wine.

Though your pallid faces prove

How you nightly vigils keep,

’Tis but that you ever love

Flowing goblets more than sleep.

Though your eyeballs, dim and sunk,

Stream in penitential guise,

’Tis but that the wine you’ve drunk

Bubbles over from your eyes.