I see once more up to heaven tow'ring
The pious dome reared by religious spell,
I hear the sound of organ and of bell,
Like the sweet laments of love, showering.

I see too the nimble dwarfs as they skip
Over the dome, and, with cheeky daring,
The fair flowers and carved work are tearing.

Yet though the oak of foliage we may strip,
And rob it of its verdant appearance,
Spring will restore its green magnificence.