Beyond the hills, beyond the yellow valleys,
The village footpath stretches, unmetalled;
I see the forest in the evening's blaze,
The fences twined with nettles.
There from morning the sands of the sky
Turned blue above the church's towers.
Damp breezes off the lakes fly,
Ringing through the roadside flowers.
Not for the spring song over the plains
Are the green spaces dear to me still.
I love with the love of the yearning cranes
The monastery on the hill.
At evening when the sky turns misty,
And sunset hangs the bridge above,
At this hour, you go my wretched country
And bow to the Cross and to love.
Gentle souls of that cloistered place,
Avidly hearing the Angelus toll,
Before the Saviour's gentle face,
Pray for my shipwrecked soul.